The Bodyguard & Ms Jones

“You’re watching me?”

She nodded. “I’ve never watched anyone big before.”

He wondered if Cindy had meant for her daughter to stand at his side staring. “You seem a little young to be baby-sitting.”

Allison dimpled. “I’m seven. Jonathan’s watching TV, and Mrs. Davis is watching us. She was here until a minute ago, but she had to go start her dinner. The front door is open and she screams across the street all the time. Mr. Davis has a seizure if his food isn’t on the table at six. But he has other ’deeming qualities.” She paused to draw in a breath. “Do you know what ’deeming means?”

“Sorry, no.” He didn’t know what she was talking about. Or why a seven-year-old had been left in charge of him. He also wondered what day it was and how long he’d been out. He’d arrived on Saturday morning. So today was... “It’s Sunday, right?” he asked.

Allison shook her head. “Tuesday. You’ve been asleep for a long time.” She tilted her head. “You say bad words in your sleep. And you get all twisted up in the covers. You had a fever, too. Mommy had to take care of you and I was very quiet.”

Tuesday? What the hell happened to Sunday and Monday? He couldn’t have been asleep that long. He reached up and rubbed the stubble on his face. Only the innocent stare of the child kept him from grinding out another bad word. He’d been out of it for over seventy-two hours. Then he wondered what else he’d said.

“Could I have a glass of water?” he asked.

She smiled. “I’ll get it.” She placed her doll on the bed and ran out of the room. “He’s awake, and he asked me to get him a glass of water,” he heard her call as she ran through the house.

Footsteps clattered on the hardwood floor. Mike tried to sit up. His body didn’t want to cooperate. He compromised, stuffing a couple of pillows behind his head so he could see more. He did a quick survey of the room. It was spacious, maybe twenty feet square, with a big bay window at one end. The walls were a pale pink, trimmed in cream. The light-colored furniture was large, but simply designed so the big pieces appeared more feminine. An armoire sat across from the foot of the bed. A dresser was next to that. Opposite the window was a doorway that led to a bathroom. Beside the door stood a highboy.

Someone approaching the room interrupted his inspection. The footsteps didn’t sound like Allison’s so he wasn’t surprised when a boy entered the room. He was bigger than his sister and looked older. Something tugged at his memory, the faint impression of the boy prodding him into consciousness.

The kid had blond hair like his sister, but brown eyes. The shape of his face was different, as well. He must look like his father. Mike glanced around the room again and wondered if Mr. Jones lived elsewhere.

The boy shoved his hands into his shorts pockets. “Can I see the bullet wound?”

Until that moment, Mike had been able to ignore the pulsing pain radiating from his thigh. The memories crashed in on him. The ambush on the rooftop garden terrace, the madness in the assassin’s eyes, the sudden slowing of time as Mike had shoved his client to the ground and pulled out the Beretta he carried with him. The assassin’s first round had missed, the second had caught Mike in the thigh. Mike had shot the assassin, and had then been attacked by the man’s assistant. In the struggle, Mike had gone off the side of the building. He’d taken the assistant with him. The client escaped unharmed, the bill was paid and Mike was left to move on. Only this time it had been to a hospital instead of another job.

He shook his head to clear it and only succeeded in blurring his vision. The kid was still staring at him expectantly. What did he want? Oh, yeah. To see the bullet wound. “Not right now, sport.”

The boy’s mouth twisted with disgust. “My name’s Jonathan. I just want to look.”

Allison entered, carefully carrying a glass of water in both hands. Her pale eyebrows drew together in concentration. When he took the glass from her, she smiled proudly. “I didn’t spill any.”

“Thanks.”

He tried to sit up again, but he didn’t have a prayer. The spirit might be willing, but his body was still whimpering and broken. He tilted his head forward and drank the water down in four long swallows.

The liquid was cool and about the best-tasting drink he’d had in weeks. When he was done, he sighed and offered the glass back to Allison. Now both kids were staring at him, their mouths open, their eyes big.

“You drink fast,” Allison said.

“I guess,” he said, feeling vaguely uncomfortable.

“You ever kill anybody?” Jonathan asked.

Allison grabbed her doll and took a step back. Mike set the empty glass on the nightstand and looked at the boy. “No. My job is to protect people. I’m hired to keep my client safe.”

“But someone shot you.”

“It happens.”

“Was it a bad man?” Allison asked. Her voice was soft and concerned. She continued to keep her distance.

“Yes, he was bad,” Mike told her. “He’s in jail now. He can’t hurt anyone again.” For some reason, he wanted to reassure the little girl. He didn’t like seeing the fear in her eyes. He tried smiling at her. His lips felt dry and his face was tight. Still, it must have worked, because the wary expression faded and she approached the bed again.

“Shelby thinks you’re nice,” she said shyly.

“Who’s Shelby?” He glanced around searching for yet another kid.

Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Allison, don’t be such a baby. Stop talking about Shelby. She’s not real.”

The girl tightened her grip on her doll. She ignored her brother and leaned closer to Mike. “Shelby’s my bestest friend in the world. She doesn’t like Jonathan and won’t let him see her.”

Mike didn’t know what to make of this. He was saved from having to answer by the sound of a car pulling up the driveway.

“Mommy’s home, Mommy’s home.” Both kids went flying from the room. Their feet thundered on the wooden floor.

“Stop pushing,” Allison ordered.

“Then get out of my way.”

“Mo-om, Jonathan’s pushing.”

“Am not. Quit being such a baby.”

“I’m not a baby.”

“Are, too! Allie’s a baby. Allie’s a—”

The voices were abruptly cut off when the back door opened. For the next few minutes, there were only low murmurs, then Mike heard the woman approaching.

She walked into the room and smiled at him. “I’m afraid to ask if you woke up on your own, or if the children are responsible.”

“I think it’s a little of both.”

She bent over the nightstand and pulled open the top drawer. After pulling out a thermometer, she shook it down and placed it under his tongue. She expertly took his pulse, then leaned close and studied his eyes. While she looked at him, he looked at her.

She was as he remembered her. Today she wore a headband to keep her hair off her face, but the color was still light brown and it fell almost to her shoulders. Her eyes were smoky green and the corners of her mouth tilted up. A red T-shirt clung to her breasts. White shorts hugged her hips and exposed long, tanned legs. She didn’t look like any nurse he’d ever had, but he wasn’t about to complain.

“Your eyes are clear,” she said. She touched his forehead, then his cheek with the back of her hand. “You feel cool, too.” She removed the thermometer and studied it. “Normal. Finally. So, Mike, how do you feel?”

“Not bad for a guy who fell off a building.”

“You’ve been asleep for three days. According to your doctor, that’s exactly what you needed.” There was a shuffling at the door. She glanced over her shoulder. “Jonathan, Allison, your ride for swim team will be here in about fifteen minutes. Go get ready.”

He heard footsteps on the stairs and the sound of childish voices. “They don’t do anything quietly, do they?”

“Not if there’s a way to do it loudly.” She perched on the edge of the bed. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to have you awake. I’ve been worried.” Her skin was smooth and slightly tanned. When she smiled, there were faint lines around her eyes. He guessed she was close to thirty.