Accidental Bodyguard (17 page)

“Jack,” she said.

“What?” He swallowed the last of his sandwich and reached for another.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” she said softly.

She could tell her words surprised him by the way he paused. Their gazes met and held.

“I can't tell you how grateful I am for all your help,” she said.

A soft light came into his green eyes. “You are very welcome, Claudia.”

“I know you didn't expect your mom to be here.”

He snorted and opened the second sandwich. “That's for sure.”

“She kind of spoiled your plan, huh?”

“In more ways than one.”

What did he mean by that comment? “She could find her cell phone and make a call while we're gone.”

“I've got all the phones with me, but I've been watching for smoke signals.”

Claudia laughed. “I hope not. She might burn down the cabin.”

“She might do that anyway with all her cancer sticks.”

“She needs to quit smoking.”

“She needs to do a lot of things.”

“Are you going to let her stay?”

Jack heaved a frustrated sigh. “I don't know. The thing is, if the Warriors do find us—and I'm not saying they will, I don't expect them to—she'll be in danger, too. I may be furious with her, but I don't want her harmed.”

“She's your mom.”

“Yeah, so she says,” he said, but his words held a touch of tenderness.

“And that's why you sent away the sheriff,” she said, relieved that he actually did love his mother. She'd known he had to, but Jack could be stubborn. She ought to remember that. “You don't think he's good for her.”

“There's more to it than that.”

“What?”

“Let's just say my mother is a liar and leave it at that.”

“It can't be just that she's having an affair with a married man.”

“It's not.”

“You don't want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

Those two words sounded so final, Claudia decided not to push. Gazing out into the trees, she said, “I wish I could talk to my mother.”

“You talked to her two days ago.”

“For about ten seconds. I hate that I'm putting my parents through this nightmare.”

“It will all be over soon, Claudia.”

“Will it? Will it really? Let's say Carlos is convicted thanks to my testimony and sent away for the rest of his life. That's great. Wonderful. But do you think his followers will just forget about me? Will Carlos, rotting in prison?”

Jack narrowed his eyes. “So you're worried about retribution?” he asked.

“Carlos will have a lot of time to think about who put him behind bars.” She closed her eyes, picturing her ex festering in a prison cell, cursing her with his every breath. “God, he'll hate me.”

“And you think the Warriors might still look for you, wanting revenge for their fallen leader,” Jack continued.

“Maybe,” she said. “What if he retains control of the group from prison and continues directing their activities?”

“Believe me, he'll have a lot more to worry about than you,” Jack said. “Prison is not a fun place. And the group could fall apart without his guidance.”

“One can hope,” Claudia murmured.

“Or the Warriors could turn on their fallen leader. They might worry Romero could give them up for a lighter sentence or cushier treatment, and he damn well might. It happens all the time.”

Claudia shook her head. “Carlos will never turn on his followers. They were always more important to him than me.”

“Men like Romero gather disciples for their own selfish purposes. It gives them a feeling of power, but they aren't usually loyal when their needs change.”

“Whatever happens, this nightmare won't be over as soon as I testify,” she said. “I'll be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

J
ACK
COULD
HEAR
the damn dog yapping when he and Claudia were a quarter mile from home. What was wrong with the mutt? Not liking the frantic—no—desperate sound of those barks, he picked up his pace.

Had something happened in the cabin? Was his mom in danger?

For all his assurances to Claudia that no one could track them here, had the Warriors arrived at the cabin in his absence?

He glanced back to Claudia.

She nodded. “I hear it, too. Go on.”

Jack broke into a jog. When he reached his backyard, he dropped his pack. He remained at the tree line, observing the roof of his home. Nothing looked out of place. He'd built the cabin on a rise, but couldn't yet see the dog. Pookie continued to bark, obviously outside.

He removed his primary weapon, aiming the barrel at the brown grass.

Staying out of sight, Jack jogged the tree line to the front of the cabin to check for vehicles. None. But someone could have left their car by the highway and hiked up his private driveway.

He returned to the rear and dashed to the cover of a closer tree. He had eyes on Pookie now. The dog paced the perimeter of the concrete slab, still barking. No sight of his mom or any intruders. Pookie began to issue a pitiful whine, almost a howl.

Why didn't his mom shut the mutt up?

She would if she could.

Behind him, he heard Claudia arrive at the edge of the trees. He motioned for her to stay put. She nodded and faded back into the forest.

Tensed for gunfire, he sprinted from tree to tree, moving closer to the deck. He wanted to keep the advantage of surprise.

He darted a quick look, then pulled back. Whining pitifully, the mutt nosed a lump on the deck.

Jack looked again and focused on the lump. What the hell?

His mother.

Jack cursed and ran to the deck. His mother was down. Her eyes were closed. She didn't respond to his approach.

He knelt beside her. Holstering his weapon, he searched for blood, saw none.

She lay on her right side, right arm flung over her head. He felt for a pulse on her throat, relieved to see her chest move. She was alive. Her heartbeat sounded strong, steady.

What happened?

