Elle James - Bodyguard Under Fire

“I know.” PJ kissed Charlie’s cheek. Charlie was a perfect baby, full of joy and so easy to take care of. Everyone loved her.

Dana touched PJ’s shoulder. “I gotta run. Tommy will be yowling for dinner.”

PJ glanced up. “This late?”

“You’d think the man didn’t know what a microwave oven was. I bet he didn’t bother to get the plate I left for him this morning out of the refrigerator.” Dana laughed and smiled at Charlie. “She was an angel.”

“Ha. I’ll bet she wore you out.”

“Not at all. I didn’t mind watching her a bit.” Dana’s eyes glistened.

“You’re a natural, Dana. Have you talked to the doctor again? Is there anything you can do?”

“It’s in God’s hands.” Dana smiled through unshed tears. “Two miscarriages must be a sign it isn’t meant to be.”

“Don’t talk like that. It’ll happen when you least expect it.” As it had happened for PJ.

“I’m not getting my hopes up. Been there too many times and cried buckets of tears.” Dana hugged PJ. “Take care of my baby. I think I could love her as much as you do.” Dana left, closing the door behind her.

Alone at last with Charlie, PJ dropped into her rocking chair. It wouldn’t take much for Charlie to fall asleep, but PJ wanted to hold her a little longer. The sweet scent of baby shampoo and powder filled her senses and gave her a feeling of home.

After a few minutes Charlie slept, her mouth working a sucking motion, the fingers of one hand bunched into a tiny fist. She looked so much like her father—brown hair, brown eyes and ready for a fight.

PJ chuckled, her laughter catching on a sob. She missed Chuck so much she thought she might die sometimes. If not for sweet Charlie, she might have lost the will to live altogether.

Still wearing the clothes she’d traveled in, PJ felt wrinkled, covered in road grime and in need of a shower to wash away the stress of the long drive.

She laid Charlie in her crib and gathered clothing, a bathrobe and toiletries. Switching on the baby monitor, PJ tucked the receiver in her pocket and headed for the door to her suite. She exited and turned to lock the door behind her.

The bathroom was between her suite and the only other staff apartment in this section of the building. When she opened the door, a waft of warm, moist air and a scent she could never forget enveloped her.

Someone had used the shower. Must be the new handyman Cara Jo had spoken of on their trip to Fort Stockton.

PJ’s stomach clenched, and her fingers tightened around the doorknob. The new guy would have to use the same soap Chuck had, and damned if he didn’t also use the same cologne. As tired as she was, PJ could barely hold it together as the aromas washed over her, bringing back memories best left in the back of her mind.

She had to have a shower and didn’t have another option close enough to her room that the monitor would carry to, so PJ closed the door behind her. Her hands shook as she set the monitor on the sink and turned it up loud enough that she could hear it over the water’s spray.

With quick, efficient movements, she flung off her clothes and stepped beneath the cool spray. She was fast about her showers, concerned about leaving Charlie alone too long.

After a quick shampoo and rinse, she ducked her head around the curtain and listened to the monitor. A reassuring staticky silence was all she heard. As she closed the shower curtain, a different sound carried over the speaker.

Click.

PJ strained her ears.

Click.

She shut off the water and listened more intently.

Click.

Then a sharp sound, like something falling, echoed through the monitor.

What the hell?

PJ pulled on her pajama bottoms and top, grabbed her key and flung the bathroom door open.

The door to her apartment stood open.

PJ’s heart slammed to a halt and then kicked into high gear. She had been careful to close and lock the door when she’d left. As she stared into her dark apartment, fear rooted her to the floor for only a moment.

Her baby daughter was in that room. Cold dread filled her and she shot forward, ready to take down anyone who threatened to harm...

“Charlie,” she said and launched forward.

When she stepped through the open door, a dark figure wearing a black ski mask grabbed her and flung her inside.

PJ screamed and scurried backward and then turned to run. She made it only one step before a hand latched onto her hair and yanked her backward.

PJ screamed again, her cry cut off by a large gloved hand clamping down over her mouth. She bit into it, her teeth barely making a dent in the thick leather glove.

She kicked and slammed her elbow into his gut, but he wouldn’t release her hair, the pressure on the roots pulling her skin tight over her forehead, pain radiating through her scalp.

All PJ could think about was Charlie. She had to protect her from this madman. Giving up was not an option. She stomped hard on the man’s instep and he yelled, let go of her hair and backhanded her so hard she flew across the room, tripped over the couch and fell against an end table. The lamp on the table teetered. PJ grabbed it and swung it at the man’s head. The ceramic base hit him in the ear and shattered.

He grabbed the electric cord, ripped it from the wall and wrapped it around PJ’s neck, pulling it tight.

PJ’s fingers fumbled for the cord, panic setting in as her vision blurred, her air cut off. No. She couldn’t die. Charlie needed her. She kicked and twisted, managing only to tighten the cord around her throat. It couldn’t end this way. She wouldn’t let it happen.

The man lifted her to her feet and dragged her backward toward the door.

PJ’s feet flailed beneath her, her strength fading with lack of oxygen. She focused on the crib in the bedroom and gave new effort to saving her own skin. With all the force she could muster, she brought her heel up hard between her attacker’s legs.

The man grunted and slumped forward, jerking harder on the cord around her neck.

Her world faded and her strength drained. She couldn’t give up.

A loud crash sounded behind her as her apartment door slammed inward, bouncing off the wall. PJ heard it but couldn’t see who’d entered. All she could hope was that the cavalry had arrived to save her and Charlie.

Her attacker jerked, releasing his hold on the cord around PJ’s neck.

PJ pitched forward to her hands and knees and crawled away, dragging in huge gulps of air. When she turned, the man in black sailed through the air toward her.

She threw herself to the side in time to avoid the collision.

The man hit the ground hard, rolled to his feet and dived for the sliding glass door leading onto the balcony, slamming it open.

Her savior charged after him, naked to the waist, his body glistening with droplets of water.

It all happened so fast, PJ didn’t see his face, only his hulking size and rippling, well-toned muscles flashing past.

The attacker in black launched himself over the balcony and dropped to the pavement below, disappearing out of sight. The bare-chested man braced his hands on the rail, his muscles bunched, ready to follow, and then he hesitated.

He stood with his back to PJ for a long, agonizing moment. Would he jump?

PJ prayed he wouldn’t. She didn’t wish for her hero to be hurt in the fall. At long last, he turned to face her.

Ready to thank her rescuer, PJ’s breath left her lungs in a rush.

“Oh, dear God.” She pressed her fist to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears, all her hopes and fears of ever seeing this man again wrapped up in one word. “Chuck.”

PJ’s world faded into black.

Chapter Two

Chuck’s instinct had been to leap over the railing and chase after the black-clad attacker and pummel him into a bloody pulp for terrorizing his neighbor. As he’d bent his knees to do just that, pain ripped through his bad leg, reminding him that he couldn’t and shouldn’t drop fifteen feet to the ground if he wanted to keep the leg to walk on. Even if his leg survived the landing, he wasn’t up to running full speed yet.