My Biker Bodyguard (11 page)

"I don't miss my father. You have a chance with Beth
now, so don't take it so hard. Okay?"
She smiled ruefully. He had a point. She breathed deeply,
for what felt like the first time since the diner. "Okay."
"Good. I'm glad we had this talk."
"Me too." She really was. Except for one small thing. As
much as she saw the logic in their not giving into this
thing
between them, she didn't know if it was possible, but if he
would insist, she had a demand of her own. "Mitch, I didn't
come all the way to L.A. to just sit around and watch everyone
take care of me. I don't work that way and unless you want me
goin' stir crazy, I need to be involved in my own protection. I
want a gun."
"Jess, I don't think that's a good idea." He crossed his
ankles and arms, as if it didn't merit more discussion. "Too
many guns in the fire, and someone's gonna get hurt."
She bit back the need to shout. "Or, someone's gonna get
their butt saved."
He started to interrupt but she held up a hand. "Listen, I'm
not some kid off the street, okay? I've been around guns since
my dad's parole ended. I know how to handle myself. This
isn't some dumb request from a Beverly Hills shopaholic with
too many action flicks under her belt. I know what I'm doing.
And I've already proven that to you."
He stared at her, hard. She waited for him to finish his
scrutiny, and inwardly breathed a sigh of relief when he slowly
nodded. "All right, but I don't want you carrying it on you
unless I give the okay. Keep it in your room, in a drawer
somewhere."
Mitch unfolded himself and pulled the gun from his
holster. He looked it over, flipped on what she imagined to be
the safety, and handed it to her butt first. "This is a Glock. Are
you familiar with them?"
She shook her head, her gut tight from the feel of it's
weight in her hand. It somehow made everything more real,
more threatening. For the first time, she fully understood
Mitch's reluctance to begin any romantic entanglements with
her were not based on her background at all. "It won't take me
long to get used to it. It feels a lot like the Sauer J.D. used to
own."
"I'll arrange some target practice for us." Mitch sounded
so damned despondent, as if he couldn't stand the thought of
her having the gun.
Or maybe he's afraid I don't need him. If that's true, he is
so very wrong
.
A strange, pregnant silence spread over them like a dismal
cocoon. His stare had changed, become full of that presence,
that studious inspection that went beyond watching for her
reactions. Gun in hand, heart heavy, mind in chaos, she
dropped her gaze first.
The day was over. She didn't even have the energy to call
her father, though she knew she would. She'd never leave him
wondering and afraid. But what then? The butt of the gun
grew warm in her hand, felt like an extension of her arm. She'd
be expected to sleep in a strange room with only a gun to keep
her company. She'd be alone. Again.

"Jesus, Larson, what the hell happened to you?" Mitch
asked, eyeing the dripping wet detective standing in the foyer.
"Can't sthhand to see a wooking gwwrunt show up in one
piece, can you?" Larson spoke around the file between his
teeth as he shook out of his coat, leaving a puddle of water on
the floor. Once he freed a hand, he pulled the file from his
mouth and scowled. "Last time it was the dogs, this time it's
the sprinkler system."
Mitch chuckled. "It ain't supposed to be easy to get up
here. Why didn't you call?"
Larson scraped his wet hair back from his face and
grinned. "Gotta keep you on your toes, now don't I?"
"Go easy on the salt, I'm wounded enough." Mitch took
the wet coat and hooked it on the back of the closet door. He
shut it before turning around.
"You're gettin' sensitive in your old age, Mitch," Larson
said as he came more fully into the house. He eyed everything,
worrying the file in his hands. "That was supposed to be a
joke."
Mitch slapped him on the back, and straight-faced, said,
"Good one."
"Okay, it was a dumb joke, give a guy break, will ya?" He
glanced up the stairs. "She up there?"
"Who?" Mitch asked, knowing very well who he meant,
and knowing the incredibly talented detective knew he knew as
well.
"The girl, the kid, what's-her-name, Jimi Hendrix
something."
Mitch cracked a smile at Larson's feigned forgetfulness.
"Jess Owen."
"Yeah, her." Larson waved. "She up there or not?"
"She's up there." He steered Larson away from the steps,
gesturing him toward the dining room they'd used the night
before. "Have a cup of coffee and fill me in."
Larson followed. Mitch poured himself a cup from the
silver serving set at the sideboard, but the detective declined
and sat across from him. Larson leaned back in his chair with a
sigh. "It's been hell the last few days."
"Been there. Ever seen the inside of a Milwaukee cop
shop?" Mitch paused, sipped his coffee, letting that fact sink
in. "Which reminds me. Who did you alert at the MPD?
Some third rate desk jockey? They didn't have a clue who I
was."