A broken plate lay on the slab next to her, a peanut butter sandwich scattered beside it. The small round table had been knocked over. The ashtray and its cigarette butts had spilled over the concrete, as well as a mug of either coffee or hot tea.

Jack turned his head and yelled, “Claudia. Get up here.” She was a nurse. She'd know what to do.

“Mom,” Jack said. “Can you hear me?”

No response.

She'd fallen. How badly was she hurt? What if she died? His mother couldn't die. His last words to her had been sarcastic and mean.

“Mom,” Jack said again, wanting to shake her, knowing that wasn't a good idea. He felt helpless, a new experience for him. Where was Claudia?

“Wake up, Mom.”

She moaned, and rotated her neck as Claudia arrived.

Claudia knelt beside him and felt for a pulse on Irene's neck. “Did she fall?”

“Looks like it,” Jack said.

“Irene,” Claudia said in a calm voice. “Wake up.”

His mom moaned again and blinked her eyes open. She blinked again and raised her head. “What—what happened?” She pushed her hands on the deck and struggled to rise.

“Don't move,” Claudia instructed.

“Whatever you say.” His mother lowered her head and closed her eyes again.

“Tell me where you hurt,” Claudia said.

“Oh, shit,” Irene said on a ragged breath.

Claudia brushed hair out of his mom's face and said again firmly, “Where do you hurt, Irene?”

“All over.”

“Was she unconscious when you arrived?” Claudia asked Jack.

“She didn't respond when I spoke to her.”

Claudia removed her sweatshirt and placed it over Irene's legs. “Get your flashlight and some blankets. I want to keep her warm in case she goes into shock.”

Grateful for Claudia's calm, take-charge manner, Jack hurried into the house and returned with two thick quilts and a flashlight.

“What hit the ground first?” Claudia asked as she gently tucked the blankets around his mom's legs.

“My right hip, I think.” Irene lifted her hand and touched a discolored bump on her forehead. “Ouch.”

Jack noted the skin was abraded, beginning to seep a little blood.

“I flung out my arms to break my fall,” she said. “My lunch went flying, and my head hit that stupid table.”

“Hold still a minute,” Claudia said. She switched on the light and flashed it in his mother's eyes.

“Hey.” His mom closed her eyes and turned away.

“Open your eyes, Irene. I need to check for something.”

When she complied, Claudia flashed each pupil, looking for signs of a concussion. He glared at the bump on his mom's forehead. Could her brain be swelling inside that thick skull?

Claudia sat back, obviously thinking, also staring at his mom's wound.

“Do you even know what you're doing?” Irene asked.

“I'm a registered nurse,” Claudia said. “I work with trauma all the time.”

“Yeah?” Irene shot Jack a look.

His mother's suspicion made Jack's anxiety crank down a notch. She was sounding more like herself every second.

“Have you been experiencing any dizziness lately?” Claudia asked. She picked up Irene's wrist and looked at her watch.

“No more than normal,” Irene said.

“What does that mean?” Jack demanded.

“It means sometimes when I get up too quick, I feel a touch light-headed. Been that way most of my life.”

“Sounds like low blood pressure,” Claudia said, releasing Irene's hand. “Pulse is normal. That's good. Does the vertigo pass quickly?”

“Vertigo?”

“The dizziness when you get up too fast.”

“Yeah. I sit back down, take a few breaths and I'm fine.”

“Probably caused by smoking too much,” Jack said.

“Can you identify where the worst pain is now?” Claudia asked.

“Yeah.” Irene swallowed hard. “My left foot throbs something awful.”

“Uncover her feet, Jack.”

Jack pulled away the quilt, and sucked in a breath when he saw the disfigured left ankle, swollen to twice the normal size. His mom had lost her right shoe, but the left foot remained encased in a glittery torture device with a towering stiletto heel. Shaking his head, he gently removed the shoe. Why would she wear that? For Chuck Wheeler.

“See that?” he asked Claudia.

“Yeah, I see it. Can you wiggle your toes?” Claudia asked.

Irene grimaced as her toes moved. “Please don't ask me to rotate my ankle because that isn't happening.”

“I'll get some ice,” Jack said.

When he returned with an ice pack, Claudia had gotten his mother into a chair with her injured foot elevated on the table. The mutt had curled up in her lap.

“Any pain during that transition?” Claudia asked.

“Just in my ankle.”

“How does your hip feel?”

“There's nothing wrong with my hip,” Irene insisted.

“Any nausea?”

“No. And how do I even know you're a nurse?”

“You can take my word for it,” Jack said, placing the ice over her ankle.

When the cold touched her flesh, his mother cursed and made a face. But he couldn't hold on to any anger. He was too relieved that she was alive and able to react.

“And why should I take your word for it?” his mom demanded.

“Because I looked her up on the internet,” Jack replied.

“Do you want to see my license?” Claudia asked. “I have ID in my purse.”

“Maybe,” Irene grumbled.

“Do you think she needs to go to the emergency room?” Jack asked. “That's a nasty bump on her forehead.”

