The Nurse's Bodyguard

CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_59a187b5-fd4d-5009-acc7-e3ac8504ed81)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_a7d76045-0553-51d8-ba8e-903ba8114127)

Seoul, South Korea

MARY CLAIRE OLSEN smiled shyly and said good-night to the security guard sitting at a large desk near the entrance of the Samsung Medical Center. Exiting through the automatic doors, she shifted her purse to her other shoulder and buttoned her white lab coat. The spring night was cool, but a little hazy, which was apparently typical for the city during April.

Having been in Seoul for a month, Claire had established a routine. The apartment she was sharing wasn’t that far from the hospital. She could take the subway home—the nearest stop was only two blocks away—or she could catch a cab. Although taxis cost a little more than the subway, the silver cabs were readily available, usually clean and remarkably cheap. Traveling by taxi often took a bit longer because traffic was heavy, but Claire was tired. It was almost eleven and she’d put in more than twelve hours at the hospital, so she decided to find a cab.

Claire headed for the street, walking through the large, well-lit parking lot. Positive memories and cheerful thoughts bounced through her mind as she wove her way among the late-model Korean or Japanese sedans and occasional SUVs. It had been a good day. Most of the children on the hematology/oncology unit were doing well with their treatments. She recalled the smiles of the children as well as the grateful expressions on the faces of their parents. Compared to that her fatigue was secondary. Nonetheless, she was looking forward to a hot shower and bed.

She glanced at her watch and quickened her pace. If she got home soon, she’d probably have time to Skype her parents before Mom left for school. The fifteen-hour time difference between Seoul and Minneapolis was sometimes a challenge, but she and her parents had been amazed to discover that communicating with people literally on the other side of the world was as easy as installing a tiny camera on the computer and hitting a few buttons.

Focused on her plans, Claire didn’t pay attention to the two men who approached her. Even if she had been more engaged, she wouldn’t have perceived them as a threat. Seoul had a reputation as an extremely safe city. Crime, particularly personal crime, was very rare.

Without warning, Claire had a sharp, overwhelming feeling of danger. Only a heartbeat later she felt a hand grab for her. Whether she’d been alerted by a muffled sound, a perception of movement, or simply intuition, Claire suddenly felt compelled to pivot quickly and dive to one side. A man dressed in a dark jacket, his face obscured by a hoodie, lunged after her and arched a fist in her direction. Reflexively, she stumbled backward—narrowly missing the punch—but in doing so, she smacked solidly into the second man. He tried to grab her, but she ducked and flailed in his direction with her elbow. Her blow was partially deflected by his leather coat, but Claire was able to throw off his grasping hands and pull away

Fueled by an adrenaline rush and pure survival instinct, Claire succeeded in putting a Hyundai SUV between herself and the men. Her heart pounded painfully and she tried to scream, but she knew her anemic shriek couldn’t be heard beyond the parking lot. Trying to control her panic, she turned to run back toward the hospital.

Within two steps, however, one of the men grabbed her lab coat, halting her progress. She sensed another blow coming and held up her purse as a shield. Rather than a fist, a knife sliced through the purse and tore into the flesh of her forearm. This time, her scream was much louder, startling her assailants. In that instant, she dropped her purse and staggered back, trying again to flee the attackers. They quickly recovered and followed.

The tenacity her parents had commented on a hundred times saved her life. Although Claire could feel blood dripping from her arm, she turned around and kicked high and hard with her right leg, catching the man with the knife squarely on the chin. He reeled backward, landing hard on the concrete, but the leather-jacketed man lurched toward her and grabbed her injured arm. Claire ignored the pain and with a strength and agility that were completely at odds with her slight frame, she whirled away from the assailant and broke free from his grasp. Once again she started running toward the hospital, screaming for help.

Before she’d covered a hundred feet, she saw two security guards running in her direction. The man with the hoodie shouted and his partner mumbled a reply before he picked something up and ran off with his friend.

Claire’s heart was still hammering when the security guards reached her. They noticed her bleeding arm and one produced a handkerchief to help staunch the flow. “Thank you,” she said through panting breaths. “Thank you,” she whispered a second time and then repeated in Korean, “Kamsahamnida.”

The guards made no attempt to follow Claire’s attackers. Instead, they led her back into the hospital, and took her directly to the Emergency Department. There, the guards turned her over to the staff and called the police.

Within no time, two nurses had cleaned the knife wound and a young doctor was putting a series of neat stitches into the six-inch long gash, all the while telling Claire about completing his plastic surgery residency in Boston. The adrenaline surge was wearing off and the pain in Claire’s arm was changing from acutely intense to a merely tear-producing throb. While she was being treated, Claire realized that during the assault she’d lost her purse. On reflection she knew that the man in the leather jacket had picked it up before he fled.

“Well, damn!” she said to no one in particular. Other than about twenty dollars worth of Korean won, she’d just lost her favorite stethoscope, a couple of credit cards and some personal items. And then she remembered...

“Damn!” she repeated. Because Claire’s father was a Lutheran minister, she rarely swore. But tonight the circumstances definitely warranted it. She sighed and looked at the doctor who was suturing her forearm. “My passport,” she said with exasperation. “They got my passport.”

