The Nurse's Bodyguard

“Well, okay...” He leaned forward in his chair again, staring at his clasped hands. Finally his eyes rose to hold hers. “Miss Olsen. In my experience, I’ve known a lot of football players and combat soldiers who were easily more than twice your size, who didn’t have the fortitude you showed last night.” He stood and held his hand as a peace offering. “One of my redeeming qualities is I can admit when I’ve been wrong. I truly apologize for my harsh questioning and for doubting your veracity. Please let me shake your hand.”

Claire was stunned. His eyes pinned hers and she blinked. Nodding slightly, she rose and allowed his huge hand to swallow hers a second time. Marveling at the size difference, she murmured, “It’s okay. I understand. You were just doing your job.”

* * *

LUKE CONTINUED TO STARE at her oddly colored eyes. And then she smiled. The smile was shy and incredibly sweet. The flush that Luke felt was concurrent with an odd tightening in his chest. He recognized the sensation immediately. He had just lost his heart.

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_8df72b0a-1e7b-5657-9099-7cf04ed5137b)

CLAIRE CRADLED THE little girl in her arms, gently rocking back and forth. She mumbled some words in poorly accented, broken Korean. The child probably couldn’t comprehend, but Claire hoped the words would comfort her nonetheless. Hyo-joo was small for her age, having battled leukemia for the past six months. Despite her outward appearance, Hyo-joo was one of the fortunate ones. There were still many hurdles to overcome, not the least of which were opportunistic infections and reoccurrence, but thanks to powerful drugs, radiation and a bone marrow transplant from her father, the child was winning the battle.

They were sitting in the brightly colored playroom of the children’s wing. The room was a place of respite—a spot to distract both patients and their families from the pain and uncertainty inherent with cancer—as well as a laboratory. Several years before, a forward-thinking doctor, schooled in both Eastern and Western medicine, had set up the playroom/laboratory to institute a more holistic approach to the management of children with cancer. He’d started with a half-dozen electronic play stations with computer games for children from ages one to twenty-one. Those had grown in number, been updated several times, and were perpetually busy from early in the morning until after what should have been the children’s bedtime. The computers were a diversion for the very ill children as well as a resource for the doctors and nurses to assess the cognitive and psychomotor function of the young patients. They could also be used as educational tools, as many of the children lost significant time in school when they were hospitalized for weeks and even months.

Claire clucked her tongue and whistled quietly, gaining the attention of the Scottish terrier who’d been resting on a bed in a corner of the large room. “Come, Kai-ji.” The dog jumped up from her perch and happily trotted over to nuzzle the sick girl.

During the second year of the playroom’s existence, pet therapy was instituted. The program was started with one small dog; now there were four. In addition to the little Scottie, there was a West Highland white terrier, a cocker spaniel and a standard poodle. The therapy dogs loved children, were patient and well trained, and—very important—they did not shed. Each was remarkably intuitive, somehow knowing which children were ill and limiting rambunctious play with them. Oftentimes the dogs would respond even more appropriately to a child’s condition than the nurses and doctors, amazing Claire.

The most recent additions to the holistic therapy program were keyboards and flutes. The hospital had employed a full-time music therapist who taught the children music theory and how to play the instruments. The idea was to help re-direct the young patients from focusing on their illnesses to thinking about their recovery. Claire had been skeptical at first, but after working with the therapist and seeing his results, she’d quickly recognized the value of using music to express feelings, particularly for the older children.

* * *

WHEN LUKE ENTERED the playroom late Tuesday afternoon, he saw Claire sitting cross-legged on the floor. She was cradling a tiny, bald child who was petting and being licked by a small black dog. He studied the large, brightly lit room filled with computer stations, toys, pianos and keyboards, as well as people whose happy expressions seemed out-of-place for a children’s cancer ward.

The children were dressed in loose pajamas that resembled surgeon’s scrubs. The younger children’s attire was printed with dinosaurs, kittens, horses or princesses and the scrubs of the older children were various solid colors, but were neon-bright. Except that many of the children were holding onto or sitting right beside IV poles and/or were wearing masks covering their mouths and noses, he could have been in a school or children’s play area anywhere. All of the adults were either playing with the children or sitting quietly by and reading or watching TV.

