My Biker Bodyguard (9 page)

Jess glanced over her shoulder, saw Mitch had heard and
had thrust out his chin. She wanted to laugh, but wouldn't
insult either man. To Tiny, she said, "I'll be careful."
Biker Bob, Sticky Joe, Louie, Mack and Chet all offered
her their good wishes. The motley crew couldn't have
surprised or touched her more. Their show of support made
her wonder if she really was doing the right thing. California
didn't seem like the other side of the United States, it seemed
like another galaxy.
The kind of people that had one hundred and fifty million
dollars were far from the sort she'd known all her life. Most of
these guys didn't have a hundred and fifty bucks in their bank
account. Well, to be fair, most didn't have bank accounts.
Theirs was a cash-ready lifestyle.
"Thank you," Jess said again. She hugged Chet, the last
and the oldest of the bunch, and definitely the most tattooed.
Only his face had been spared the gun, and only because he
was completely vain.
When he released her, she came face to face with her
father. As if a telepathic order had been received, the others
turned away and talked amongst themselves, giving father and
daughter a moment alone, albeit in a sea of biker brawn. Jess
didn't think she'd ever felt more safe.
Am I doing the right
thing?
Her dad's voice quaked. "Keep your head down and your
eyes open, girl. Do whatever you need to get through this.
And come home fast."
She nodded, unable to trust her own voice. He grabbed
her again in a final hug. His noogie was half-hearted and
turned into a gentle pat as their hug went on. She inhaled,
trying to imprint his scent on her lungs for future need.
Finally, the announcement that boarding could begin, eased
them apart.
"I love you, darlin'."
His wet cheeks undid her. She hitched a breath and her
vision blurred. She hated crying, though she'd cornered the
market on it the last few days. "I love you too, Daddy."
He kissed her cheek and without wiping his face, he
looked at Mitch down the length of his nose. "Anything
happens to her…." He left the threat unfinished.
"Nothing will. I give you my word." Mitch said
solemnly. The weight of his vow hung in the air for a
heartbeat, then he urged Jess forward.
Among the chorus of gruff farewells, Jess followed Mitch
into the gate, Mordstrom and Davis converging behind her.
When she turned back for a last glimpse of her father, her line
of sight was blocked by the agents.
It was official. She was on her own. Away from home
for the first time since she'd left foster care. Away from her
father for the first time since he'd been released from prison.
Away from everything she knew, loved, and held dear. She
was going to see a mother she didn't know, someone so cold
and distant to her, Jess couldn't tell imagined memory from real
memory.
In California she'd be alone. Her family would be
strangers, the house wouldn't be hers, the lifestyle utterly
foreign. With her mother in a coma, it would be far from the
joyous reunion she'd imagined in her secret heart. She wasn't a
fish out of water, but an alien on the wrong planet. She had no
one.
Mitch placed a hand on the small of her back, guiding her
past the ticket takers and onto the plane. Down the aisle, his
hand, warm and safe and secure, behind her was a comfort. In
all the craziness of the weekend, in the turmoil of the morning,
she would never have expected to let herself want him. As
they settled into their seats, she realized something unexpected.
She wasn't alone, she had Mitch.

Mitch couldn't tell which of Jess's expressions had
surprised him most. The thrilled look that replaced her
heartbreak as the plane took off, her shock when she'd seen the
waiting limousine, or her abject terror when they stopped in
front of the estate. Any one of them reminded him of how out
of her element she was. She looked how he'd felt the day he'd
arrived from New York.

"Aren't you goin' to ring the bell? Or something?" Jess,
chewing the stick of gum he'd given her, tilted her head back to
see past the front steps to the massive oak doors.

"Or something." He guided her up the steps and touched a
middle brick on the right. A security panel opened and he
typed in his code, pressed his thumb into the reading pad, and
spoke his name. "Mitch Conner."

The screen flashed: RECOGNIZED
An audible click came from the door and it slid sideways,
disappearing inside the wall. Mitch touched Jess's elbow and
gestured her through.
She spoke in a tone reserved for chapels and churches.
"My mother lives here? Who'd she marry? The King of
Timbuktu?"
