Accidental Bodyguard (2 page)

“Thanks, Ike.” Jack crossed his arms to observe the ferry staff prepare for the next trip. “Everything go okay this morning?”

Ike shrugged. “We seldom have any glitches, sir.”

Jack winced at constantly being called
sir
. He was maybe five or six years older than this guy, but understood it was a matter of respect. “You can call me Jack.”

“Yes, sir.”

So much for informality. “I need to talk to the guards on the other side,” he told Ike.

“Of course, sir.”

Ike removed a walkie-talkie from his belt, contacted the Miami guards, who responded in seconds, and handed the device to Jack. Viewing the distant guardhouse across the channel, a shipping lane also used by enormous cruise ships, Jack explained about the new tenant and approved her to board the ferry.

“Make sure you call the office when Ms. Clark shows. Leave word for the next shift if you go off duty before she arrives.”

Confident his instructions would be followed, Jack returned to his cart. He sat for a moment, watching the ferry depart, wondering what the mistress looked like and when Mr. Santaluce would arrive. A clandestine love affair on an island this small would be hard to hide. A lot of people could be hurt. Jack's thoughts drifted to his momma—which trashed his relaxed good mood.

His divorced momma didn't believe in the sanctity of marriage vows either, but her lover, a north Florida sheriff and his old boss, was nowhere near Collins Island rich. Did that make her indiscretions worse or better? He could hear Momma's voice as she explained her lies,
I'm in love, Jack. You don't understand. You've never been in love.

Considering what a fool Momma had made of herself over Chuck Wheeler, he seriously hoped he never fell in love. Who needed that shit?

* * *

C
LAUDIA
DRUMMED
HER
fingers on her steering wheel as the Collins Island ferry chugged across the narrow channel. Her windows were down, and a stiff ocean breeze flowed into the car, cooling her flushed face. She wished she could stand at the railing, but didn't dare. Too exposed.

She focused on the dock, watching it get closer and closer.
Almost there. I've made it this far. I should be okay.

Similar self-pep talks had helped her through each step of the journey. She'd checked in and out of a fleabag motel without getting blown to bits. She'd made it to the bank vault to retrieve her fake IDs and the Glock, and emerged still breathing. She'd even managed to purchase new clothes in a mall she never frequented. That was the most nerve-racking but couldn't be helped because she'd left everything behind in her trashed apartment in case they'd put a tracking device somewhere. Better to be safe.

And she'd made it out of the grocery store without a hitch. Could Carlos's people hack into her credit card records? Probably, but she didn't have to touch her maxed-out cards again. Once she got to this island with its legendary security, there was no way anyone could get to her.

She'd crammed her car with enough groceries to last until Carlos's trial. She would have loved to obtain a new vehicle, but lack of time and funds made that impossible.

She'd be fine as long as she kept out of sight and remembered her new name. It'd been three days, and so far she'd stayed beneath their radar.

The last and most difficult step was boarding this ferry. It was a wonder she hadn't stroked out while the security guard checked for her name on his list. He'd frowned at her rusted twenty-year-old vehicle, scrutinized her fake driver's license, then looked at her face for so long she thought he was trying to memorize her features. His gaze had shifted back to the license, then the car again to check out all the bags in the backseat.

Finally, his jaw clenched in obvious disapproval, he scanned the license with a small device, made a note on his clipboard and motioned her aboard.

She closed her eyes, remembering her near panic. God, what would she have done? Accept the US Attorney's offer of a safe house? No way. Carlos had bragged that he'd bribed an employee, so that was a sure death sentence.

Her ex had taught her to trust no one. The attorney she'd been working with on her testimony would worry when he couldn't contact her, but she wanted her trail ice-cold. She'd reach out to him later.

She felt a gentle bump and opened her eyes. Relief swamped her. They'd reached the other side. She was safe.

The car in front of hers, a bright red sporty Mercedes, started its motor. Claudia turned her key to do the same and heard nothing but an empty click.

Please, not now. Not when I'm almost there.

She tried the key again, but still nothing. Of course her devil car had chosen this exact moment to quit working.

The Mercedes proceeded down the ramp, and a ponytailed, brown-haired female ferry attendant motioned for Claudia to follow. With a sigh, she popped her hood and exited the car.

“What's wrong, ma'am?” the attendant asked politely.

“My battery is dead,” Claudia replied.

The attendant, whose name tag read
Julie
, frowned. “Okay. Let me get the rest of the vehicles off and we'll see what we can do.”

