Her Bodyguard

Before yesterday, she’d have stopped and whirled, eyeing him with a pugnacious stare until he walked on past her or crossed the street. She might be afraid, but she’d never let him know it.

Today, however, everything was different.

Today terror clawed its way up her throat, like it had when she was a child and a nightmare would wake her. She swallowed hard and gripped her umbrella like a weapon.

“Angela, hi!”

She almost tripped.

It was her downstairs neighbor, Billy Laverne, walking his Afghan hound toward her, or, more accurately, being walked by the gigantic dog.

“Hi, Billy.” The wash of relief that coursed through her ticked her off. Since when did Billy, whose head barely reached her eyebrows, who weighed less than she did and who definitely had a better manicure, represent safety to her?

“So,” he drawled. “Tell me. How’re the exams going? I’m sure you’re doing fabulously.”

She reached out a hand to pet Alfie. The friendly dog licked her knuckles. “I hope you’re right. Can I ask you something?”

She half turned, but when she did, the only person close to her was turning to head across the street. All she saw was the back of a loud Hawaiian print bowling shirt and a blue baseball cap. She couldn’t tell anything about the man except that he was not much taller than her five feet seven inches.

“Honey, you can ask me anything.”

She kept her hand on Alfie’s head. “Do you know that guy?” She gestured toward the retreating back of the man in the Hawaiian shirt.

Billy shook his head. “Heavens no. That is a nasty excuse for a shirt. Why?”

She laughed weakly. “It’s nothing. For a few minutes I thought he was following me. So, did Bouvier send someone to work on your electricity last week?”

“Yeah. My stove went out—again.”

“Was it the greasy guy with the shaved head?”

Billy nodded and shuddered. “Ugh. And the baggy work pants? Yes.”

“Did he go anywhere else?”

“I don’t know. What’s wrong?”

Angela thought better of telling Billy what had happened. He could be dramatic. She didn’t want to cause a panic among the other residents of her building.

“Nothing,” she lied. “I needed him to look at my kitchen light.”

Alfie whined and pulled on his leash, jerking Billy’s arm. “Oops. Gotta go. Alfie’s got to have his afternoon constitutional.”

“See you later.” She liked having Billy as a neighbor. He was funny and sweet, and he made great jambalaya. But right now she wished he was eight inches taller and forty pounds heavier. Although she’d never admit it to anyone, she could use a knight in shining armor.

Oh please. Get over yourself. She no more needed a knight—shining armor or not—than she needed a second head. Either one of them would be too high-maintenance. All she needed was something to distract her from this damn paranoia. As soon as she was done with finals, she was going shopping for a deadbolt and a pair of opaque curtains.

And then it would be time for a trip to Chicago, to see her brother, Brad, his wife and her two adorable nieces. The thought of seeing the girls made her feel better immediately. She headed on toward her apartment, glancing back for one more glimpse of the man in the blue cap, but she didn’t see him anywhere.

Before she got her attention turned back to where she was walking, her foot caught and she nearly went head over heels. She steadied herself by grabbing the back of the wrought-iron chair that she’d tripped over.

The man sitting in it reached one hand for his mug and the other to help steady her. “Whoa there.”

Without letting go of her arm, he stood. “You okay? Sorry my chair got in your way.” He laughed. “I hate it when it does that.”

“Oh, no.”

“Crap,” he said at the same time.

It was Lucas Delancey. She glared at him. “You again. Your apartment is around here,” she said accusingly.

“It’s in the area, but you gotta admit, this place has the best café au lait on this side of the Quarter.” He cocked his right eyebrow. “Can I buy you a cup?”

“No!” She heard the harsh panic in her voice. She took a deep slow breath and tried again. “No, thank you,” she said evenly. “If I run into you one more time I’m going to be convinced I have another stalker.”

“You’ve got a stalker?” His gaze turned sharp as an emerald.

She winced. “No, I didn’t mean that. It was—” She shook her head. “It was a joke.”

He stared at her. “I don’t think so, Ange.”

There was that nickname again. The single syllable sent nostalgia surging through her. He’d always called her Ange, when he wasn’t calling her Brat.

“Well, you don’t know, do you?” she retorted, making a show of looking at her watch. “I’ve got to go.”

He caught her by her wrist. “Who is he?”

“Nobody you know. Anyhow, I was joking.”

“You’ve got my phone number. Call me if you need me.”

She looked down at his hand. It was big and well shaped, with long, strong fingers. It looked like a hand that could wield a mean sword. Like a knight in—

Stop it! she commanded herself and jerked away from his grasp. Lucas Delancey was a lot of things. Maybe to the people of his precinct in Dallas he was a knight in shining armor, but in her experience, he’d be better cast as the Artful Dodger.

Still, the idea of having someone like him on her side was tempting. It would be so easy to tell him about the odd occurrences of the past week or so. Her certainty that someone was going into her apartment when she wasn’t home. Her sense that someone was watching her, following her.

But seeing him twice in two days flung her back in time. To when she was sixteen and knew she’d die if she never got to kiss him. Her insides turned upside down at the memory of her hesitant naïve kiss and his bold, sensual response.

She’d never been kissed like that since.

“Ange?”

She blinked and realized she was staring at his mouth. What had he said?

Call me if you need me.

“I won’t need you,” she said coldly and headed in the direction of her apartment.