Alice Sharpe - Bodyguard Father

Garrett could almost feel his daughter’s arms wrapped around his own neck.

He watched as Annie put her down. The image of his little girl waving goodbye as the door closed burned itself into his head.

When he met Annie back at her house, the first thing out of her mouth was, “Your Megan is absolutely adorable. She’s just wonderful.”

“How was she?” he asked. “I mean, did she seem…happy?”

“She seemed good, Garrett. Happy, affectionate.”

He nodded, looking over her shoulder, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat. Annie touched his chin and he met her gaze. “She squealed and hugged herself when she thought of you,” she added.

He smiled slowly, a bittersweet, tear-at-the-heart kind of smile. He had a lot to make up to his little girl. How had every good intention he had turned out to be wrong?

He had to get Megan back. There was absolutely no other option.

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This book is dedicated to Elisabeth Naughton and

Lisa Pulliman, roommates extraordinaire

Alice Sharpe met her husband-to-be on a cold, foggy beach in Northern California. One year later they were married. Their union has survived the rearing of two children, a handful of earthquakes registering over 6.5, numerous cats and a few special dogs, the latest of which is a yellow Lab named Annie Rose. Alice and her husband now live in a small rural town in Oregon, where she devotes the majority of her time to pursuing her second love, writing.

Alice loves to hear from readers. You can write her at P.O. Box 755, Brownsville, OR 97327. SASE for reply is appreciated.

Garrett Skye —Accused of killing the woman he was paid to protect, he’s on the run. His goals: recover from the wound sustained in his escape, regain custody of his three-year-old daughter and disappear forever.

Anastasia (Annie) Ryder —This cookie-baking preschool teacher turns down her private detective father’s last attempt at reconciliation. Can she atone for her behavior by completing his last case: finding Garrett Skye?

Megan Skye —This three-year-old charmer is the center of Garrett’s heart. He’ll do anything to protect her….

Shelby Greason —She hired Annie’s father to bring her mother’s killer to justice.

Robert Greason —Still grief stricken by his wife’s death, he’s now receiving death threats of his own.

“Curly” and “Moe” —Two thugs with deadly intent.

Rocko Klugg —Awaiting a new trial, everyone knows he’s a murderer and that he wanted Elaine Greason dead. But what is he looking for now and how far will he go to get it?

Jasmine Carrabas —Klugg’s girlfriend. This slick beauty has a scary mean streak.

Randy Larson (Red Thunder) —Have his dreams corrupted him?

Tiffany Boothe Skye —Garrett’s ex. Her interest in being a mother is less than her interest in a new man. How far will she go to destroy Garrett’s credibility?

Ellen Boothe —Tiffany’s mother, Megan’s reluctant babysitter.

Brady Skye —Garrett’s older brother is a lawman in Oregon. Will he help or hinder his brother’s efforts to clear his name?

Lara Skye —Brady’s beloved wife, the sister Annie never had.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Annie Ryder was ready to call it quits. Two days of lurking around in the cold, snapping pictures of old buildings, old streets and old ranchers had left her stiff and grumpy. Plus, the unfamiliar black-framed glasses rested heavy on the bridge of her nose while the thick brown wig atop her head itched to the point of distraction.

Oh, who was she trying to fool? Or, worse, impress? “You can’t impress a dead man,” she mumbled to herself.

A badly tuned engine jerked her from her thoughts. She peered down the street in time to spot a beat-up blue truck approaching. She didn’t need to consult the photograph in her pocket to know at long last this was the truck—and hopefully the driver—she’d been waiting for. Round bumpers, dented hood, broken antenna, a faded Forty-Niners bumper sticker, California plates. This was it.

Hallelujah…

Lifting the camera, she flexed numb fingers. “Stop at the grocery store,” she whispered as she watched the truck ramble down the road.

For a second, she thought it would pass by and her stomach twisted into a knot that just as quickly unraveled as the truck pulled to the curb no more than ten feet from where she stood concealed in an alley. The driver got out of the truck and without locking his door or glancing back at Annie’s location, limped across the road toward the grocery store on the corner. He wore faded blue jeans and a black jacket. Worn leather cowboy boots looked like the real deal.

He reached into his left pocket, emerged with an old fashioned gold watch that he snapped open, glanced at and snapped shut. He dug a few coins from his other pocket.

Annie raised the camera and peered through the lens, zooming in on his face. She found the chiseled features she’d appreciated in his photo, more obvious now that he’d shaved off the mustache he’d worn before. His hair was darker and scruffier though without the facial hair; he looked younger than his thirty-three years.

Garrett Skye, at last.

She zeroed in on his eyes and for a second, he seemed to look right at her. Her breath caught in alarm, but that quickly evaporated. He had amazing deep-brown eyes, warm and sensual, even when viewed through a lens. Eyes that reminded her of the old “windows of the soul” malarkey, eyes that brimmed with self-awareness, eyes that skated on the razor-thin edge of magic.

She lowered the camera a fraction of an inch and stared back at him, unable to move. His gaze should strike fear in the bottom of her heart. It didn’t.

This was nuts. Those beautiful eyes belonged to a man who killed without remorse. No doubt his last victim had thought she saw humanity in those deep, dark irises, too. Well, that woman was dead now, thanks to him, so get a grip!

His gaze shifted. Obviously, he was just looking around, being cautious. He slid a few coins into the paper machine and snagged a copy. Annie quickly snapped the first of a dozen photos before he disappeared into the store.

She hurriedly reinvented what she’d seen through the camera lens. Not warmth, not beauty. Cockiness, smugness, vanity, that’s what she’d seen. He thought he was safe. He hadn’t counted on the dead woman’s grown daughter having deep pockets and a vengeful nature. He hadn’t counted on Annie’s late father’s detective skills.

And he hadn’t counted on her, Annie Ryder, intrepid pre-school teacher/unofficial private eye.

Her job was simple: verify Garrett Skye’s presence, learn what name he was using, get an address in Poplar Gulch, tell the client.