Larson nodded. "I know, I heard about the stink over
there. Sorry about that. But since the FBI got involved, it's
been hell."
"You meet Mordstrom and Davis yet?"
"Yep, they've already crawled up my ass this morning. I
wish they'd leave and let me do my job."
"Any word on where Grady is?"
"They traced him to this little place on the French Riviera.
I wouldn't be surprised if this case ends up profiled on one of
them cable shows. 'Rich People Gone Bad' or something like
that. But at least they're closing in on him."
"Great. We should be able to wrap it up in a few days, at
the latest." Mitch wanted this job done, but he also wished it
would never end. She would go home then, half a continent
away.
"It might be more than a few days. I wouldn't hold your
breath." Larson pushed the file across the table and rubbed his
eyes. "Take a look. I'm so tired of it."
The file contained the FBI's psychological profile on
Grady. Mitch scanned through.
Jesus, they've even gotten his
elementary school records.
He flipped more pages until he got
to the ending summation. Grady was not considered a threat to
the Kramers or the Owens, but instead, was believed to be
incapable of having masterminded the dual-state hits.
"If they don't think it's Grady, why the hell are they still
after him?" Mitch closed the file and slid it across the table.
Larson slapped it to a stop. "They're only going to
question him, eliminate him officially from our suspects list."
"I thought he was the only suspect?"
"He was," Larson said with a smile so pained it bordered
on a grimace. "Aside from Jared…and you and Jess."
Mitch, in the midst of chugging a good gulp of coffee,
swallowed the wrong way. He coughed, wiped his mouth on
the back of his hand and reminded himself not to punch the
messenger. "You gotta be kidding me. Are they out of their
frickin' skulls? I just met her this weekend. Why would I try
to kill Beth? Or go after Jess and not kill her if I was dirty?"
"Think about it. You show up after old man Weston is
dead. Everyone you've ever worked for gives you glowing
recommendations, yet you have a phenomenal lapse in
judgment here. Then, they check the phone records, and isn't it
funny, but the number of times someone in this house called
the Owen's girl jumps from twice in the last six months to three
times a week."
"I never called there." Mitch relaxed his grip on the mug
before it shattered in his fist. Goddamn it, he didn't need this.
"Oh, it gets better. Your friends, the cops in Milwaukee?
They practically pinned this whole thing on you." Larson eyed
him warily. "How close are you to the daughter?"
Mitch groaned and glanced to the ceiling in a silent prayer
for self-control.
Jack. Shoulda decked him when I had the
chance
. He gave Larson a level glare and leaned forward.
"There is nothing going on between me and Jess."
"There isn't?" Larson asked, scrutinizing Mitch with a
stone cold stare. "You saw Grady's profile. Imagine what
yours looks like, after New York. You got some ties to some
pretty hefty underworld thugs. You got something you want to
tell me?"
"What do you think?" Mitch asked. "Jesus, Larson. Of
course there's nothing to tell."
"Nothing to tell? About what?" Jess asked from the
doorway.
Mitch scowled. Now was not the time for her to interrupt.
Hell, he needed to know what Larson believed. Hang the FBI,
they could nose-dive into a septic tank if they wanted to. He
only cared what Larson believed. Forcing himself to false
politeness, he said, "Jess, this is Detective Larson, a friend
from the LAPD. Larson, this is Jess."
Larson stood, hand out. Jess gave Mitch a quizzical
glance, then smiled at Larson. "Nice to meet you."
"Likewise," Larson said, holding onto her hand longer
than necessary. "The pleasure's all mine."
"Thanks," Jess said and pulled her hand away, her gaze
cast sidelong at Mitch. "What's going on? Did someone find
Grady?"
"No." Mitch wished he could say yes, that it was all over,
and they'd finally gotten the bastard. His mission had been to
protect this family until the LAPD and the FBI could get their
man. Now he wanted Grady caught to clear his own name. It
was one hell of a world. "Wish they had. We were just
making plans."
Larson gave her a toothy smile, obviously infatuated.
"We'll get him soon. Don't worry about that."
Mitch watched her. Today she'd dressed in a soft blue,
short-sleeved, knit shirt and black jeans. It made her look like
a college kid, younger and smarter at the same time. And
damn sexy. He turned to Larson before he followed his
thoughts to their sinful conclusion and burned himself in front
of the watchful detective.
"Larson, you're gonna scare her." He grinned, though it
felt tight on his face. "Have a seat, Jess, we don't bite."
"I didn't think you did." She answered slowly and sat.
As he returned to his seat, he noticed Larson slide the file
off the table, out of sight. Jess caught him, but in the moment
she could have asked about it, she kept silent.