Claudia folded her arms and stared down at her patient. “An external bump isn't always a sign of an internal bleed. I don't see any signs of a concussion. But she ought to get an X-ray of that foot, and then the ER staff can assess for head trauma.”

“Agreed,” Jack said.

“Do you think an ambulance will come out this far?”

Jack shook his head. It would be quicker if he took Mom himself, and why take the chance that the paramedics would see Claudia.

“I'll drive her in.”

“I don't have insurance,” Irene announced. “Lost it when I got fired.”

“Don't worry about it, Mom,” Jack said. “I'll take care of it.”

“Thanks, son. You know I'll pay you back when I get on my feet again.”

Jack motioned for Claudia to follow him inside out of his mother's earshot.

“Stay inside the house while I'm gone,” he told her.

Claudia nodded. “I'll clean the Glock, reload it and keep it by my side.”

“Don't open the door for anyone. Pretend you're at Villa Alma.” He handed her his mother's phone. “Call me if you need me.”

“Thanks.” Claudia heaved a sigh. “I'll be fine.”

“I know you will.” Jack reached out and cupped her cheek. “Hey, thanks for keeping my mom—and me—calm.”

Claudia placed her hand over his and met his gaze, her eyes soft. “You're welcome.”

He pulled her into an embrace and hugged tight. Holding her close felt good. “I can't send Irene away when she can't even walk.”

“Of course you can't.”

* * *

C
LAUDIA
RETURNED
HIS
HUG
, her arms barely meeting around his back, and drank in his warmth and strength. Jack had been worried about Irene. That reaction to her accident had been solid proof that he loved his mom, although he might not admit it. Sometimes it takes an emergency for people to realize how they truly feel.

He stepped back, leaving his palms on her shoulders. “We'll figure everything out when I get home.”

She nodded, wishing he would kiss her.

“Claudia,” Irene yelled from outside. “Could you fix me another sandwich before Jack takes me to town? I never got to eat my lunch.”

“We'll stop at the Burger Giant drive-through,” Jack yelled back, shaking his head. “Give me strength,” he whispered.

Claudia stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Hurry back.”

Jack couldn't have been more careful with his mom when he loaded her into the passenger seat of his SUV, but she complained every step of the journey.

Claudia watched until the dust from the retreating SUV settled in the driveway, then went out on the deck and cleaned up the mess from Irene's fall. Pookie helped her by gobbling the bread and licking the peanut butter.

Once back in the cabin, she locked all the doors and pulled the drapes, wanting to make it appear as if no one was home.

Next she broke down her gun, cleaned it and then reassembled the parts. She made sure the magazine was full of bullets, then shoved it in with a satisfying click.

After that, the silence in the cabin became deafeningly loud.

Well, good. Lack of noise meant she could easily hear the approach of any intruder.

“We're loaded for bear now,” she told Pookie, who cocked her head. Claudia sighed. Maybe she wasn't actually “loaded for bear,” which Jack had explained was some sort of colloquial saying used by the old-timers when there were actual bears in the nearby woods, but her gun was ready.

She rose, approached the sliding door, and moved the curtain to take one final peek at the backyard. All clear. Not even any birds at the feeders, which she realized dangled empty of seed. She'd ask Irene where she kept the food and refill them this afternoon.

So now what? She should study, but was too agitated from all the excitement, so she decided to catch up in her new journal. She gathered the gun and Irene's phone, and set out for the bedroom. A nap also sounded like a good idea. She'd exhausted herself this morning with all the hiking and target practice.

As she sat on the bed, Irene's phone warbled, “We've Only Just Begun,” a ring tone for true romantics if there ever was one. Claudia checked the caller ID and saw Chuck Wheeler on the readout, no doubt calling to arrange a hookup since the morning plan had failed. She let the call go to voice mail for Irene to hear later.

Claudia stared at the phone as an idea generated. She needed to check in with the US Attorney in charge of Carlos's trial and let him know she was still alive. She'd always intended to call, but hadn't managed to get that done. She'd sent an email the day she went underground, letting him know she planned to disappear, but nothing since. He had to be worried about her and the status of his case.

She trusted Mr. Beauchamps, but didn't know beans about his office staff and who the leak might be. So she wouldn't call now, not in the middle of the day. She'd call him later on his cell And she shouldn't use Irene's phone. It could be traced to Dunnellon. What if Carlos's tentacles reached that deep?

She familiarized herself with Irene's phone and punched in Jack's number. He answered immediately.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing. Do you think you could pick me up a phone while you're out, one that can't be traced? I need to call the US Attorney and let him know I'm okay.”

“Maybe,” he said. “That might take some doing. If I can't get one locally, I'll get Lola on it. I need to check in with her anyway and see what's happening on Collins Island.”

“Thanks.” Before Claudia could disconnect, she heard the roar of an arriving vehicle.

She reached for her gun and folded her fingers around the grip of her newly cleaned and loaded Glock.

Pookie raced down the hall into the front room, barking like a demented demon.

“What's going on?” Jack demanded.

Clutching the weapon and the phone, Claudia dropped to the floor. She crawled to the wall. She didn't dare follow the dog to see who had arrived.