Speaking into a walkie-talkie in one hand, with the other Julie motioned for the next line of vehicles to exit the ferry.

Uneasy in the open, Claudia searched the Collins Island dock and beyond where attendants sprayed water over arriving vehicles to wash off salt residue.

No one should have her in their sights from that direction. Was she too far from the mainland for a clean shot? She glanced back across the channel. Maybe not.

As vehicles circumvented her and drove away, she moved to the front of her car, seeking the protection of the open hood.

Julie, accompanied by two male attendants, hustled toward her. Claudia flinched when one of the males slammed the hood with a loud bang.

“We're going to push you,” Julie said. “Put the transmission in Neutral and steer off the ramp.”

When her vehicle's wheels rolled off the ferry and onto Collins Island, Claudia offered a silent prayer and tried her ignition again.
Please, please.
Still just a sad click. She pounded on the dash.

Wishing she could make herself invisible—hey, if she could arrange for superpowers, why not just fly to Mr. Santaluce's villa—Claudia climbed out of her car just as a tall, ruggedly handsome man in a blue blazer arrived.

She looked up into piercing green eyes, noticed sun-streaked light brown hair and for a moment forgot where she was.

She tried to speak, to say hello and explain, ask for help, but had to swallow to moisten her throat.

She'd had this instant, gut-churning reaction to a male once before in her life, but those eyes had been an unfathomable, brooding brown, not a lively green. She'd been foolish enough to marry that man, and he'd nearly destroyed her.

And he might still.

CHAPTER TWO

J
ACK
EVALUATED
THE
stranded woman with the rusted heap of a car and arranged his expression into a mask of professional concern. This fresh-faced young woman without a speck of makeup around sky-blue eyes was a rich man's mistress? Pretty, yes, no question, but more wholesome than seductive.

She'd pulled back her long dark hair in a casual ponytail. Hardly glamorous. She wore loose-fitting shorts and a short-sleeve blouse that revealed no cleavage from her generous breasts. No flashy jewelry; just tiny gold ear hoops.

Louise Clark was not what he'd expected.

“Ms. Clark?” he asked.

Frowning, the woman stared at him, as if confused. Didn't she know her own name? Was she a druggie? She didn't look like one. In fact, Ms. Clark appeared to be exactly the type of woman he was normally all over.

He extended his arm to shake her hand. “I'm Jackson Richards, Security Director. Aren't you Louise Clark?”

Her expression cleared, and Ms. Clark clasped his hand with both of hers as if she was drowning and he was her lifeline. “Yes, yes. I'm Louise Clark.”

She offered a killer smile which transformed her face from pretty into stunning, which explained Mr. Santaluce's interest. Jack felt an unexpected stab of envy.

“Please forgive me, Mr. Richards,” Ms. Clark continued. “I'm embarrassed by the trouble, but my demon car chose this awkward moment to quit working.”

“No trouble at all, ma'am. Mr. Santaluce requested we make certain you get settled in your new home.”

“Oh, that was kind of him,” Ms. Clark said.

Kind of him? Jack reevaluated the scenario before him. His gaze swept over the rattletrap vehicle, noting a backseat heaped with plastic bags from a local grocery. Apparently Ms. Clark wasn't planning on expensive dinners out with her lover. Hell, maybe she was a gourmet cook and that was what had attracted the man. A looker and a cooker? If so, a far better reason for jealousy.

“Will a jump start help?” Jack asked. “I've called our maintenance department for an assist.”

She shrugged. “I don't know. This is the first time it hasn't started. Usually it won't stop running.”

“Maybe it's time for a new car.”

“Wouldn't that be nice. Maybe when I win the lottery.”

Jack forced a smile. “Yes, ma'am.” Damn, but Santaluce was one cheap sugar daddy. You'd think he'd want her driving a flashier vehicle onto his ritzy winter home.

The huge maintenance pickup truck approached, and Ms. Clark slid behind the wheel of her car. Jack retrieved jumper cables from the truck and hooked its battery to the clunker's.

“Give it a try,” he yelled over the truck's powerful engine.

The old car shook and rumbled to life. Jack let its battery run off the truck's for a minute or two to allow a better charge, then disconnected the cables, handed them to the maintenance man and returned to speak to Ms. Clark.

“Thank you,” she said meaningfully. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem, ma'am. I recommend you get that battery checked out. It's possible you need a new one.”

“But now that I'm here, I won't need my car,” she said.

“I suppose not.” Jack nodded, but her words made no sense. Was the woman planning to never leave Collins Island? Considering the amount of food in her backseat—and no telling how much more in her trunk—maybe so.