"Mitch tells me you run a tattoo place and bike shop in
Milwaukee." Larson hadn't heard that from him, but Mitch
didn't correct him.
"What about it?" Jess asked, sounding defensive.
Larson shrugged. "Just curious. I thought you'd have
more…that you'd look different."
Mitch winced. He'd gotten the idea Jess didn't like to have
assumptions made about her.
"Oh, you expected a toothless biker babe with tattoo
sleeves and a nose ring?"
"Well, not to put too fine a point on it, but yeah." He
grinned. "You are hardly that, however, and I'm glad to be
wrong."
She relaxed a little and even offered a smile. "Is there
anything else Mitch said that I should know about?"
"Nothing you don't already know. Mostly we were talkin'
about his life back in New York," Larson lied in an obvious
attempt to read her reaction. Her confused look was genuine.
She didn't know Mitch's history.
Mitch sent Larson a warning glare. Worse than fishing for
intimate details, if he told Jess the FBI suspected them of
scheming to get the inheritance, she'd flip.
Then Mitch realized if he didn't tell her, and she found out
later, she'd flip because he hadn't told her. He hated everything
about rocks and hard places.
Jess said to Larson, "Tell me what's going on with the
investigation."
"We've got an idea where Grady might turn up, just not
where he is at the moment," Larson answered.
"But that's great. How long do you think it'll before they
make an arrest?" Jess asked.
Mitch's belly tightened at her glowing smile, and he
scooted his chair further beneath the table. God, this was a
mess. He couldn't be in the same room with Jess before he was
ready to club her over the head and drag her back to his cave.
First chance he got, he'd grab a cold shower and teach his body
to behave. He would become such an expert that the mere
sight of an ice cube would cool him down. A Pavlovian
experiment in body control.
"Mitch?" Larson asked.
He hadn't been listening. "What?"
Larson gave him a knowing grin beneath suspicious eyes.
"I asked if you wanted to take Jess to visit her mother."
"Of course." Mitch nodded. What did Larson expect him
to say? He wanted Beth to wake up, to give him her version of
what happened. Part of him wondered if Jess's presence might
somehow be felt and Beth would come out of the coma at the
sound of her daughter's voice.
"I'm sure Mordstrom and Davis will let you go." Larson's
features didn't shift. "They'll probably want to see what you'll
do if given the chance."
Mitch gritted his teeth and waited.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Jess frowned first at the
detective, then turned it on Mitch.
"Nothing." He glared at Larson. The detective had spilled
too much and knowing him, he'd done it on purpose. As much
as they liked each other, their friendship only went as far as
Mitch's past would let it. There would always be that limit.
No, Larson wasn't only engaging in a friendly little chat, he
was watching, waiting for a tell-tale sign the FBI was on the
right track. It pissed Mitch off.
"I think we're done here." Mitch stood and pulled a
surprised Jess up by her elbow. "We'll be in touch, Larson.
You know your way to the door."
Larson passed him a look that said he knew Mitch was on
to him. He didn't smile, didn't start in on the long goodbyes
where they yakked about when they'd next talk, he just nodded
and stood. "I'll show myself out, then."
"You do that." If Jess hadn't been there, Mitch would
have called him out for giving this stupid, trumped-up theory
an ounce of weight.
Where the hell was his loyalty?
Larson stopped at the door, glanced back, mouth open as
if he wanted to say something. His gaze fell on Jess and he
closed his yap, shaking his head. "I'll be in touch, Mitch."
"I bet you will."
Larson left, closing the door behind him.
Jess shrugged free of the grip on her arm. "What was that
all about?"
"Nothing."
"If it was nothing, then why do you look ready to run after
that guy and deck him?"
"Because that's exactly how I feel."
"Then go do it."
He blinked and looked at her. Had she lost her mind? Of
course he wouldn't go do that, Larson was his friend, despite
his recent disloyalty, and an LAPD Detective to boot. Friend
or no friend, he couldn't go around beating up cops. "You
know what happens to you if you assault an officer?"
She shook her head. "No, what?"
"You get dumped in maximum security, is what."
"So?"
"So, I'm not gonna beat him up, for cryin' out loud."
Her dimple deepened. "Yeah, and you ain't so hot under
the collar anymore, are you?"
He blinked again. Now he knew how she kept those
bikers in control. She was better than her mother at this.
Though he didn't like being manipulated, he wasn't pissed off
anymore.
She winked, her grin revealed. "Gotcha."
"Okay, I had that coming."
"Yep. We're even now." Jess turned her back to the table,
pressed her palms against the gleaming oak surface and lifted
herself up. She sat, legs swinging. "Now, tell me what you're
trying to keep from me and then I want to hear about New
York."