Bulletproof Bodyguard

Cally had forgotten the homemade brandy she’d told him about when she brought up the sandwich. He was grateful for that. At this moment he might not be able to handle the temptation.

Instead, he brushed his teeth, turned out the bathroom light and dropped the towel before crawling between the cool, soft-as-cloud sheets. He stared at the ceiling fan. Moonlight shone through a gap in the curtains, throwing odd shadows on the far wall. The bowl of dried flowers and spices perfumed the air along with the faint hint of fresh paint.

It wouldn’t be much longer. Gregor’s plan was already unfolding. His strategy was disturbingly simple and that made it brilliant. In three days the Paddlewheel, the newest casino in Mississippi, would be robbed. And there wasn’t a damn thing Marcus could do, unless he helped with the crime.

Chapter Three

“Nooo…No! Help me!”

Marcus sat bolt upright in the bed.

“Bears go away, bears go away!” The child’s voice was shrill.

Marcus looked around as he tried to figure out where the sound was coming from. It felt like the kid was crying next to his ear. As he fumbled to turn on the bedside lamp, he spied the red lines dancing up and down on what he assumed was a baby monitor.

“Momma, help! Momma, help me!”

He flipped on the lamp and shook himself awake, puzzling over what the monitor was doing in his room until he vaguely recalled Cally saying something about finishing up the room today.

She must have left it then. He glanced at the clock. He’d been asleep for less than half an hour.

“Momma, plea…se help me.” The little voice was sobbing softly, pitifully.

Marcus wasn’t sure what to do. He could always just turn the damn thing off and go back to sleep. He was dead tired. But without the baby monitor, he wasn’t sure if Harris’s mom could hear the crying or not.

“Bears go away, please go away.” The boy’s cries were low and pleading.

Marcus had heard that tone of desperation in other people’s voices before. He’d had to turn those voices off without helping more times than he could count. It had been a requirement for the job.

He’d never mastered the art of being able to do it and not care. God, he was tired. His life felt so…empty.

“Momma…please…help me.”

Swinging his legs out of the bed, Marcus sighed heavily and reached for his jeans. He couldn’t turn off the monitor and go back to sleep. That voice would haunt him in his dreams.

CALLY SHOVED THE casserole for tomorrow’s breakfast into the refrigerator and turned to survey the mess in her kitchen. It wasn’t too bad. Only a few dishes needed to be washed before she went to bed.

The large combination kitchen and family room with its stone floors, brightly colored hooked rug and rag-rolled yellow walls was her favorite place in the house. Chambray-blue tile matched a loveseat and large upholstered rocker, both arranged by a generous fireplace.

She spent most of her day here—either cooking for her guests and sideline catering business or playing with Harris. She liked getting as much of the inn’s breakfast prepared beforehand as possible. That way she could eat with her son before she served the inn’s clientele.

She’d been stepping out of the shower when she remembered that she hadn’t made tomorrow’s ham-and-cheese casserole for breakfast. Her hair dried on its own in a riot of curls while she cooked. Maroon 5 was turned up on her earbuds. She shimmied and danced in place, singing along about a wake-up call as she washed dishes.

The guest buzzer rang insistently along with a blinking light, startling her into silence. The doorway from the kitchen to the rest of the house was locked at night so the chime rang here and in her bedroom for guests to call her after hours. She turned off the iPod, tightened the belt on her robe and opened the door.

Marcus North, all six feet three inches of him stood there in half-zipped jeans and bare feet. His denim shirt was unbuttoned—dark hair and a washboard abdomen registered. She looked up from this impressive view with some regret and raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Unfortunately in the past, she’d dealt with single male guests who thought a young widow innkeeper was fair game—part of the bed-and-breakfast’s à la carte menu. She hoped her new boarder wasn’t suffering under the same misconception.

“Yes, Mr. North?”

“I…ah…heard the baby crying over the monitor in my room and wasn’t sure if…”

“Oh my gosh, I left that thing in your room this afternoon. I’m so sorry. Did he wake you—”

She took in his tousled dark hair, her eyes dipping down to the unbuttoned shirt again, and interrupted her own question. “Of course he did. Let me go check on him. He has nightmares.”

She dashed across the kitchen to the hallway leading back to her private rooms.

“I’ll be right back!” she called over her shoulder.

MARCUS FOLLOWED her toward the hallway and stood at the entrance debating what to do. He turned to the large picture window at the far end of the family room. In the moonlight, he spied a boat dock.

River Trace backed up to one of the many half-moon lakes left when the Mississippi River had changed its course over the years. However, this lake was unusual in that it connected to the Mississippi when the water was up. During the flood season, as it was now, a boat could freely travel from the lake to the river and back again.

He looked out over the water and heard a door open down the hall.

Harris’s voice echoed around the corner. “Momma, Momma…the bears.”

“I know, sweetie, I know. The bears are all gone now. Momma’s chased them all away.”

“Momma, they…they…” Harris started to hiccup. “They so big.”

“They’re all gone now, honey. Shhh.”

“I called and called but you didn’t come.” Harris continued to weep and hiccup. Marcus’s heart clenched. No matter what, he’d made the right decision coming downstairs.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t hear you. I’m here now. Let’s get you a drink.”

“Want a—a—…ple jui—ce.”

“Then that’s what we’ll get.”

Marcus heard them start down the hallway and realized he’d been blatantly eavesdropping again. He headed to the refrigerator and was pulling out the apple juice when Cally came through the doorway carrying Harris.

She stopped.

“Your hands are full,” he said in explanation to her raised eyebrows. “Where’s a cup?”

She nodded toward the dish-drainer. “He likes the one with the purple leopard spots.”

“All right.” He felt Cally’s eyes on him as he filled the brightly colored cup and handed it to Harris.

“Thh—ank you.” He hiccupped.

“You’re welcome. Are you okay, big guy?”

Harris nodded, sniffed and stared at Marcus as he drank his juice. Cally swayed back and forth in the timeless manner of women with babies in their arms. Her oversize terrycloth robe fell to her ankles and her hair was a mass of curls around her shoulders. She shouldn’t have been attractive to him with her blue-eyed girl-next-door looks. He’d always gone for slightly exotic-looking women in his past, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her standing there in the kitchen.