The Baby's Bodyguard

There was so much he didn’t know about her.

Twenty feet farther along, firemen and police were finishing their investigation. The afternoon was giving way to evening, the breeze of earlier in the day getting serious enough to thrash Hannah’s straight, shoulder-length hair around her neck. She turned her face into the wind to clear a few glistening strands of red-gold from her mouth and eyes.

She struck him as more contained, less vulnerable and stronger than the last time they’d met. Just as attractive, yes. Just as interesting with a spark of naughty in her clear green eyes. He liked the way her nose tilted up a little at the end, he liked the few freckles scattered across her cheeks.

After seeing and talking to her again it was hard to believe she’d been in on something as nasty as what happened in Tierra Montañosa. He had the gut feeling she was telling the truth, but he had just as strong a feeling she was hiding something he needed to know.

“What did you mean when you accused me of watching you?” Jack asked.

“It’s not important,” she said, and then looked over his shoulder as something else caught her attention. He turned to find that one of the police officers had detached himself from the others and was walking toward them. With a hasty glance back at Jack, Hannah quickly moved to meet the officer and lowered her head as they spoke. Jack recognized her attempts to keep her conversations private. He’d operated the same way for most of his life.

He swallowed his impatience with her and closed his eyes, searching for the Zen-like spot inside himself he’d learned to access during his months of captivity. For an admitted control freak, there was nothing more humbling than being at the total mercy of merciless men. He’d found the only way to survive with his brain still working was to adapt.

He relaxed tense muscles in his neck and shoulders as the cool ocean breeze blew in his hair and whipped his shirt around his torso. He concentrated on the caw of gulls, the distant sound of waves. The crowd noise receded. He was standing alone, an invisible shaft of energy running through his skull and out the soles of his feet, connecting him to the center of the earth. He was free.

No wire cages. No chains around his neck. No starvation, no guns jabbed into his gut for no reason. No yelling, no threats, no terror.

Part of him yearned to accept that it had all happened the way Hannah said, to get on his bike and go find the rest of his life and never look back. But it wasn’t a big part and he knew in his heart it would never happen. He was who he was today because of what had happened to him yesterday. That’s the way it worked.

He opened his eyes to find Hannah staring at him. She wore a salmon-colored sweater that somehow matched her lips though he hadn’t noticed any lipstick. Until that second he hadn’t realized he’d even looked at her lips, but of course he had. If he wanted to torture himself, he could relive the taste of those lips; it wouldn’t be the first time. If he wanted to check himself into a mental ward, he could work his memory down each delicious curve and dip of her body.

He’d done that a time or two, as well.

Hannah nodded at something the officer said, and walked toward Jack again, her breasts bouncing gently under her sweater. He suddenly burned with an unexpected need for her.

“I’m getting a ride back to my house, Jack. Officer Latimer asked if you need a lift somewhere.”

He glanced toward the other end of the lot and his Harley. Thanks to Ella and Simon, he had it back. “No, thanks.”

“Okay. Well, I just want to say goodbye. I’m so glad you’re okay. Take care of yourself and try to let the past go. You deserve to be happy now.” She put her hands on his shoulders and stood on tiptoe to plant a brief kiss on his left cheek. Her cloud of hair smelled like fresh air.

He caught her hands before she could fly away. “Why won’t you tell me what you meant about being watched?”

“Because it was just my imagination,” she said as he reluctantly released her.

“Did you tell the police about it?”

“Yes,” she said, but she looked down as she said it, her hand rising to brush at her cheek. He didn’t believe her. Why wouldn’t she tell the police something like that?

“Someone blew up your car, cariño,” he said softly. “Maybe you should take it seriously.”

“The police assure me the bomb wasn’t meant to hurt me. There’s been a rash of these things around town,” she added, meeting his gaze once again. “They think it was a small bomb on a timer attached to the muffler. Even if I’d been driving the car, I wouldn’t have been hurt. The car will need to go to the shop, but they can probably make it good as new. End of story.”

“Not the end.”

Her hand landed on his arm and she squeezed gently. “Yes. The end. I’m sorry for what you’ve been through, but maybe it’s best this way. Good luck finding what you’re looking for. I have to go. Officer Latimer is waving. Goodbye, Jack.”

“Wait,” he said, but she cast him an apologetic smile before walking briskly to the police car. He watched the vehicle leave the parking lot.

He stood there a moment as the tow truck and the fire truck left, as the few remaining bystanders wandered back to their own lives. Three things occurred to him. One: Hannah was afraid. He knew what fear looked like, what it smelled like, how it sounded. He didn’t think she was afraid of him. So, what was she frightened of?

Two: She did not want him to know where she lived. Why?

Three: She seemed to think that by not inviting him, he would stay away.

