Accidental Bodyguard (6 page)

“Not unusual for a beautiful woman to carry a firearm,” Greta offered.

“But why isn't Santaluce with her?” asked Tony, another operative. He grabbed a grape from the fruit platter in the center of the table, eyebrows raised. “And why doesn't she ever come out? Sounds like she'd hiding.”

“Maybe she's working on a top secret cookbook and that explains all the groceries,” Brad said.

“Or maybe Santaluce is really a rich uncle providing her with a quiet location to study for that exam,” Greta suggested. “Are you sure you're not just impressed by her ta-tas, Jack? You've always been a breast man.”

Jack leveled a glance at Greta. The razzing would only get worse if he reacted.

“Any chance she could be a twin?” This suggestion came from Tony.

“The different names could be because of marriage,” Greta said.

“Watch her, Jack,” Lola said, putting an end to the discussion. “If she does anything that could interfere with the serenity of Collins Island, you know what to do.”

“Understood,” Jack said.

An hour later, the meeting completed, Jack slid behind the wheel of his vehicle. He stared at the facade of the run-down strip mall that housed the Protection Alliance's headquarters. The signage on PA's door read Security in small, peeling black decals. No one would ever guess the amount of high-tech bells and whistles that lurked behind a tiny reception area with one ordinary desk and file cabinet.

Just like no one knew what was behind the beautiful face of Louise Clark.

Deception. It could be and often was a dangerous game. What kind of a game was Louise Clark, also known as Claudia Goodwin, playing? Most likely a con game on an unsuspecting wealthy man. Maybe bilking sugar daddies was her primary source of income. He considered the idea that had germinated while listening to a report from a fellow operative.

He ignited his vehicle's powerful engine. Why not visit the address that the Department of Motor Vehicles listed for Claudia Goodwin? Maybe Louise did have a twin.

The odds were that he'd find nothing. He'd already determined the DMV address did exist, an apartment complex called Brasilia. The addy could also be a ruse, but what the hell. Brasilia was only a ten-minute drive away. He was off island. Why not take the opportunity to check it out?

He parked his SUV in a visitor space and walked into a lush courtyard, alert for anything unusual. But it was early afternoon, so quiet. Goodwin's apartment number indicated the second floor, so Jack jogged up the stairs, and knocked on her door. No one answered.

He knocked again and yelled, “Ms. Goodwin?”

No response.

Jack tried the knob. It turned easily in his hand. Interesting.

He loosened the snap on the holster under his jacket, kept his hand near the weapon and pushed the door open, ready for anything.

He stared inside, evaluating the status of a thoroughly wrecked room. Was this vandalism or had someone been looking for something? Definitely not ordinary theft. The perpetrator of this violence either wanted something specific, something small since cushions had been sliced, or wanted to leave an impression on the owner of the possessions.

Was Claudia Goodwin, also known as Louise Clark, that owner?

How long ago had the apartment been ransacked? He stepped inside and used his elbow to flip a switch, noting that the electricity hadn't yet been turned off. He moved to the refrigerator. Using a paper towel, he opened the door and checked for expiration dates. Skim milk was only a day gone.

Whoever abandoned this place had only been gone a week to ten days. Rent wouldn't be due until next week, the first of the month. Management likely didn't yet know about the condition of this apartment.

His gaze fell to a magazine on the floor with a smiling woman wearing nursing scrubs on the cover. He squatted and read the label. Claudia Goodwin, this address.

Jack moved into the bedroom and found slashed nursing uniforms on the floor.

In the bathroom, he found toothbrush, toothpaste and over-the-counter meds. Something had been written in lipstick on the mirror but smeared so it couldn't be read. His gaze swept the small tiled room and zeroed in on traces of blood inside the toilet bowl.

Not a good sign. Had Louise killed someone, deserted her home and run to hide on Collins Island?

He used the paper towel to swipe the blood. He might need to get DNA from the sample.

Thoughts churning, Jack departed, using another paper towel to close the door behind him.

When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he heard a frail voice call out, “Young man.”

Jack turned toward the sound and found an elderly woman standing at the doorway of an apartment leaning on a walker. Her thin hair, weathered face and shrunken body told him she was pushing ninety.

“Yes, ma'am?” he asked.

“You went inside Claudia's apartment, didn't you?” she asked with a suspicious tone.

“Yes, ma'am,” Jack replied. “I'm looking for her.”

“Are you a friend of hers?”

“Yes, ma'am.” He stepped forward, hoping for some intel. “I'm Jack, and worried about Claudia. What's your name, ma'am?”

“Maude Spalding.”

“Do you know where Claudia is, Ms. Spalding?”

“No.” The old woman struggled to take a breath. “I haven't seen her for over a week, and she always used to check on me.”