Maybe Santaluce planned to keep her in the bedroom. Or maybe he'd had lured her here with promises of a shiny silver Porsche.

“Follow me,” Jack said, “I'll lead you to your new home.”

On the short drive to the east end of the island, Jack considered Louise Clark, her rattletrap vehicle—which fortunately kept chugging along behind him—her mounds of groceries and the questionable business of one Rodolfo Santaluce.

The more Jack thought about Ms. Clark, the more his bullshit alarm sounded loud and clear. Something didn't add up. Maybe Lola had assessed the relationship between Santaluce and Ms. Clark all wrong. Maybe the pretty young woman was indeed a paying tenant.

Jack stopped in front of Santaluce's tall, arched, wrought-iron gate topped with the name, Villa Alma, in block letters, and Ms. Clark pulled next to him. Why would she drive that battered jalopy if she could afford the rent this spectacular villa would command? She wouldn't. Yeah, she was moving in to the pool house, but he'd seen the so-called cabanas in these villas. A small family would have room to spare.

Clutching a slip of paper, Ms. Clark exited her car, punched a code into the alarm pad and the gate swung open. She turned and offered him another one of her brilliant smiles.

“Thanks so much for your help, Mr. Richards.”

“Let me help you carry in those groceries,” he offered.

Her smile faded, replaced by wariness. In fact, she looked afraid of him. Why was that?

“No, thanks,” she said. “I can manage.”

“Are you sure? I don't mind.”

“Absolutely. I've been enough trouble already.” She waved a graceful hand, the one holding the code, which had been scribbled on some sort of preprinted memo pad with a letterhead. He could make out the word
Hospital
in large letters, but nothing more.

“I'm certain you have more important duties,” she continued.

Jack shrugged, disappointed.
Important duties? This place practically runs itself.

His main function was to assess all possible security threats. Was Ms. Clark a threat to the security of Collins Island? Maybe. Something was off about her.

He definitely needed to learn more.

She looked at him with raised eyebrows, obviously expecting—no, wanting—him to drive away.

He didn't want to go, but waved and motored west into the sinking sun, back toward the security office.

Lola had been right on about one thing. His day had been boring as plain white toast before Ms. Clark's arrival, but now things were getting interesting. He had a project.

Of course, he should keep a watchful eye on Collins Island's newest resident—which shouldn't be too hard since Ms. Clark was easy on the eyes.

And it was, after all, his job.

* * *

C
LAUDIA
UNLOADED
HER
car and hid it in a garage at the rear of Mr. Santaluce's estate. She quickly filled the refrigerator—empty but for three lonely Coronas—with perishable fruits, vegetables and dairy items. She'd run out of fresh produce before the trial date in four weeks, but that couldn't be helped. She'd divide her meat into single portions and stuff the freezer later—after she'd locked herself in. At least she wouldn't starve.

She left the Glock on the counter within easy reach while she worked. She'd keep her weapon close at hand, always loaded and ready to fire. She'd taken a course and knew how to shoot. She could usually hit the target, if nowhere near the bull's-eye.

Closing the refrigerator for the last time, she took a deep breath.

Dear Mr. Santaluce had provided detailed instructions on the alarm system, but first she needed to confirm all openings were locked or otherwise secure.

She grabbed the gun and exited the cabana through the front door into twilight. A shiver caused her to hug her arms. Claudia inhaled deeply to calm herself, noting the cool, salty ocean breeze. Because of the wall, she didn't have a view of the tantalizingly close Atlantic Ocean.

But no one had a view of her, either.

Maybe she could go out occasionally—late at night—and take a peek at the waves. Maybe not.

Claudia walked the villa's grounds looking for any weakness, a location where someone could breach the eight-foot concrete wall. The activity helped settle her, reminded her of patrolling the pediatric unit on the night shift when her patients, poor sick kids, were all sleeping. She missed her job. How long would it be before she could go back to work?

She discovered there was only one gate, the one she'd driven through, and that it had an electronic lock and an alarm. Carlos's henchmen would have to ram a truck through, making a ton of noise, definitely attracting the attention of that eagle-eyed security director. She doubted he missed anything.

She shivered again, wondering at her reaction to Jackson Richards, who in no way resembled her dark-headed, dark-eyed ex. Still, she'd had the same visceral reaction to him she'd had to Carlos: the urge to rip off his clothes. Unfortunately, she'd acted on that impulse with Carlos. To the horror of her family, two weeks after that explosive first meeting she'd married the jerk.

