Carol Ericson - Green Beret Bodyguard

“Slow down. It may not mean anything—just words—and those words gave me a helluva headache.”

Her smile crumpled and she pushed to her feet. “Where does it hurt?”

“All over.” The sharp pain had dulled to a throbbing ache.

Lola positioned herself behind him and threaded her fingers through his hair. She kneaded his scalp with her fingertips, and he closed his eyes at the soothing sensation.

“Is that better?”

He’d given himself over completely to Lola’s touch. She had healing hands, but he felt much more than solace from pain. As she massaged him, a slow flame had kindled in his belly and threatened to head south.

He cinched her wrist lightly. “That’s better. Thanks.”

Her hand fluttered over his forehead, and she pushed the hair back from his face. “I’m going to get you some ibuprofen. I really think you should see my friend, the psychiatrist.”

She stepped away from him and he immediately missed her warmth. God, he couldn’t afford to get too dependent on Lola. He’d take the card she’d given him and contact this go-between, get his own life back before he could be of any use to Lola and her brother.

She returned with a refilled glass of water, cupping a green gel cap in her palm. “Take this—even though I really want you to remember more, I don’t want you to go through any more pain tonight.”

He pinched the capsule from her hand and popped it in his mouth, chasing it with a gulp of water. “I didn’t try to remember. The words came to me when I saw your brother’s picture. Do you have any more?”

She clicked the mouse and jumped from picture to picture of her brother—sailing a boat, running a race, parasailing—the guy never stopped. All the while, she threw sidelong glances his way, expecting him to fall on the floor in a fit of remembrance.

Jack shook his head, stretching his legs out on either side of the kitchen chair. “Nothing. I’m sorry.”

Giving him a crooked smile, Lola lifted one shoulder. “You remembered something, and that’s a start. Maybe when you talk to Emilio, he can give you more information to get the ball rolling again.”

He knew he had to leave, even though he wanted to stay here and talk to Lola all night, find out what made her tick. He was sick of his life or the lack thereof. Sick of wondering, guessing, theorizing.

He eased from the chair and tucked it beneath the table. Clamping the back of his neck and twisting his head from side to side, he sauntered to a set of long, curved windows. “Nice view.”

She joined him, meeting his eyes in the window’s reflection. “That’s why I chose this unit, for the windows on the corner of the curved building and for the view.”

“But you could be living in your parents’ house in Coral Gables?”

“Gables Estates.” She scrunched up her face as if she hadn’t just named the most exclusive area of Miami.

“Nice area.”

“Gabe stays there…when he’s not roaming the globe. He’s less fastidious about his place of residence than I am.”

Jack waited with one raised eyebrow, but she refused to take the bait. He blew out a breath, creating a patch of mist on the window, and patted his back pocket. “I’ll contact Emilio tomorrow.”

“Just do me a favor and don’t stalk him like you did me. He’s not the type of guy to appreciate a hand over his mouth or a gun in his ribs. He’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”

“I didn’t follow you long, just enough to get a sense of your schedule and habits—which you should vary, by the way, to be on the safe side.”

She snorted and rubbed a fist on the windowpane, wiping out his breath. “Nice of you to worry about my safety now when you scared the spit out of me at the morgue.”

Jack lifted his jacket off the back of a chair and felt for his weapon. “What are you talking about?”

“The morgue.” She folded her arms across her chest. “When I was in there, you were creeping around outside. I didn’t appreciate it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lola.” He shrugged into his cheap jacket. So that was what she’d meant by the comment in the car. “I never went inside the hospital. I waited in your car.”

Her eyes darkened to a swampy green. “Really? When you jumped me in my car, I figured you were the one lurking around the morgue.”

“I didn’t jump you.” He’d never live that down…but he’d like the opportunity to try.

“Okay, whatever. I guess I can’t lay that at your door.” She bunched the material of her shirt in her fists.

Jack narrowed his eyes, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “Did something happen in the morgue?”

“No, no, probably just my overactive imagination.”

“I guess a morgue could do that to you.” He zipped up his jacket, feeling the weight and comfort of his gun in the pocket.

“Can I give you a ride back to your motel?”

Good thing she hadn’t invited him to spend the night. He would’ve found that offer harder to refuse.

“That’s okay. I know my way back and you shouldn’t be driving.” He held out his hand. “Sorry about my clumsy methods, but thanks for your help tonight.”

She placed her hand in his, her smooth, cool skin like a drink of fresh water. “I hope…well, I hope you get better. I wrote my cell number on Emilio’s card, if you remember anything else or if you want to talk to my friend, or…”

Jack squeezed her hand, studying her eyes, waiting for the shifting colors to give him some kind of signal. She blinked her dark lashes over the steady hazel, and Jack smirked at his foolish game.

A desperate man took desperate measures.

He allowed her to have her hand back and turned toward the door. “I’ll call if I remember anything about your brother.”

“And what if I need to get in touch with you?”

Was that the sign he’d been waiting for? The invitation to stay? He clenched his teeth. This isn’t a date, Jack.

“I have your number. Maybe I’ll pick up one of those prepaid cell phones.”

A rosy pink stole across her cheeks, but she plastered a quick smile on her face. “Good luck, then.”

Jack slipped out the door and snapped it behind him. Bending forward, he flattened his palm against the door and heard the dead bolt click into place. Without moving an inch, he closed his eyes.

The heat and vitality of Lola’s home buzzed through the door. Lola’s company had poured warmth into his soul. Her breath, her voice, her touch, had all animated him. Made him feel alive. Made him feel like more than a husk of a person. But she hadn’t asked for that role.

He turned and headed for the elevator.

He jabbed at the button, planning to exit through the garage. He’d been intent on getting to Lola’s place and hadn’t been as concerned as he should’ve been about someone following them. Maybe the would-be car thief wanted another shot at the silver-blue Mercedes.

The elevator rumbled up the shaft, taking its sweet time, and Jack shifted sideways in case anyone came through the doors. The panel slid open on an empty car and Jack stepped forward.

That was when he heard the scream.

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