“Claudia is a nurse,” Jack stated, hoping for confirmation.

“And a damn good one.” Maude narrowed her eyes. “Had someone messed up her rooms?”

“Why do you ask?”

Maude sucked in a deep breath. “Wait. I need my oxygen.”

Jack followed Maude into her apartment and came to a shocked halt. He didn't think anything could surprise him anymore, but the explosion of Christmas decorations that assaulted his vision made him blink. A staggering number of twinkling lights, Santa Claus figures and snowmen overflowed every surface of the room. Maude collapsed in a recliner and inserted an oxygen tube in her nostrils. After inhaling deeply several times she said, “That's better.”

“I guess you like the holidays,” Jack said, still dazed.

“Tell me about Claudia's place,” Maude demanded, definitely more feisty now that she could breathe. “Was her cat locked up inside? I've been worried about Moochie since she disappeared.”

“No cat,” Jack said. “And the door wasn't locked.”

Maude's eyes widened. “Not locked?”

“No. And she didn't take her belongings.”

“I didn't think so. Didn't hear her move out.”

“Why did you ask if her rooms were messed up?”

“I heard someone up there.” Looking upward, Maude dropped her voice, as if worried that someone would overhear. “Sounded like they trashed the place. I warned her that night before she went upstairs. Then I never saw her again.”

“Why didn't you call the police?”

Maude drew herself up. “Not my business to call down the police on a sweet thing like Claudia.”

Jack interpreted that to mean Maude knew Claudia had something to hide from the authorities. “Anything else you can tell me?”

“Just I figure whoever is after her is still watching her apartment, looking to see if she comes back so's they can snatch her.”

“What makes you say that?”

Maude shifted her gaze toward her window, which had a good view of the stairs and the courtyard beyond. But the old lady wore glasses an inch thick. “Seen some strange folks around lately.”

“Strange folks?” Jack prompted. “Can you explain?”

“Mean talking men. I'm home all day. Got nothing else to do but watch folks come and go, and I don't like the looks of some of these 'uns.”

“Have you seen them today?”

“No. And I didn't see 'em the night Claudia left, but I'm thinking it was them that drove her off.”

“Thank you, Ms. Spalding. I appreciate your help.”

“You look like a right capable young man,” Maude said, meeting Jack's gaze imploringly. “Nothing like those other fellows. Please find Ms. Claudia and help her. She always helped me.”

Jack drove back to the ferry with more questions than answers rippling through his thoughts. He needed a conversation with Claudia Goodwin.

If that was her real name.

CHAPTER FIVE

I
N
AN
EFFORT
to preserve body heat, Claudia wrapped her arms around her knees and made herself as small as possible.

She was living in a gazillion-dollar villa and the heat didn't work. How ridiculous was that?

She'd dressed in two layers of clothing, including the black hoodie, and still couldn't get warm. It didn't help that she had to constantly pee because of all the hot green tea she sipped. Although wrapping her palms around the warmth of the cup definitely felt good. If only her knuckles weren't numb.

She tucked her hands under her armpits. She'd lived in Miami her whole life and never owned a pair of gloves. Even if she did, why would anyone bring mittens for exile on a tropical island? How could she possibly know that last night's temperature would set a record in south Florida?

While the sun remained high overhead, sitting outside helped, especially huddled beneath a blanket. But as the afternoon wore on, the sun disappeared and the wind kicked up again, so she'd been forced back inside.

She'd tried to reach Mr. Santaluce, but he hadn't returned her messages. And who knew what the time was in Hong Kong. Her brain was too frozen to compute the time difference.

Huddled on the couch, she knew what she had to do. She'd resisted the idea all day, but she had no choice but to call island maintenance to come fix the heater. That meant another person would have eyes on her, remember what she looked like and possibly report her presence to Carlos's hit men.

But the Weather Channel had forecast tonight to be even colder. She believed them. The second night of a cold snap was always worse.

Claudia glared at the television. Where was global warming when you needed it?

A buzz from the security system startled her and sent her heart racing. She grabbed the Glock, but her fingers were so cold she wondered if she could pull the trigger. With the blanket draped around her shoulders, she hurried to the monitor and saw Jackson Richards standing at the front gate peering into the estate's grounds.

She activated the intercom. “Yes?”

“I need to speak with you, Ms. Clark,” he said.

“Do you know how to turn on the heat?”

He squinted into the camera. “What?”

“Come on in,” she said and released the gate to admit him.

She opened the front door so she could watch him approach. Wearing a blue blazer and tan slacks, Jackson moved easily, powerfully, but somehow gracefully, a man in complete control of his body. This guy was gorgeous. What she needed to do was climb inside that jacket and absorb the heat from his well-defined muscles.