Within three months of the vows, she'd realized her deadly mistake.

Deciding all was secure, Claudia moved back to the pool area and eyed the impressive three-story main house. She had a key, but had no intention of entering Mr. Santaluce's winter home. Her benefactor didn't plan a Miami visit until mid-March, and she'd be gone by then. She didn't want her presence to put his family in danger.

She pictured the angelic face of Rosa Santaluce, a sweet child who had suffered through way too many painful nights in the pediatric ICU. Her father had been there for most of them, suffering right along with his daughter.

For the thousandth time, Claudia felt a rush of gratitude toward the man she believed had saved her life by offering this refuge. The irony was he was thanking her for saving his daughter's life.

Claudia paused by the well-lit pool, which reminded her of promotional brochures for an expensive resort with its landscaping, fountains and gurgling cascades. But that pool, right outside her front door, was also her biggest concern, since the island contractor came once a week to test the water and add the necessary chemicals. Santaluce had given her the schedule, so she could hunker down inside and make nary a peep so no one would know of her presence. Ditto with the lawn maintenance people.

But otherwise she'd be left alone. She could sit out here to study and use the pool to exercise. She just couldn't show her face beyond the wall.

Inside the cabana, she repeated her patrol, checking each window, door and every possible entrance into the structure. When done, she armed the security system and stared at the blinking red light. If someone breached or she pushed the nearby bright yellow panic button, who would respond? The island security director? She hoped not. She was a woman who learned from her mistakes, and history had taught her she needed to avoid Jackson Richards as much as she avoided contact with Carlos or infectious bacteria.

What was similar about two such different-looking men that caused her to become tongue-tied with desire? Had to be some trait hidden underneath their physical appearance, something she sensed intuitively and her treacherous body reacted to. Carlos was much smaller than Richards, but slick and sneaky as a fox. Richards was built more like a gladiator with his powerful shoulders and arms. While he worked with her car, she'd had the odd sensation he controlled a capacity for extreme violence.

Just like Carlos.

So she liked aggressive males? Dear God, what was wrong with her? She couldn't be trusted around men. For some sicko reason, she was attracted to dangerous types, the ones your mother warns you to stay away from.

Her stomach cramped at the thought of her mom. It'd been three days since she'd contacted any member of her family, and she knew they were sick wondering where she'd vanished to. She'd sent a text to her dad that first night—with hands shaking so badly she couldn't control the tiny keyboard—telling him she was okay but had to disappear until Carlos's trial. Then she'd smashed that phone under the tires of her demon car and purchased a prepaid throwaway the next day.

A noise from the kitchen made her whirl and raise the Glock—but she relaxed her stance, realizing it was just the motor of the huge Thermidor refrigerator switching on in the eerie silence. She'd hadn't yet learned the rhythms and sounds of her new home. She'd probably lie awake all night listening, wondering if anyone lurked outside her protective wall.

Claudia wandered into the living room and collapsed on the plush sofa, placing the gun on a table beside her.

No one could know where she was. She loved her family, but they were all a bunch of gossips—especially her two sisters—and she might as well put an ad announcing her location in the
Miami Herald
. For sure there'd be a flurry of traceable emails and texts, and hints of Collins Island would probably even leak to Facebook. Everyone dreamed of living on this ritzy isle. Julie, her eldest sister, would insist on a visit.

Of course that could never happen. Carlos's very own domestic terrorist group—at least that was what the US Attorney called them—the Warriors for Self Rule, might even be watching her family in hopes they'd lead them to her. She prayed that wasn't true, but she wouldn't put it past Carlos. His terrorist friends had killed Moochie to warn her. She wouldn't underestimate them again.

The next month would be the most difficult in her life, but it was her own fault for allowing lust to overcome common sense and the advice of the people who loved her. No, she had to go through this alone. She'd find a way to make contact eventually, but the less her family knew, the safer it was for everyone.

And she couldn't get sick. She didn't dare go to a doctor, hospital or even a clinic and use her insurance.

Carlos's Warriors had expert hackers among the faithful.

* * *

T
HREE
DAYS
LATER
, Jack still wondered about the enigmatic Louise Clark who'd disappeared behind the walls of Villa Alma and hadn't emerged once. He knew that for a fact because he'd reviewed the surveillance camera on the front gate. Not even a solitary walk on the beach.

What was she doing in there? Writing a book?

He didn't have access to the feed from any security cameras inside the compound. If they were even turned on.