Mountain Bodyguard

“How do you figure?”

“All five bad guys have been taken into custody.”

“Have they?” Dylan arched an eyebrow in a skeptical expression that irritated Mason to no end. “The so-called baddies are still in the hotel.”

The local sheriff, Colorado law enforcement and NSA were all fighting over who would take possession of these low-level thugs. “Arresting them isn’t our problem.”

“What if there are others?”

“We’ll handle it. This assignment still counts as a success for TST Security.” And for him, personally. Not only had he shown Admiral Prescott, a man he admired, that he was competent, but he’d also met Lexie. Her grin lifted his spirits. Their kiss elevated the evening into noteworthy; he’d remember that short, sweet contact for a very long time.

Dylan slouched and jammed his fists into his pockets, distorting the crisp line of his suit. “I don’t like this, Mace. Too many questions. Not enough answers. We don’t know why those guys invaded the seventh floor or what they were after.”

“Whatever it was, they didn’t get it. We stopped them. We met our objectives.” Mason ticked off their achievements on his fingers. “The admiral and his family are safe. None of the good guys, not even the hotel guards, were seriously injured. And the people who came here for a banquet are still having their coffee and chocolate mousse dessert.”

“I’d approximate that eighty-five percent of the guests are oblivious of the attack.”

Though he had no idea where Dylan got his percentage, Mason assumed that his computer-geek partner was correct. Most of the guests had remained in their chairs while the servers cleared away their plates and refilled their wineglasses. Some of them might have looked around when they heard the sound of approaching police sirens, but the flashing red-and-blue lights weren’t visible from the banquet hall, and the hotel management people were doing everything in their power to make sure their guests weren’t aware of the mayhem on the seventh floor.

The door swept open and Helena Christie Prescott charged toward them. She was a classic beauty with long raven hair and a killer body, but all Mason saw were her flared nostrils and the flames shooting from her green eyes as she demanded, “What the hell is going on?”

“Your husband asked that I bring you—”

“Edgar is all right, isn’t he?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s good, because I’m going to hurt him, hurt him bad.” She had morphed from fiery dragon into sinister assassin, a role she’d played in a movie Mason saw. The assassin might even have used that line about hurting him bad. “And the children?”

“Everybody’s okay.” Mason gestured toward the hallway. “Come with us to the conference room, where your husband can brief you.”

“Lead on.” She strode along beside him, leaving Dylan in their wake. In her five-inch heels, she almost matched Mason’s six-foot-three-inch height, and she hiked up the side of her gown opposite the slit so she could move faster.

Dylan—the coward—had cleverly fallen back, leaving Mason to deal with Helena. He was certain that any comment from him about not worrying or calming down would not be prudent.

“We’re almost there,” he said. “It’s on this floor.”

She came to a sudden halt. “I’m not being the least bit unreasonable. But what am I to think? My husband gets called away by his assistant, then the military guys and four agents—two CIA and two from some weird NSA department—slide out the door. What the hell is happening? Has Aspen been invaded by terrorists?”

Mason couldn’t have been happier to see Lexie step out of the elevator and come toward them. A short while ago, he’d saved the nanny’s life. Now it was her turn to save him.

She’d changed into casual clothes: sneakers, jeans and a long forest-green sweatshirt. Her wild auburn hair was held back from her face by a yellow band.

Helena spotted her and flung both arms around Lexie in a dramatic hug. “Thank God you’re here.”

Though jolted back on her heels, Lexie recovered her balance and spoke calmly. “Everything is going to be fine.”

“Is it? Is it really?”

“Sure,” Lexie said. “The kids are okay. They’re all together in your suite. I left the hotel babysitter to keep an eye on them. Plus two of the TST bodyguards.” She glanced at Mason and mouthed, Is Carlos all right?

He gave her a thumbs-up. The big guy had recovered and was sheepish about being sick. Since there didn’t seem to be a connection between his stomach flu and the ambush on the seventh floor, he doubted that poison was involved. Carlos was once again in charge of guarding the children.

“Why wouldn’t the kids be fine?” Helena asked. “Has there been a threat?”

Lexie turned to him. “You haven’t told her?”

“The admiral wanted to explain himself.”

A ringtone—a song from Mary Poppins—sounded, and Lexie retrieved her cell phone from a sweatshirt pocket. After a glance at the caller ID, she looked back at the admiral’s wife. Her eyes narrowed. “Your husband has some serious explaining to do. Where is he?”

Mason opened the door to the conference room and stepped out of the way as the two women marched inside. Most of the people seated around the long table were men. One of the two women wore US Marine Corps dress blues, while the other was super chic, probably a higher-up in the CIA who shopped in Paris. In keeping with the early-1900s hunting lodge theme, the conference room was wood-paneled with elk, deer and bear heads on the walls. The snarling grizzly over the stone fireplace matched Helena’s fierce expression.

Prescott leaped to his feet. “I believe you all know my wife, Helena Christie Prescott. And this is our nanny, Lexie DeMille.”

The chic older woman applauded Lexie. “Impressive job, young lady. If you’re ever looking for a job, contact me.”

“She’s not looking,” Helena said curtly. “Edgar Prescott, step outside with me, please.”

Without saying a word, Mason sent the admiral a mental warning. Do what she says, man. Your wife is ticked off enough to play an assassin in real life. And you’re her target.

Apparently, Prescott’s antennae were working well enough to pick up on the message. He excused himself, stepped away from the table and went into the hallway. As soon as the door to the conference room closed, he apologized to his wife.

Though this was a private conversation, Mason and his partner had to be there. It was their job to guard these two bodies. They were far less uncomfortable than Lexie who shuffled her feet and stared into the distance, pretending to be somewhere else.

“I didn’t want to upset you,” the admiral said to his wife. “There were gunshots fired on the seventh floor.”

“Our floor?”

“Lexie was involved,” he continued, “and, as you can plainly see, she’s fine. TST Security rounded up the bad guys and took care of the threat. We’re safe. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Not quite true. Mason found the situation worrisome, but that might just be his naturally vigilant nature. Overall, he was satisfied that they were safe. Choppers were airborne and searching. Local law enforcement had set up a perimeter around the hotel and would be escorting those who were leaving to their cars. There were enough armed officers patrolling in the hotel that Mason and TST Security were almost redundant.

“Very well,” Helena said as she linked her arm with her husband’s. “Come back to the banquet hall with me and give your speech.”

“I should stay here.” He looked over his shoulder at the closed door to the conference room, and then he turned to his wife. “Is there any way I can convince you to give my speech for me?”

“My dah-ling, don’t be absurd. These people want to hear from you. I’ve only visited Africa a few times. You lived there. You know what this charity is all about.”

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her manicured fingertips. “On our last trip to Madagascar, I remember how you took over the school and taught the kids how to sing.”

Mason made eye contact with Dylan, who was being so unobtrusive that he was nearly invisible. He and his partner, both of them single, could take lessons from the admiral as he wove a charmed web around his formerly furious wife.

Helena rubbed against his arm like a slinky panther wanting to be stroked. “I had fun with my little friends, my little marafiki. And I loved the midnight spice market in Madagascar. But the people at this banquet have contributed a great deal of money, and they deserve the full package.”

“I’m playing golf with the big investors tomorrow.”

“Everybody else expects to hear a talk from you.”