He ignored the pool area as he strode forward, his gaze intent on her. He definitely looked like he had something to say, and she wondered what about. Maybe she needed to sign a statement about yesterday's false alarm.

She hoped he knew how to fix the heat.

“Good evening, Ms. Clark,” he said with a polite nod.

Claudia motioned him inside and shut the door against the biting wind. With teeth threatening to chatter, she took a deep, chilly inhalation. When she exhaled, her breath mushroomed in the air before her.

Jack noticed, because his eyes widened.

“Why is it so cold in here?” he demanded.

Feeling like an idiot, Claudia wrapped the blanket more snugly around her shoulders. “I can't get the heat to come on.”

He frowned. “Why didn't you contact maintenance? They're on call 24/7.”

She stared at Richards, and he stared right back. What could she tell him that wouldn't sound foolish? She was too miserable to think of a logical reason for allowing herself to freeze to death. She'd thought she could tough through it. Cold weather never lasted long in Miami.

“I'm so cold,” she said, which of course didn't answer his question. Oh, God. Confusion was one of the first signs of hypothermia.

“Hold on,” he said. “I think I know what's wrong.”

She opened her eyes. “Really?”

“Give me a minute.”

He went back outside and returned five long minutes later. She followed him to the thermostat.

“The system needs to be reset manually when you switch from AC to heat,” he said. “It's a safety precaution for residents that are only here seasonally.”

“I hadn't even turned on the AC,” she said. “The weather has been so good I didn't need to.”

He pressed a button. “That explains it.”

“Mr. Santaluce forgot to tell me about that,” she said.

“He probably doesn't know,” Jack said as he adjusted the temperature. “Maintenance normally prepares the homes for winter residents when they visit. It's part of the service.”

“Nothing is happening,” she complained, glaring at the thermostat.

“Give it a minute.” He turned from the control and met her gaze. “You look miserable,” he said.

“That's because I am.”

Jack stepped close and wrapped his arms around her.

She stiffened in surprise, wanting to push him away, but he was warm. And smelled delicious.

“Body heat is the quickest thing,” he said, adjusting the blanket so it draped over both of them.

Of course she knew that. She was a nurse.

“Better?” he asked after a few moments.

“Yes,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

She heard a whooshing sound overhead and realized the heat had just clicked on.
Oh, thank God.

She closed her eyes, allowing Jack's delicious heat to warm her. She'd like to remain wrapped in his arms until she was old enough to have her first hot flash, but this was dangerous.
Just another moment or two until I thaw out.

“Are your fingers numb?” he asked.

“I don't know. I can't feel them.”

He laughed, his chest rumbling beneath her cheek. “Let's sit down.”

He led her to the sofa where they sat with their thighs touching and the blanket tented around their shoulders. He gently chafed her frozen hands between his large warm ones.

As his body heat seeped into hers, Claudia became aware of the man next to her, of his planes and edges, muscles and bones. Because of the cold, she'd been holding herself stiff for hours. No, for days. She'd been constantly on guard since the night she'd fled her apartment and the tension had exhausted her. Right now it felt good to just let go, to dissolve into a puddle of warmth.

She knew better than to trust this man, a stranger, really. She'd worry about the danger again when her body temperature returned to normal.

Jackson quit rubbing her hands, intertwined his fingers with hers and met her gaze, their faces inches apart. She remembered those intense green eyes, but she didn't remember them being so kind. She hadn't noticed that small white scar over his left eye, either. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, so temptingly close.

“Socks work,” he said.

“Socks?”

“For keeping your hands warm when you don't have gloves.”

“Good idea,” she murmured, noticing the strong lines of his jaw, the beginnings of a beard on his chin. Afternoon shadow. How would that stubble feel rubbing against her skin? She shivered.

“Are you still chilled?” Jack held her gaze.

“No. Thanks.” She looked away. “So you've had experience with cold weather?”

“Some. I'm guessing you haven't.”

“Not really.”

“From this area?”

She nodded. “Born and raised.”

“So who are you hiding from, Claudia?”

She stiffened.
Hiding? He knows I'm—

She leaped to her feet. He'd called her Claudia. Jackson Richards knew her name.

She backed away from him. Where was her gun?

“Calm down.” He didn't move. His gaze remained glued on her face.

He was watching her like a hawk eyeing a tasty piece of prey. Did he work for Carlos? No, that was impossible. Or was it?

“Take a breath,” Jack said in an even tone.

She sucked air deep into her lungs. “How do you know my name?” she demanded.

“It wasn't that hard to find out.”

“My ID was good,” she insisted. “Why did you doubt it?”

“It wasn't the ID.”

“Then what?”

“A combination of a lot of clues. Not recognizing your own name, for one. I'm a trained investigator. It's what I do.”

“But why would you investigate me?”

“It's my job.” His smile told her there was more motivation than his employment. What else? What was it?

