The Bodyguard and Ms. Jones (2 page)

* * *

Cindy thought Mike might actually make it to his feet. He was almost there, when he started to topple like a half-assembled tower from one of Jonathan's games. She lunged forward, catching him before he fell. She grabbed him around the waist. His left arm encircled her shoulder.

It didn't do any good. He outweighed her by about sixty pounds, and he was unconscious. It was like trying to hold up a large, male sack of flour. Her legs buckled, and she found herself pinned under him on the sofa.

His head rested on her chest, his right hand slipped between her thighs. His torso settled across her hips. She couldn't move. The intimacy was almost as unsettling as the heat she felt from him. He had a fever.

“Mike?” she said.

He didn't budge.

“Mike?” She shook him. Nothing. Not even a hint that he could hear her.

A strand of hair settled on her face. She blew it away and studied the situation. Her left foot barely touched the ground. If she could push off with that leg, she might be able to roll him a little and slide out from under him. Her right arm was caught between him and the sofa; her right leg bent awkwardly and was likewise captured.

She glanced at the dragon resting on the glass coffee table in front of the sofa. “You could help,” she said.

The dragon didn't answer.

Cindy pushed and wiggled and only succeeded in pulling her shirt out of her waistband and bunching her shorts up around her rear.

“I'm not making progress here,” she said, then giggled. Who exactly was she talking to?

“Jonathan?” she called as loudly as she could. “Allison? Mommy needs your help.”

She figured the odds of her children hearing her were slim, but she had to try. She wasn't sure how long they would wait before coming to investigate. If they got interested in a show on TV, it could be an hour or more.

“I can't wait that long,” Cindy said. She wiggled to get free, and instead managed to wedge Mike's hand tighter between her thighs. “If you knew how long it's been since a man touched me there.” She giggled again. She had been reduced to talking to inanimate objects and unconscious men. “At least they're not talking back. I do still have a slender hold on my sanity.”

The giggle turned into laughter. She again tried to push Mike off her, but she didn't have any strength. She laughed until tears trickled down her temples and into her hair.

“I never have my camera with me when I should.”

Cindy turned toward the voice and saw Beth standing in the foyer. “Help me,” she said.

Beth raised her eyebrows as she took in the scene before her. “I understand about getting them a drink to relax them, but Cindy, honey, I think you went too far. And, if you're going to have sex with a stranger, try to remember to close the front door.”

“But if he's not a stranger, I can leave the door open?” Cindy shoved against Mike, but he didn't budge. “Would you help me, please?”

Her friend sauntered across the room. She was slim, with dark red hair and brilliant blue eyes. She bent close. “He's handsome. Does he have a name?”

“Mike Blackburne. Grace's brother.”

“Oh, my. The bodyguard. Very nice. Grace didn't mention he was so good-looking. I like that in a man.”

“Beth! I can't breathe here.”

“Stop whining. I'm going to help.” Beth grabbed him by the shoulder and raised him slightly. At the same time, Cindy pushed off and managed to slide out from under him. She shimmied off the sofa and plopped onto the floor on her backside.

“He was so overcome by lust that he passed out?” Beth asked.

“I think it was the fever. He's sick.”

“Most men are.”

Cindy shook her head. “No, I mean he's ill. Grace told me he'd been shot and fell off a building. I spoke to his doctor's office. He left the hospital too early. His doctor said he needs to take his medication and rest.”

Beth eyed him. “If you ask me, he needs a new line of work.”

“Help me get him to bed.”

“You're going to keep him?”

“He's not a puppy. I can't send him back where he came from.”

“Take him to the hospital.”

Cindy looked at the unconscious man sprawled out on the sofa. The doctor had given her instructions on how to care for Mike. As long as she got his pills and some water down him, all he really needed was a little rest. He sure hadn't wanted to go back to the hospital and she couldn't blame him.

“I promised Grace I would look after him while he was here,” she said. “I owe her.”

“I'm sure she didn't expect her brother to be so ill.”