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_1a201acf-f9b6-508f-b05b-f77005d0a03b)

LIEUTENANT LUKE LLEWELLYN was sitting at a borrowed desk in the security office of the American Embassy in Seoul, reading a recent issue of Sports Illustrated and trying to avoid boredom. He was not particularly successful. It was a tedious way to spend a lovely Saturday afternoon, but he really couldn’t complain because it beat most of the alternatives.

Luke had been a naval intelligence officer for nearly eight years. He’d completed three tours in the Persian Gulf, where he had logged an inordinate amount of time in the E-2 Hawkeye and other early warning system aircraft, monitoring movements of men and weapons. He’d also spent hours upon hours in front of computer terminals watching satellite feed and listening to interpretations of intercepted conversations, trying to discern plans of the enemy. The work wasn’t exactly what he’d signed up for when he applied to the Naval Academy at seventeen, but he had no doubt of the critical, life-and-death nature of his work.

However, with Luke’s last promotion, the Navy had ‘loaned’ him to the Army. What followed was the longest nine months of his life. He’d been assigned to a forward operating base in Afghanistan, where his affinity for, and appreciation of the soldiers and marines who were ‘boots on the ground’ quickly rose in conjunction with his disdain for the Taliban.

While in Afghanistan he decided it was time to consider parting company with the U.S. military, but then he’d been recalled by the Army and sent to South Korea. Compared to the Middle East, life in Korea was a cake walk. There were no snipers, no IEDs, and no suicide bombers. The weather was good and the Korean people wanted the military in country—at least for the most part. All in all it was an excellent assignment to close out his career.

As a naval intelligence officer in Seoul, Luke assisted Army personnel in monitoring the communications and activities of the North Korean regime and its allies. That position had him bouncing around the northern part of the country, mostly doing spot reviews across the checkpoints of the demilitarized zone. The DMZ was the military demarcation line between North and South Korea, dating back to the 1950s, when the countries ceased overt conflict. Technically, the war had never ended and both sides continued to heavily arm their respective borders. The DMZ was at least five miles wide and heavily mined, fenced and monitored. Luke also spent significant time at a limited-access area in Seoul’s Yongsan Army Garrison. The non-descript building on the north side of the American military installation housed an impressive bank of state-of-the-art computers. Although surveillance work could be tedious, he enjoyed field expeditions with some of the Army guys—riding in Humvees or Blackhawks. And he relished the times when the teams could pass along anomalies or surreptitious movements, alerting the ‘powers that be’ to potential threats or events which might require diplomatic or even military intervention.

In addition to his other responsibilities, Luke was required to take his turn as officer-in-charge of the American Embassy’s security detail one weekend each month, even though the Marine guards who were responsible for the embassy needed scant supervision. He was expected to maintain a presence on the embassy grounds, being called on from time-to-time to help manage issues affecting State or Defense Department personnel or problems encountered by any of the thousands of Americans living or visiting the country. Because he wasn’t needed all that often, Luke redeemed the time by working out in the embassy’s well-equipped gym, watching movies, reading or playing poker with the Marines and consular personnel. One benefit—something he always looked forward to—was the first rate food in the cafeteria.

The slow Saturday afternoon was interrupted by a knock at the open office door, and Marine Staff Sergeant Antonio Mancini entered without waiting for an invitation. Approaching the desk, Mancini waved a file in Luke’s direction. “Luke, you lucky dog,” he said. “You’ve got some customers.”

Luke remained slouched in his chair. He didn’t look up from an article describing the early predictions for the upcoming Major League season. “Customers?” He turned a page. “This is an embassy, Tony, not a department store. We don’t have customers.”

“Man, oh man,” Tony chuckled, and his chocolate-brown eyes crinkled at the corners. “There’s a couple of women in the waiting room—real lookers—who need some help.”

Luke finally glanced at the sergeant and sighed heavily in feigned exasperation. “Okay, what?”

“Seems one of the ladies’ passports was stolen last night along with her purse. She’s filed the paperwork to replace it but needs to report being a crime victim. I’ve taken her statement.” He waved the skinny file in Luke’s direction again. “Unusual situation... I’ve been here almost four years, and this is the first time I’ve seen an American woman knifed by an assailant.”

“Seriously?” Luke’s nonchalant attitude evaporated and he threw the magazine on the desk. “She was knifed? How bad?” He sat up straight and took the file.

“Luckily just a flesh wound to her arm.”

Luke skimmed the first page and memorized the basics: Mary Claire Olsen...25...Rochester, Minnesota...Registered nurse...Working a month in Korea...Single. “You said there were two. Who’s with her?”

“Her roommate—for moral support. The roomie lives here.” Tony briefed him on more of the details. “The victim is doing some sort of educational thing at Samsung Medical Center. According to her story, she was attacked by two guys last night right outside the hospital. The second page is the original police report and the third page is the English translation.”

“Actually at the hospital?” Luke flipped to the third page. “That’s in a good part of the city... It’s well lit and there are plenty of people around, pretty much twenty-four-seven.”