THE HOUSE SHE NOW SHARED with her grandmother was less than a mile from the ocean, tucked into a small neighborhood on a wooded street. As always, coming home calmed something deep in Hannah’s soul. Especially tonight when she felt as though she’d dodged a bullet named Jack.

Hannah’s grandmother, Mimi Marks, was a comfortable woman of seventy-three who wore her long gray hair in braids, was partial to denim overalls and big plastic clog-like shoes in bright colors. Back in the day, she’d helped her husband build this little house. On Friday nights, it was a sure thing she and a small pack of other women could be found drinking beer and playing poker at one or another of their homes.

She met Hannah at the door and held her at arm’s length. She was wearing a knee-length Astroturf-green cardigan with orange and brown stripes near the hem. She was as earthy as Hannah’s recently remarried mother was snooty and a million times easier to get along with. In fact, Hannah’s grandparents had more or less raised Hannah.

“Tell me the truth,” Mimi insisted. “Are you really okay?”

“I really am. Like I told you on the phone, I wasn’t even in the car.”

“Who would pull a stunt like that?” Without waiting for an answer, she added, “I’ve had a dozen calls from people all over Allota. They say the police claim it’s a pack of rowdy Fort Bragg kids.”

The Allota grapevine was alive and well. “I gather it’s happened before. Is Aubrielle all right?”

“Of course she is. I fed her the milk you expressed.” Mimi smiled and patted Hannah’s arm. “Go on, look at her, I know it’s killing you. Dinner will be potluck seeing as we don’t have anything from the store.”

“We’ll take your car shopping tomorrow,” Hannah said as she quickly walked down the short hall, past Mimi’s room but not as far as her own bedroom and office, pausing at the door to the nursery.

Painted pink the day the results of the ultrasound revealed the baby was a girl, the small room was frilly and fluttery and probably silly, but it never ceased to make Hannah smile. Her grandmother, who had wanted to paint it lime-green and canary-yellow, just shook her head.

But it was the three-month-old baby in the crib that drew Hannah. She crossed the floor without bothering to make her steps quiet, hoping the baby would wake up, needing to see her, touch her, and heaven knows, nurse her.

Aubrielle’s eyes were open. Hannah lifted the baby to her shoulder, where the infant made some very sweet sounds and Hannah’s heart felt as though it was going to burst.

She glanced at the nursery door to make sure it was closed, and then she took a deep breath. Whispering into the warm little ear by her lips, she said, “I saw your daddy today.”

There, she’d said it out loud for the first time. Jack Starling was Aubrielle’s father. One night of sex had created the most wonderful gift in the world.

“I want you to know I will not allow him to mess things up for you, sweetheart, I promise that,” Hannah continued. “It’s you and me, we’re a family. I’m not going to risk a near stranger demanding half your destiny so don’t worry, it’s okay. It’s our secret.”

They moved to the rocking chair where Hannah nursed her baby, tears burning behind her nose. She hated lying, she knew she was bad at it, she even knew Jack deserved the truth, but she could not, would not, risk Aubrielle’s safety. Jack was a bodyguard, a man’s man, and what little Hannah knew of his life had nothing to do with being a father. Take his current obsession. With little to go on but a hunch, he was running around accusing innocent people of terrible crimes. He’d entered the country without a passport. Maybe being stuck in the jungle for almost a year had fried his brain.

She was avoiding thinking about David and Tierra Montañosa and the ambush at Costa del Rio, she knew that. For a second it occurred to her that David couldn’t have been involved—he’d died weeks before the trip—and a mountain of worry lifted from her shoulders. He hadn’t even been to Costa del Rio; he was the foundation pilot in the States. How could he be involved?

Where had the money come from weeks before the ambush? Why had he told her to keep it a secret?

And just like that she thought of the original gym bag David had left with her. Where was it? In her home office? No. She’d taken it to work, she remembered that. Then she’d transferred the cash into her briefcase. Was there another paper in the bag? She seemed to remember there was though she also recalled dismissing it. What had she done with the gym bag? Where was it? Had it gone with her to the locker or was it still in the bottom of the file cabinet in the locked drawer?

It was no use, she couldn’t remember, but that was easily fixed; she could look.

Closing her eyes, she found Jack’s image front and center, not David’s. Jack’s eyes. His mouth. When he called her cariño, her insides melted. She remembered their one night in vivid detail, images burned on her brain and enhanced by all that came afterward.

As she rested her head against the wooden spindles of the chair, Hannah’s gaze drifted out the window to the slice of dark sky visible between the even darker branches. She’d positioned the chair just this way so that would be her view, but suddenly it seemed more oppressive than comforting. She couldn’t fight the feeling someone was looking in at them. The lights in the room seemed garish; she felt as though she was on a stage.