The Bodyguard's Assignment

“I just did.” He glanced in the rearview mirror, then put the truck in gear and pulled back onto the street. Beside him, Grace yanked at the cuffs, her movements frenzied. “Give it a rest,” he said gruffly. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

“Like you care.”

Her face had gone pale with anger, making the blue of her eyes stand out starkly in the dash lights. Physically, she hadn’t changed much, Brady thought. She still wore her brown hair long, letting it curl naturally over her shoulders. The wind had whipped it about, and the tangled strands reminded him of how she used to look waking up in the morning. All that hair spilling down her naked back.

Her legs, still slender and shapely beneath her jeans, stirred even more memories. Grace’s legs had always been his downfall.

He tore his gaze away from her and tried to concentrate on the road as he entered the on-ramp of the freeway. Grace didn’t utter another word until they were heading west on I–30, toward Fort Worth. She stared sullenly out her window. “Where are you taking me?”

“I told you. Someplace safe.”

“Would you care to be a little more specific?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, it matters!” She turned in the seat to face him, her expression earnest and desperate, her blue eyes dark with fear. “I can’t leave Dallas, Brady. Please. Just take me back. I’ll be okay. I know how to take care of myself.”

“You still don’t get it, do you?” He scowled at the road. “This isn’t about you anymore. It’s way beyond that. I was sent here to protect you until you can testify against Kane and possibly Rialto, and that’s exactly what I intend to do. With or without your cooperation.”

She sat back against the seat, looking drained. “Who sent you? You’re not a cop anymore. What are you? FBI? DEA?”

“Something like that.”

“That’s what you’ve been doing for the last five years? And here I was thinking you’d turned into some kind of cowboy.”

He spared her a brief glance. “I have.”

She gave a short laugh. “Brady Morgan, a cowboy? I find that hard to imagine.”

“A lot of things are hard to imagine,” he said bluntly. “For instance, after what happened five years ago, I find it hard to believe that you wouldn’t be as eager as I am to put Kane away for good. But then, justice was never particularly a concern of yours, was it, Grace?” He sensed her tension, and almost immediately regretted his harsh words. But sometimes the truth hurt.

“You don’t know anything about me,” she said quietly. “Not anymore. People change in five years.”

“Don’t kid yourself.”

She gave a defeated shrug. “If you could turn yourself into a cowboy—you, a tough-guy cop who grew up on the streets—why can’t you believe I could be redeemed?”

THEY’D LEFT Fort Worth sometime ago, heading in a southwesterly direction on I–30. Traffic thinned once they got out of the city, but a light rain began to fall, and the way the temperature was dropping, Brady was afraid the highway would soon become a mess.

He glanced at Grace. She’d fallen asleep a few minutes earlier, overcome with exhaustion, he suspected. She probably hadn’t slept for two days.

He’d been pondering her question for the last several miles, and he thought he knew the answer. Why didn’t he believe that she could be redeemed? Simple. Because actions spoke louder than words.

If she truly had changed, she wouldn’t think twice about turning over that tape to the police, about giving testimony that would put a ruthless drug dealer behind bars. But she wasn’t willing to do that, and so Brady’s conclusion was the obvious one. She was still the same conniving reporter she’d been five years ago. She was still willing to sell her soul for the sake of a story.

He’d been well rid of her for the last five years, he thought grimly. Now, if he could just survive the next five days with her.…

GRACE HAD no idea how long she’d been dozing, but she would awaken sporadically, shivering with cold. She was finally warm now, almost cozy, and she snuggled deeper into the folds of the blanket.

Not a blanket, she realized groggily. Brady’s coat. He’d taken it off and placed it over her, and she wanted to savor that act of kindness. Wanted to believe that he was coming around, but she knew it was wishful thinking. He thought she was refusing to testify because she was holding out for a story. She might have done that once, but not now. She did remember Juarez. She did remember Matamoros. But most of all, she remembered Dallas, five years ago. She wanted to do the right thing, but her mother’s life was at stake. Grace could do nothing to jeopardize her mother’s safety, not even confide in Brady.