She nodded, chilled again, and hugged herself for warmth. What now? Where could she go? There was no one she could trust.

“What are you going to do?” she whispered. Her heart beat so fast and so hard its frantic pumping had to be visible through all her layers of clothing.

“That depends on this conversation,” he said.

“I don't have any money.”

“That much is obvious.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Obvious?”

“Your car?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh.” The demon car strikes again.

“I need you to tell me what happened inside your apartment at the Brasilia.”

The impact of that statement, the extent of his knowledge of her, sucked away the last of her strength. She collapsed into a plush chair beside the sofa. “You went to my apartment?”

He nodded. “This morning.”

“Oh, my God. Why?”

“To learn more about you.”

She closed her eyes. This couldn't be happening. All of her plans had been so carefully laid out. Why did she ever think she could outsmart Carlos?

“Because it's your job,” she said. “Yeah, right.”

“Right. Tell me about the blood in the toilet.”

* * *

J
ACK
WATCHED
EMOTION
play out across Louise's face—no, Claudia's face—looking for any tells of deception, any signs of a practiced liar. Con artists perfected the skill of twisting the truth and making it sound real.

His mention of blood caused her eyes to well up with tears. Her mouth trembled as she fought against crying. Could be a ploy to win his sympathy, but this reaction appeared honest.

“Moochie,” she said, her voice breaking. “Poor sweet little Moochie.”

“Moochie?”

“My cat,” she said on a sob. “The bastards killed my cat.”

Jack knew he was getting somewhere. He just had to be patient. Fortunately, he had nothing else to do tonight but unravel the mysteries of Claudia Goodwin. Holding her close had felt good, too good. She'd clung to him, soft and sweet, like honey melting into his flesh. He'd like nothing better than to hold her in his arms for a few more hours and generate some truly meaningful body heat.

But what bastards? And what did a cat have to do with anything?

“Why would anyone kill your cat?” he asked.

“To shut me up.”

Shut her up? What the—

At his waist, Jack's phone sounded the alert for an emergency text. He checked the message.
Stowaway on the six o'clock. You're needed on the dock NOW.

He stood. “I've got to go.”

“What? You're leaving?”

“I'm needed at the ferry landing. But we're not done here.”

“Wait. Please. Does anyone else know who I am?”

Already moving toward the door, wondering how anyone had snuck aboard a ferry, Jack turned back. Claudia was on her feet. “Just my colleagues.”

She looked like she'd be sick. “The Collins Island guards?”

“No, associates at the company I work for.”

“Oh, God. It's too late then.”

“What's too late?”

“Please,” she said, her voice ragged. “Please don't tell anyone else my real name.”

Jack stared at her pale face, her expression desperate, pleading. Claudia was hiding from some serious shit. But what? He wanted to remain right here and find out what was going on, but couldn't. Protecting this island
was
his job, and right now a stowaway was the larger threat.

“Don't go anywhere,” he instructed. “I'll be back as soon as I'm done at the dock.”

“Don't worry.” She looked down at her hands. “I don't have anywhere to go.”

Jack dismissed Claudia Goodwin from his thoughts, believing she'd wait for him at Villa Alma. She couldn't get off the island without him knowing. Yeah, she was a huge question mark, but he'd learned to compartmentalize. He wouldn't prejudge the ferry attendants, either, until he received a report on the stowaway.

As he approached the landing, he noted the six-thirty ferry chugging its way to Miami, a puff of smoke visible in the cool air. Good. Normal operations hadn't been disrupted.

He exited his cart and hurried inside the security shack where Ike Gamble and Rafael Garcia loomed over a shaggy-haired dude of maybe thirty sitting behind the guards' desk. Weathered skin around his eyes and forehead told Jack this man had lived outside most of his life. His cheeks and chin were pale, though, indicating he'd recently shaved a longtime beard. The stowaway wore faded jeans and a plaid shirt, and looked seriously irritated. He continuously shifted his gaze to a dark backpack resting on a file cabinet out of his reach. Another backpack. Well, well.

“If you attempt to leave again, I'll tase you,” Rafael said in a hard voice.

The man cursed, narrowing his eyes at Rafael.

“What's going on?” Jack asked, wondering about the pack. Had Ike been through it? There was obviously something important to this guy inside.

“This is Jackson Richards, our security director,” Ike said in a relieved tone.

“I don't fricking care who you are,” the man said, meeting Jack's gaze. “You got no right to hold me.”

Jack returned the stowaway's hostile stare. So that's the way it was going to be.

“He attempted to board the five o'clock, but didn't have clearance,” Ike said. “Somehow he slipped on the six o'clock with walk-ons. I don't know what happened, except there were quite a few extras, domestics and servers hired by caterers to work tonight's parties.”