“Probably not,” Cindy agreed. “But she's already gone. I want to try and take care of Mike. If he gets worse, then I'll take him over to the hospital.”

“Mike?” Beth raised her eyebrows. “You two have met?”

“Yes, before he passed out.”

“And is there a Mrs. Mike?”

“I didn't ask.” Cindy stood up and brushed off her shorts. “Don't start matchmaking, Beth. I mean it. Mike Blackburne is a professional bodyguard. He goes from job to job. He's here because he doesn't have a place of his own. I'm not interested in a man like that, and he wouldn't be interested in me.”

“I'm not saying you have to marry him,” Beth said, tilting her head so she could study Mike's features more clearly. “I'm just saying that once he's on his feet, maybe the two of you could—”

Cindy cut her off. “I'm not that type.”

Beth smiled slowly. “Honey, we're
all
that type. It's just that some of us get a little more of a chance to prove it than others.”

“Cheap talk for a woman who's been married to the same man for fifteen years.”

“I know, but a girl can dream.” She touched Mike's cheek with the back of her hand. “He's burning up. If you're serious about taking care of him, there's no point in putting him in Grace's bedroom. You'll just have to run back and forth between the two houses. Let me go get Darren and the three of us can wrestle Mike into your place.”

“That makes sense,” Cindy said. “I'll take his things over.”

“Be right back.”

Beth left the house and crossed the street to her own place. Cindy heard her calling for her husband. Thank goodness it was Saturday. There was no way she could have moved Mike on her own.

Cindy picked up the two duffel bags on the floor, went out the front door and cut across the green lawn. She walked down the driveway and into her own house through the back door.

“Mommy, Mommy, is he really dead?” seven-year-old Allison asked. “Jonathan says he's dead, but Shelby and I don't believe him.”

“He's not dead, but he's sick. He's going to stay with us for a little while.”

Jonathan eyed the duffel bags. “You think he's got a gun in there?”

Cindy clamped her lips together. The thought hadn't occurred to her, but Jonathan could be right. “I think the two of you should stay out of the way for the next few minutes. Mr. and Mrs. Davis are going to help me bring Mr. Blackburne over here.”

Allison's big green eyes widened. “Where's he going to sleep?”

“In my room. It's downstairs.”

“Daddy won't like that.”

Cindy didn't bother pointing out that Daddy had given up his right to complain when he'd walked out on his family nearly two years ago.

“Daddy doesn't care about us, stupid,” Jonathan said.

“He does care, and I'm not stupid. Shelby says
you're
stupid.”

“At least I'm not dumb enough to talk to invisible people.”

“She's not invisible. She just doesn't want mean boys like
you
seeing her.”

“Children!” Cindy said loudly. “Please. No name-calling. I mean it.”

They both looked at her. Cindy raised her gaze toward the ceiling. It was only the first weekend of summer vacation. It was going to be a long three months.

“Sit,” she said, pointing to the floral-print sofa in the family room. They both sat.

Cindy picked up the duffel bags, walked through the formal living room and into the master bedroom. After Nelson had moved out, she'd redone her room in cream and rose. The heavy oak furniture he favored had been replaced with bleached pine and lacy curtains. She put down the bags and, working quickly, she pulled back the decorative pillows and comforter, then smoothed the sheets. Thank goodness she'd changed them that morning.

When that was done, she approached the two duffel bags. She hated to go through Mike's things, but Jonathan had a point. She couldn't keep a gun in the house with her children. Mike was a bodyguard. It made sense he might carry a weapon with him. Sending out a mental apology, she unzipped the first bag.

Five minutes later, she knew that Mike Blackburne wore only button-fly jeans, had an eclectic taste in reading material, owned one pair of dress shoes and had a passport that had been stamped by every country she'd ever heard of and several that she hadn't. But he didn't carry a gun.

She exhaled the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. A week ago, her neighbor Grace had asked her to look after her older brother while he recovered from his injuries. After all Grace had done for her, Cindy was pleased to finally have an opportunity to pay her friend back. At the time, however, she hadn't thought looking after Mike would turn her life upside down.