Maybe he could help her, and maybe he couldn’t, but what he would most likely do was notify the authorities, whoever he worked for. And then Kane would know she’d talked, and Angeline would be killed. Maybe that would happen, and maybe it wouldn’t. But Grace wasn’t willing to take any chances, especially since she had no idea who Brady worked for. What she had to do now was get back to Dallas. Anyway possible.

She studied Brady’s profile through slitted eyes as she pretended to sleep. A cowboy. Who would have thought it?

His coat smelled of mountain air and wood smoke, and Grace, city-born and raised, was surprised to find that the scent stirred something primal and feminine inside her. She pulled the coat more tightly around her.

He’d removed his hat, too, and she saw that he still wore his hair short, just long enough for a woman’s fingers. His jeans were the kind that rode low on his lean waist and fit deceptively snug over long, muscular legs.

When Grace had known Brady five years ago, he’d driven a sports car, in keeping with his undercover image, but he looked at home behind the wheel of the truck. She could suddenly picture him on horseback, looking rugged and sexy. Fiercely masculine.

A cowboy, she thought in wonder. Who would have thought it?

Chapter Four

Brady exited the freeway for gas. When he pulled into the lighted station, Grace sat up and looked around.

“Where are we?”

“Abilene.”

Her gaze looked stricken. “That’s over a hundred and fifty miles from Dallas. Where on earth are you taking me?”

“Don’t worry about it.” He opened the truck door, and a blast of frigid air filled the cab. “You may as well relax. We’ve still got a long way to go.”

Grace handed him his coat. “Here, you’ll need this. It’s freezing outside.”

He hesitated, then took the coat, slipping it on as he stepped outside. At the last moment, he glanced back in the truck. “We can get something to eat while we’re here. You hungry?”

“Not really.” She rattled the handcuffs. “Any chance I could get a potty break?”

Brady hesitated again. He didn’t trust her, not for a second, and his instincts warned him to wait until he’d finished pumping the gas so that he could go into the store with her. But she looked almost pained, and besides, the sooner they could get back on the road, the better he’d feel. Getting out of Dallas had been just a little too easy.

He fished in his jeans pocket for the key, then leaned over and unfastened the cuffs. Grace massaged her wrist as she gave him a wounded look. “I’m not a criminal, you know. You don’t have to treat me as if I’m one of your prisoners.”

“Then don’t give me cause to.”

He watched her enter the well-lighted convenience store as he fitted the nozzle into the gas tank. They’d been on the road for nearly three hours, not making very good time. The road conditions were slowing them down. Although he’d seen no indication that they were being followed, he knew Kane and he knew Rialto. Neither man would go down without a fight, and that little shoot-out back in Dallas was just the beginning. They wouldn’t let Grace slip away so easily, and Brady wouldn’t be at all surprised if Kane’s men, maybe even Kane himself, were somewhere on the road behind them.

But there were a lot of ways to leave Dallas, and Kane couldn’t have had all the roads watched. It could be that their luck would hold, Brady thought, as he studied the street. It could be that he and Grace would make it to the cabin in the Davis Mountains without further incident.

But he wasn’t about to count on it.

THE CONVENIENCE STORE had a sign in the window which proclaimed proudly: Abilene—Where The West Begins. Somehow the slogan deepened Grace’s urgency. They were getting farther and farther from Dallas, from her mother, and from the tape that could save her mother’s life.

Shoving open the door, Grace walked inside. The store was warm and inviting, with well-stocked shelves of canned food and staples at exorbitant prices. At the end of the counter, a large, plastic cow commemorated the cattle drives that once ended in Abilene.

As Grace made her way to the rest-room area, she resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder to see if Brady was watching her. She knew he was. Watching her like a hawk because he didn’t trust her. She could hardly blame him, but to handcuff her like a common criminal. To take her out of Dallas against her will.