"Do they even have a king?" Mitch grinned at her and
shrugged. "It's Beth's money, remember, she didn't marry into
it."
"That's right." Jess sighed, her gum-chewing momentarily
suspended. "It's just still so hard to believe."
Mordstrom and Davis, shadowing them like a pair of mute
spooks, followed them inside. They'd kept a respectful
distance throughout the entire trip. Mordstrom had sat up front
in the limo and although Davis rode in the back, he'd kept his
nose buried in a file.
Mitch thought it was strange. They hadn't been this quiet
since the moment he'd met them. Maybe it was sour grapes
over not having their way. Or perhaps, now that their duty was
official, they'd turned into unflappable soldiers of the great
U.S. of A., like those guards in England that wouldn't even
blink if you dropped trou and mooned them.
Pullman, head of security, appeared from the back of the
wide central staircase. With twelve guards under his
command, he ran a good crew, but Beth's shooting had shaken
him. Mitch had talked him out of resigning, barely. Now, eyes
sunken from little sleep, his hair not as well kept as Mitch
remembered, Pullman smiled in a genuine glad-to-see-you
greeting.
"Hey Mitch," he said. "Is this the daughter?"
Speaking as if she wasn't there had nothing to do with
Pullman's manners. He was on the clock and needed to know
her identity–the slight wasn't meant to be rude. Still, Mitch
didn't like the way Jess stiffened and snapped her gum. Yet it
was much better than the pig earrings. He smiled at the
memory. She had said,
"Now I know why pigs don't fly–they
don't do jack up here."
He had been glad to see the pair disappear into the paper
sack. He didn't want her cute, he wanted her hot and willing.
Startled by where his thoughts had gone, he rushed to introduce
her and break the uncomfortable silence.
"This is Jess Owen, Jess, this is the head of security, Max
Pullman." He turned to her. "We'll take you on a tour together
in a little while, show you where the saferoom is, and get you
familiar with the security system."
Mordstrom, who'd been standing silently behind them,
cleared his throat. "Mr. Pullman, we'd like to debrief you on
what's happened here since we left. We'll want to know who's
come and gone, who's called in and out, and any other activity
you've monitored."
Pullman frowned. "I'm on top of things. Your pals have
gone through it all. Everything's up to snuff."
Davis nodded. "Yes, but we need to know, for our own
information."
"Gotcha," Pullman said, obviously relieved his
competence wasn't being attacked. "Leave no stone unturned,
that sort of thing." He looked at Mitch. "See you later, and
welcome back."
Mitch inclined his head and remained silent as Pullman
gestured the agents forward. "We'll start with maintenance and
delivery surveillance. No one gets inside without a thorough
check. The president himself would rest easy here."
Jess snapped her gum furiously, palms splayed across of
the back of her hips as the men disappeared toward the security
station in the back of the house. The limo driver deposited
their suitcases in the foyer and she turned. "Thanks."
The driver tipped his hat. "You're very welcome."
He left. Jess raised a brow at Mitch. "Now what?"
"Now we find Jared. He's got to know we're here. Every
room's got a security panel that sounds when the front door is
opened and if you look on the monitor, you can see who's
coming. I'll show you how to work it later."
"Was all this here when my mother was shot?" Jess
checked out the walls and floor, as if she could see the wires
webbing the house in their security net.
"No." Mitch scowled, wishing with all his might that it
had been installed. "The security panels were here, but out of
date."
"Now they're all up to date?" Jess followed him through
the wide foyer into the receiving parlor.
"Yep, Sugar-pie. You're snug as a bug in a rug."
She pulled the gum from between her teeth and daintily
dumped it in the gold wastebasket set beneath the mail table.
"Don't call me sugar-pie."
"Are you going to keep saying that?"
"You keep calling me baby names, and I will." She didn't
smile. Her nervous gaze swept the room. "How big is this
place?"
He saw the house as she must see it. The parlor was a
pastel version of a Victorian palace. High backed chairs
flanked an ornate fireplace. Gold and bronze Persian rugs
covered the floor, the wood gleamed and all the paintings in
their gilt frames glowed. A far cry from Tattoo's and Tails and
the drunk tank.