Beth stuck her head in the room. “Darren's ready, if you are.” She pointed to the bed. “Where are you going to sleep?”

“Upstairs in the guest room.”

“You are so conventional. As my only single friend, I count on you to allow me to vicariously experience the thrill of the mating game. I must tell you, I've been very disappointed in your performance to date.”

Cindy pushed her friend from the room. “I'll try to do better.”

“Starting when?”

Cindy ignored her. As they passed her children, she said, “We'll be right back.”

When they were outside, Beth leaned close. “Are you going to take his clothes off?”

“I hadn't really thought about it.”

“Can I watch?”

“I thought I might ask Darren to do that.”

Beth pouted. “And you call yourself a friend.”

Cindy led the way into Grace's house. Darren was already raising Mike into a sitting position. Even unconscious he looked dangerous. His brown hair was short, with an almost military cut. His muscles were powerful, his body as much a weapon as any firearm. All he owned fit into two duffel bags. She was willing to admit he might be handsome, but he was also lethal. Not just because he knew how to kill, but because he knew how to leave. Cindy had learned early in life that men who left were the most dangerous of all.

Chapter Two

M
ike opened his eyes because he could hear breathing. It was faint but there. In the moment before his vision focused, he wondered what he would see. Maybe a nurse. Certainly a stranger. He wouldn't have been too shocked to see the devil himself. Instead, the person next to him was a child. A little girl.

“‘Morning,” he said and was pleased that his voice worked.

She wasn't very tall or very old. He didn't know enough about children to guess their ages, but figured this one was more than five and less than ten or eleven. She had short blond hair that was curly on the ends and big green eyes. She wore a ribbon in her hair—a blue one that matched her blue-and-white T-shirt. When she smiled at him, he knew exactly who she was—the daughter of that woman. Cindy Jones. The dimples were identical.

“I'm Allison,” she said. Her voice was faintly singsongy, and high-pitched. If he'd had a hangover, he would have winced at the sound. But surprisingly, the pounding in his head had reduced from a jackhammer pounding to a dull knocking and he was able to ignore it.

“Hi, Allison. I'm Mike.”

“Mommy says you're hurt. That we have to be real quiet while you get better. Mommy said you fell off a building. You shouldn't do that.”

“Gee, thanks.” Advice always came too late to do any good. He glanced around the room. This wasn't his sister's living room, and if his memory was working any better than his body, it wasn't her bedroom, either. “Where am I?”

“Mommy's room.” Allison held a doll clutched to her chest. Her green eyes regarded him solemnly. “She had to go to the store, and she asked me to watch you. You've been sleeping.”

“You're watching me?”

She nodded. “I've never watched anyone big before.”

He wondered if Cindy had meant for her daughter to stand at his side staring. “You seem a little young to be baby-sitting.”

Allison dimpled. “I'm seven. Jonathan's watching TV, and Mrs. Davis is watching us. She was here until a minute ago, but she had to go start her dinner. The front door is open and she screams across the street all the time. Mr. Davis has a seizure if his food isn't on the table at six. But he has other 'deeming qualities.” She paused to draw in a breath. “Do you know what 'deeming means?”

“Sorry, no.” He didn't know what she was talking about. Or why a seven-year-old had been left in charge of him. He also wondered what day it was and how long he'd been out. He'd arrived on Saturday morning. So today was... “It's Sunday, right?” he asked.

Allison shook her head. “Tuesday. You've been asleep for a long time.” She tilted her head. “You say bad words in your sleep. And you get all twisted up in the covers. You had a fever, too. Mommy had to take care of you and I was very quiet.”

Tuesday? What the hell happened to Sunday and Monday? He couldn't have been asleep that long. He reached up and rubbed the stubble on his face. Only the innocent stare of the child kept him from grinding out another bad word. He'd been out of it for over seventy-two hours. Then he wondered what else he'd said.