When Luke saw Claire, she was engrossed with the child. As he watched, she gently kissed the bald head, smiled and whispered something. The sensation Luke experienced at that moment was completely unique for him. Even during his most vulnerable circumstances, whether he’d been playing football against a tough opponent, or facing tense situations on the war’s frontline, or riding in a plane landing on an aircraft carrier in rough seas, he’d never felt this particular combination of apprehension and anticipation. His palms were sweaty, his mouth was dry and his heart beat erratically.

Luke spent much of his life trying to avoid being conspicuous. He’d learned to stand very still to keep from attracting attention. Normally he had at least some success, but in a room filled with about a dozen Korean children and at least that many smallish, slender, black-headed men and women, the huge American man in jeans and green polo shirt was impossible to miss. Before he’d even gotten completely through the door, one of the children squeaked something and within seconds all heads—including Claire’s—had turned in his direction. Even the dogs seemed to be aware of his presence.

With a room full of staring men, women and ill children, Luke did his best to appear non-threatening. He gave a small, friendly wave to no one in particular and graced the room’s inhabitants with a shy smile. He tucked his hands into his jeans pockets and slumped, trying to shrink.

Claire was startled by his sudden appearance. Still holding the child, she stood gracefully. “Uh...em...Lieutenant...” When she spoke, all eyes moved from the huge man at the door to her. She cleared her throat and managed to mutter, “Do you need something?”

He nodded. “Yes. I’d like to speak to you for a minute.”

Claire passed the little girl to one of the nursing assistants standing nearby. She brushed a hand over her hair and adjusted her glasses before crossing to the door. Once there, she seemed nearly overwhelmed. She blinked tensely as she looked up at him.

“Is there a problem with my case?”

He glanced beyond her into the room full of curious faces and then back down at the anxious young woman. “Is there somewhere quiet we can talk?”

Claire took one step to the side, as if afraid to turn her back on him. She motioned down the short hall leading to a large waiting room in the outer lobby.

“Yes. I’m sure we can find a spot this way.” She glanced at him as she led him toward several unoccupied chairs at one corner of the lobby. “Um, why are you here? Is something wrong?”

Luke studied her for a moment before responding. “Has anyone from the consular staff contacted you?”

He was struck again by her unusual eyes and fine, soft features. She was tall and slender, and she was dressed much as she had been on Saturday, in a long dark skirt made of some knit material that flowed. Her pale pink blouse was mostly covered by the buttoned white lab coat and she was wearing soft-soled, flat ballet slippers. She was remarkably lovely, but there was something extra, something elusive about her that drew him.

Under the cuff of her right sleeve he noted the edge of the gauze dressing and cringed inwardly, envisioning a knife tearing through her soft skin. His mouth tightened as he realized anew how much worse the attack could have been.

“About my passport? I thought they said it could take up to two weeks.”

“No. I don’t have anything to do with that.” They had reached the chairs and he motioned for her to take a seat. She settled obediently, but remained sitting very straight and on the edge, as if she could be ready to bolt if the need arose. Luke scooted another chair around to sit facing her. “No one called you back to follow up on the attack?” His tone betrayed his annoyance, bordering on anger. She shook her head and he took a deep breath and frowned. “I left a detailed report which instructed the attaché to order one of the embassy personnel to let you know what I learned about the assault.”

Claire sat up even straighter. “Lieutenant...um...Llewellyn... No. No one has called...”

He sighed and slumped back in his chair a bit. “Look, first, please call me Luke. I’m not here in any official capacity. That...” He motioned randomly with one hand. “Working at the embassy isn’t my real job. I’m just a weekend substitute. They—the embassy personnel—were supposed to let you know...” He paused, frowning again.

“Know what?”

Luke leaned forward, ensuring he had her full attention. “I spent the better part of Sunday reviewing all of the hospital’s surveillance feed.” One corner of his mouth turned up in a half grin. “By the way, they’re very well covered—in regard to monitoring what goes on—particularly the doors and the parking lots.” He pointed to a camera mounted near the ceiling about twenty feet away from where they sat. The grin faded and he said, “At any rate, I had to go back several hours from the time of the attack, but I was finally able to spot the two assailants. I figured out when they got to the hospital and pieced together what they did while they were here.”