Mitch said, "There's fourteen rooms on this floor, ten on
the second, and if you count the attic, six others on the third.
Plus about a half-dozen or so outbuildings. Not that large, but
roomy enough."
She rubbed her arms worriedly. "God, this place is huge."
"Hey," he said, cupping her shoulder. "It's gonna be all
right. Remember, this is all part of your inheritance. You
break something, you've already paid for it."
When she did smile, it was tight and didn't touch her eyes.
"I told you, I don't want the inheritance."
Mitch dropped his hand with regret and discomfort. He
had to stop torturing himself. "I know, but that was before."
"Before?"
"When you thought you'd already inherited."
"You mean when I thought my mother was dead." She
said flatly.
He nodded, then shrugged. "Fact is, we'll probably get the
guy before you get the inheritance."
"You mean before my mother dies." Her tone was
downright cold now.
"Look," Mitch sighed. "I'm tryin' to point out that it could
be years, maybe decades before it's yours, and by then, there
won't be any danger in accepting it."
Her eyes remained icy. "It still feels like blood money
and I don't want any part of it."
Mitch stared. He hadn't really understood the depth of her
conviction before. Could he have refused the fortune? He
didn't think so. But then again, he didn't have any family to
worry about. His mother died years ago and he'd never known
his father.
He thought of Dirty Dan and Jess. To love and be loved
like that, had to be something wonderful. Maybe he wasn't as
lucky to be free of family obligations as he'd thought. Yet Jess
didn't seem to want any obligation to her mother, or her
mother's money.
"What?" Jess asked, one eyebrow quirked. "You expected
to find a gold-digging diva in a tattoo parlor?"
He chuckled and shook his head. "I was just thinkin' how
unexpected you are."
"Don't call me unexpected." But the dimple revealed her
pleasure in the compliment.
"Why? It's not a baby name."
"No, but flattery-to-get-you-somewhere won't work
either." Her mouth twitched with amusement.
"Too bad." He stepped closer, ignoring the cacophony of
caution in his head. If this was a test, then maybe, just maybe,
this test had nothing to do with restraining himself, but learning
how to let go. "There's more where that came from."
Jess stood absolutely still, breathing gently between parted
lips. She swayed forward and he lifted a hand to pull her close.
"Mitch, you're back." Jared said from the door.
Mitch turned around, startled.
Jesus, he snuck up on me.
What if he'd been a hired gun?
He stepped away from Jess.
He'd just failed the test. He had to be more careful. Even with
the extra security, he couldn't let his guard down. "Hello,
Jared."
"You must be Jessica. I've heard so much about you."
Jared came forward in a nimbus of whiskey. Arms out, palms
down, he grasped both of Jess's hands. "It's good to finally
meet you."
Jess smiled. "Are you…Mr. Kramer?"
"Call me Jared." He released her hands.
She grinned. "And I'm just Jess."
"Welcome, Jess." Jared glanced at Mitch, the question in
his eyes. "I see you two are already fast friends."
Mitch kept his expression bland. Jess shifted from one
foot to the other. When he glanced down, her cheeks were
pink. He scrubbed the short hairs on the back of his head. "It's
been a long few days."
"Oh, yes, where are my manners. You two must be
exhausted" Jared waved a hand in a polite plea for forgiveness.
"Mitch, I've had the blue room turned down for Jess. I'll make
sure the chef knows we've got two extra for dinner tonight. I
visited Beth and talked to your detective friend today. I've
been so busy, I forgot to let everyone know you were coming."
Jared backed toward the door. "Go ahead, don't be shy. If
you need anything, Jess, just ask Mitch. He knows his way
around here. I look forward to dining with you. It was a
pleasure to meet you."
Jess gave a tiny wave, looking a little confused. "It's nice
to meet you, too."
Jared left. They were alone, again. And he was about to
show her to her bedroom. It struck Mitch that the roles were
reversed now. It was he who'd take her through the house,
knowing every step of the way they'd end up in a room with a
bed. An empty room with a bed. No one to keep him in check,
to keep him sane. He hoped he survived.
