Beauty And The Bodyguard

But this particular bride was his responsibility. He would keep Megan safe. The only other person he would trust to protect her was Gage Huxton. While his quitting the Bureau and reenlisting had hurt Megan, Gage would never consciously cause her harm.

When Woodrow had seen Gage slip into the bride’s dressing room a little while ago, he had breathed a sigh of relief. Then he had guided Penny down the stairwell to the basement and the safety of her office. While Gage protected Megan, he would protect Penny—from herself.

“You don’t know them?” she asked. “You didn’t plant the waiter among my catering staff?”

“Why would I?”

“For additional security.”

“I didn’t think I’d need security for my daughter’s wedding.” And maybe that had been naive of him. There’d been an announcement in the paper, which had probably been like an advertisement for anyone harboring a grudge against him. Want revenge against Woodrow Lynch? Hurt his daughter on her special day.

“We need it now,” Penny said. “There’s only Nikki.”

“And Gage.”

Her thin shoulders slumped, and the corners of her mouth dipped down in a frown. “He left, remember?”

“He’s back.”

Despite the situation, she smiled that all-knowing smile that both infuriated and fascinated him. “I knew he wouldn’t be able to let her marry another man.”

Woodrow sighed. Now he understood what a hopeless romantic was. There was no hope of changing Penny’s mind about who she thought belonged with whom. “I think it’s more likely that he spotted the weapons, too.”

Penny was undeterred and smiled even brighter. “And he came back to protect her.”

“It’s not personal,” he insisted. “Gage was a soldier and an agent and now a bodyguard. It’s not in his nature to walk away from danger.”

For once Penny didn’t argue with him. Her mouth curved down again. “And that nature nearly got him killed. You need to call for more backup,” she said.

He held up his blank cell phone. Trying to get a signal had drained its battery. “I couldn’t get any reception. Now it’s dead.”

Penny stared at its black screen. “Why not?”

“You tell me,” he said. “I assume you have a cell signal blocker so no calls will interrupt weddings in your chapel.”

Color streaked across each of her delicate cheekbones. “I have one,” she acknowledged. “But I didn’t turn it on today.”

“You wanted Megan’s wedding to be interrupted.” He narrowed his eyes and studied her flushed face. “Is that armed waiter yours?”

“Of course not,” she said. “I didn’t want to disrupt Megan’s wedding. I would have turned on the signal jammer if she decided to go through with the ceremony.”

“But you were hoping that she would decide not to.”

“I don’t want her to make a mistake she’ll regret the rest of her life.”

“Have you?” he wondered.

“Have I what?”

“Made any mistakes you still regret?” He didn’t expect her to answer him since she never talked about herself.

But instead of changing the subject as she always had whenever he’d asked her something personal, she stared up at him, her usually warm brown eyes cool and guarded. And she replied, “Not yet.”

Was he a mistake she was considering making? He wanted to ask, but he couldn’t risk making a mistake of his own. Not now...

Not with his daughter and other innocent bystanders—and Penny—in danger. He had to act and quickly before more guests arrived at the church. There had only been a few early arrivals, besides those armed people. Unfortunately, they’d been aunts and uncles and cousins of his late wife, unarmed civilians who wouldn’t be able to help him protect the others.

If only some of his agents or Penny’s sons had arrived already...

“Where do you keep your signal jammer?” he asked.

“Nobody’s been in my office,” she said.

“Where do you keep it?” he persisted. God, the woman was stubborn. It was good that he’d decided not to ask her out—despite all the times he’d thought about it since meeting her. He’d picked up his phone a million times to call her. But something had held him back.

Fear. He was not good husband material. His late wife had told him that often enough. He had been consumed with his career, had spent so much time away. Of course that had ended when she’d gotten sick. His job was still just as important to him, though.

Like Penny’s job was to her...

She pulled a charm from the bracelet on her wrist—a tiny key—and slid it into a lock on a drawer built into the wall perpendicular to her desk. Instead of the drawer opening, the wall slid forward revealing a space behind it large enough for a glass case full of guns and the signal jammer. The industrial-style box jammer was closed and inactive.

“What the hell?” he murmured, in awe of the hiding place and the equipment and guns she’d stowed inside it.

“This church has a lot of history,” she said.

He suspected not all of it had been good. She’d been married there. He wasn’t sure if that had been a good or bad union.

“There are other hiding places,” she said. “And a secret passageway that leads to the little courtyard out back.”

“That’s good,” he said. “You can leave that way.” But were there other armed gunmen outside? Would they see her if she escaped that way?

She shook her head. “I’m not leaving.”

“We need backup,” he reminded her. “And since you’re not the one jamming the signals, someone else is.” Someone who’d planned to cut off communication to the church.

She turned back toward her desk and opened a bottom drawer. “I have a landline, too,” she told him.

He was surprised. Smartphones were more useful, especially for businesses.

She had an old-school kind, the console with the cord attaching the receiver to it. No wonder she put it in a drawer, so it didn’t take up too much of the surface of her whitewashed oak desk. When she put the receiver to her ear, her brow furrowed. “There’s no dial tone.”

That didn’t surprise him. If the gunmen had gone to the trouble of jamming the cell signals, they would have made certain to cut the landline, too. And they probably had reinforcements stationed outside. He couldn’t send her out alone to the courtyard.

He needed reinforcements of his own.

Penny’s eyes widened—looking even bigger and darker—as her face paled. And the woman who usually had all the answers asked, “What are we going to do?”

Something shifted in Woodrow’s chest, squeezing his heart. He reached for her—intending to offer her only comfort from the fear gripping her. But her lips parted on a soft gasp, and he had the sudden urge to taste them.