Bodyguard

The dog barked again—a quick sharp sound that made her wonder if she were even closer to civilization than she’d originally thought. She’d already planned her escape route and knew—in theory—how to get from the dock at the trailer park to the closest Everglade car-accessible campground. If cars could get in, she could walk out. And that was what she planned to do.

Her light glanced off what looked like a tiny boathouse, the old wood structure gray against the lush vegetation. She checked her map, circling the camping area she thought she’d arrived at. The glades were dotted with little places like this—areas where a couple of campers could bed down for the night. This time of year, though, the water was high and the risk was greater. There weren’t as many campers. Just die-hard naturalists and explorers who wanted adventure.

Esme was neither of those things.

She liked home and books and routine.

She hated scary movies, danger, intrigue.

All she’d wanted was to plan weddings, marry her college sweetheart, have the nice life she’d been dreaming of for years.

But here she was.

Ready to bed down for another night in a place that she’d rather not be.

She steered toward the wood structure, saw the clearing beyond it. There were lights in the distance—unexpected signs that she really was closer to civilization than she thought.

Esme dragged the canoe out of the water, her waders sucked in by the muddy ground. Behind her, something splashed, and she imagined a crocodile or giant snapping turtle moving toward her.

There were no other boats, no campers, nothing human that she could see. Whatever the light had been, it was gone now. Twilight turned the world deep purple, casting long shadows across the wet ground.

She climbed into the boat, traced the route she’d highlighted on the map, double-and triple-checking her coordinates. Two more camping spots before she reached her destination. Unless she’d missed a couple on the journey.

That was a possibility.

If she had, she might be at the last stop before the road-accessible campground. Something rustled in the brush, and she jumped, scanning the area, looking for whatever had made the noise. Not a mouse or rat. This had sounded large. A panther? A bear? Her heart thudded in her chest as she pulled the bowie knife from the sheath she’d strapped to her thigh. It glinted in the last rays of the setting sun, the blade new and wicked-looking. A great weapon for fighting something close-up, but she’d prefer to keep far from whatever was lurking in the shadows. In hindsight, a gun would have been a better idea. Purchasing a firearm would have been a problem, but she could have gotten her hands on one if she’d tried hard enough.

It wasn’t like she didn’t know how to use one. Her parents had taught her, and Reginald had reiterated the importance of knowing how to defend herself. Probably because he’d been afraid that his crimes would catch up to him, that the people he’d hurt would come back to hurt his family.

Family was everything, but he hadn’t loved his enough to keep them out of harm’s way. The irony of that wasn’t lost on her.

The bushes rustled again—closer this time. Whatever it was, it was stalking her. She could feel it coming closer, see leaves shifting and plants shivering as something moved past.

“Please, God,” she whispered, her fingers so tight around the knife hilt they ached. “Please.”

And then it was on her, springing out from the brush in a flash of dark fur and dark eyes, her light following the movement as she scrambled back. Her knife hand moving as her brain screamed the truth—

A dog!

The thing was a dog, bounding across the open ground and stopping beside her. Sniffing at the air, at the boat, its nose so close she could have touched it.

“Hello,” she said, her voice shaking, but the dog was already bounding away, barking wildly, the bright orange vest it was wearing glowing in the beam of Esme’s light.

It took a second for that to register.

The vest.

The dog.

A search team. Either her uncle’s henchmen or the police.

Looking for her.

She jumped out of the canoe, dragged it back toward the water, her heart slamming against her ribs as she tried desperately to escape whoever was on her trail.

* * *

The lady was back in the water, tugging the canoe out of the shallows. She probably thought she could escape again, but Esme Dupree was about to be disappointed.

Ian Slade sprinted the last few yards that separated him from his quarry, his K-9 partner, King, barking ferociously beside him. Esme had to know they were coming, but she didn’t glance back, didn’t stop, she just kept dragging the canoe, splashing through the green water, alerting every predator in the area that prey was moving through.

He grabbed her arm, was surprised when she swung around, a bowie knife clutched in her free hand.

King growled low in his throat, a warning that Esme would be wise to heed. The Belgian Malinois was trained in protection. Smart, agile and strong, King had a bite as vicious as his bark.

“My partner,” Ian warned, “doesn’t like when people threaten me.”

“Is that what I’m doing?” She tried to pull away, but after three days of tracking her, there was no way Ian planned to let her go.

“What would you call it?” he replied, dragging her back a few steps.

“Defending myself.”

King growled again, and Esme’s gaze shifted, her attention caught just long enough for Ian to make his move.

He disarmed her with ease, grabbing her knife arm and twisting it until she dropped the weapon. Even then, he didn’t release his hold.

Sure, her record was clean. She made a living planning weddings...pretty aboveboard, from the looks of it. But Esme was a member of the Dupree crime family, cut from the same cloth as her brother—a man who killed first and asked questions later.

Ian knew that more than most.

She yanked against his hold, forcing her arm into an angle that had to be painful. He might not trust her, but he didn’t want to hurt her.

“Calm down,” he said, shifting his grip. “I’m Agent Ian Slade. With the FBI.’”

“And that’s supposed to be comforting?” Esme ground out as she continued to tug against his hold.

“More comforting than staying out in the middle of nowhere with your uncle still on the loose.”

“He wouldn’t be loose if your team would focus on apprehending him rather than me.” She yanked hard, her boots slipping in the muck.

She’d have gone down if he weren’t holding on to her.

She didn’t seem to realize that there was no way she was going to escape. Ian was a well-trained federal officer, part of an elite group of agents. He was also a head taller than she was and seventy pounds heavier. Maybe more. Her bones were small, her wrist tiny, his hand circling it with ease.

As battles went, this wasn’t a fair one, and he almost felt bad for restraining her.

Almost.