* * *
Jess's heart hadn't stopped hammering since he'd first
touched her. She'd barely found her voice to speak to Jared.
The moment had passed in a blur. She'd been rude not to give
him her whole attention, but she'd been reliving the kiss she
and Mitch had shared at the hotel.
She followed Mitch up the staircase. Alone with him
again, she hoped he wanted to continue what he'd begun that
morning. She hoped he wanted her, and that hope frightened
her. Did the idea of being alone with the big man actually
scare her, or had she been too long without a boyfriend? In
either case, she saw no reason why two healthy consenting
adults couldn't pursue something they both wanted. If he
wanted her.
All through the plane ride, all through the limo ride, even
as the agents had spoken with the security guy, in the back of
her mind, she'd been daydreaming about Mitch. His arms, his
mouth, his….
They reached the landing and she forced her eyes off his
backside as he started up the second set of stairs. Dangerous
territory, considering her mind had taken up permanent
residence in the gutter.
Normally her imagination didn't carry her away like that.
It had to be some self-preservation code in her DNA kicking
into overdrive. A way to keep her from losing her mind, and
protect her from all the craziness. This didn't feel that simple
though.
Mitch had become a drug, something she hungered after
like an addiction. Whenever she got near him, whenever
something unnerved her, even if it was him, she wanted to
disappear into the dream world he'd given her. Relief from her
worries, in Mitch's embrace, was a heaven she didn't want to
resist, despite the accompanying burden of guilt.
Jeez, Jess! Just think of your wants and desires while
everyone you love is in danger, why don'cha?
Old paintings line the upper hall. Some of them portraits,
but none of her mother. The men and women were dressed in
costumes that dated from before her mother's time. The quality
of the art was astounding though. She'd done enough tattoo
portraits of girlfriends, wives, and mothers on the bodies of
men to appreciate the talent displayed in the heavily framed
paintings.
Mitch stopped at the end of the cream carpet and opened a
door. "Here you go."
He stepped far enough inside to set down her suitcase.
The blue curtains and blue rug gave the room it's name, but the
rich, gold walls hinted at a royal air she hadn't expected.
She stepped inside and Mitch rushed back into the hall.
Startled, not ready to be left alone, she called, "Wait."
He paused, adjusting his pack on his shoulder. "What?"
Searching for something to say, something to keep him
with her, she waited too long and ended up blurting, "Can you
check the locks and stuff on the window?"
He searched her, as if he couldn't decide if she was
serious. Then he gave a deep sigh, dropped his pack, and went
around the bed to the window. He finished his inspection and
turned back. "Looks good. The locks in place, the alarm's
intact. You won't need to open it. The house is climate
controlled."
He didn't look at her as he came around the bed and she
didn't plan or expect to grab his hand. When she did, Mitch
flinched, though not enough to make her let go. "When…when
will I know it's time for dinner?"
Mitch looked as if she'd just asked him what time they'd
go to bed. If she could have answered, she would have told
him now. Maybe that made her easy, a slut, but hell, she could
be dead by this time tomorrow. A sniper had shot her own
mother in this very house.
Don't leave me
.
She sent the thought out on a vibration of intent, hoping
he'd somehow pick it up psychically.
Please, don't go, not yet
.
"I'll get you when it's time," he murmured and for a
moment, she thought he'd lean down and kiss her.
She kept her gaze steady. If he wouldn't stay, she wanted
to go with him, not be deserted in this strange house. But she
couldn't think of a single argument that wouldn't make her
sound utterly desperate and weak. A frantic wave of fear broke
over her and it took everything she could to remain silent.
Take me way from here, even if it's only in my mind
.
He took back his hand and shoulders stiff, fled into the
hallway. "Settle in. I'm across the hall. If you leave your
room, let me know."
"I will." Confused, almost ill, and suddenly angry enough
she wanted to test his belief she could break whatever she felt
like, she watched him walk away.
What had their kiss meant to him? Did he really think it
was that big of a mistake? Downstairs, she'd been sure he
wanted to hold her, maybe kiss her too, but then Jared had
walked in. What had happened between then and now?