She was watching his expressions with mingled curiosity and concern. “Okay. That sounds like a good idea... But why?”

“I told you, the attack bothered me. It didn’t make sense and still doesn’t.” His lips tightened and he looked uncomfortable. “Anyway, I had to go back nearly six hours to find when the two men arrived. They came here at about five, long before they attacked you.” He frowned at her and asked, “What time do you normally leave?”

“It varies. Sometimes as early as five or six, but sometimes much later.” She shrugged. “Last Friday was one of the later times.” She looked perplexed. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”

Luke fought the urge to reach over and rub her hand or pat her cheek—anything, just to touch her. Instead he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Miss Olsen... Can I call you Mary?”

She blinked a couple of times before answering. “No...um... Yes, of course. But I go by Claire. My parents call me ‘Mary Claire,’ but to everyone else, I’m just ‘Claire’.”

He smiled then. It was his first genuine smile since he’d walked into the playroom and tried to put its occupants at ease. Claire’s breath caught. Her own face softened and her lips turned up slightly in response.

“Okay, just Claire it is...” He sat back up at attention and the smile died away. “Claire,” he repeated, “the bottom line is this: the attack wasn’t random. They were waiting on you. They’d been watching you for at least five hours and followed you into the parking lot.”

Disbelief clouded her expression. “How can you know that?” She shook her head and waved her hand dismissively. “Likely they were just waiting for a lone woman, someone who looked vulnerable.”

He shook his head. “No. There’s no doubt. Claire, this is what I do. Like I told you, I only act as babysitter to a bunch of Marine guards occasionally. What I’ve spent much of the past six years doing is reviewing and interpreting surveillance video.”

He glanced around to ensure that there was no one in the vicinity and continued quietly, “Claire, during the time between when they arrived and when they followed you out, at least fifty women exited the building alone. They weren’t looking for a vulnerable woman to mug... They were waiting for you.” She paled a little then. He gritted his teeth and looked down at the polished floor before allowing his gaze to capture hers again. He was weighing how to proceed. “And something else,” he said, leaning a little closer. “I’m pretty sure they weren’t intending to steal your purse.” His voice quieted to almost a whisper. “Claire, I think they may have been trying to harm you, maybe even kill you.”

She surged to her feet and paced several steps away before whirling around to face him again. Her voice was quiet but emphatic. “That’s impossible! I don’t know anyone in Seoul.” She struggled to keep her voice calm as she took a few steps back toward him. “I’ve only been here a few weeks, for goodness’ sake. I’m just a nurse from Minnesota. I haven’t done anything wrong and haven’t harmed anyone. I don’t have anything anyone would want!” She moved away again and then sighed. “Look, you’ve made some sort of error.”

Luke remained seated, still trying to keep a low profile. “I’m sorry, Claire. There is no mistake.” He pinched the bridge of his nose in fatigue and frustration. “I left a detailed report for the consular attaché on Sunday. I strongly suggested that someone contact you to tell you what I found and warn you to be wary. It’s clear that request wasn’t heeded.” He sighed and swore under his breath. “I’ve been—um—away since Sunday night. I just returned from a recon detail this morning and came by to check on you. I hoped you’d been told to be alert and take precautions.”

“Lieutenant—”

“Luke,” he interrupted. “Like I said, I’m not here officially.”

“Okay.” She bit her lip then started over. “Luke, I really appreciate your concern. You’ve gone above and beyond.” She smiled slightly. “But there’s no reason someone—anyone—would want to hurt me.” She paused a breath then sat back down, shaking her head. “The only explanation I can think of is that I was mistaken for someone. Do you think that’s possible?”

“Maybe, but I’m doubtful. They were here, waiting for you.” He sighed again. “Look, please at least consider the possibility. Don’t go anywhere alone and pay attention to your surroundings. And if anything even remotely suspicious happens, contact the hospital security guards or the police and the embassy.” The last sentence was spoken authoritatively, as if he was giving an order.

“Yes, sir.” She gave him a small smile. “I will, sir.”

His own lips turned up slightly, but he still looked frustrated. There seemed to be nothing left to say. The interview was over. They both stood and Claire held out her hand. “Thank you very much for coming all the way here to talk to me, Luke. It was very considerate of you.”