Lisa Childs - Soldier Bodyguard

She tensed as she thought of him, but it wasn’t with just anger. She realized that in her haste to get away from him she had stepped outside alone. If she was in real danger, that wasn’t the smartest idea.

And while she would rather not believe that bomb had been meant for her, it had been in her car. Not Emery’s...

She shivered now as a cold chill raised goose bumps along her skin. Her black dress had long sleeves, but it was lightweight material. She needed a sweater. Hell, she needed to be back inside—with people.

With Maisy...

Pushing open the service door, she stepped back into the garage. The lights that had been on moments ago were off. Had she accidentally flipped them off as she’d walked out? But when she touched the switches, she found them facing up already. Turning them the other way didn’t do anything.

Had the power gone out?

There was no storm raging outside. That was only inside her—in her head and in her heart—from having to deal with Cole and her grief. She couldn’t even hear the wind blowing outside. But she could hear something else...

The garage had several stalls, and Xavier had a car in each. It sounded as if the engines of several of them were running now. Why?

Distracted, she stumbled against the rear bumper of one of the vehicles and struck her knee. Pain radiated up her leg, and a cry slipped through her lips. It was so dark without the lights.

She could barely remember which direction led to the house. The garage was attached to the French provincial mansion. That was why she’d rushed into it—because it had been close. She probably should have gone outside instead, like onto the expansive back patio or the wide front porch or the balcony on the second story.

But as desperate as she’d been for air, she hadn’t wanted to see anyone else. Or more important, she hadn’t wanted anyone else to see her.

To see how upset she was...

She’d had enough sympathy she didn’t deserve. Being married to her had cost Emery his life. The bomb must have been meant for her—since it had been in her vehicle.

But why would anyone want her dead?

What had she done? Not that everyone liked her. Her family hadn’t. And most of Cole’s family didn’t like her either. Not only did they suspect that Maisy might be another Bentler heir but they also did not like her close relationship with Xavier. All of Cole’s cousins were as mean to her as her own had been. And she’d left her child alone in that house.

She needed to get back to Maisy and to Xavier.

As Shawna hurried past another car, she realized it was running, too, as was the one next to that, and the next one.

Fumes began to fill the garage. Exhaust. Carbon monoxide.

Why were the vehicles running?

Her eyes began to tear, and she coughed and sputtered for breath. Uncertain where the door to the house was, she turned back toward the outside door. She continued to cough as she rushed to it. Her hands trembling, she grabbed the knob.

But it didn’t turn. She tugged and pulled at it. But it didn’t budge. Someone had locked the door—or blocked it—from the outside. She was trapped. Someone had trapped her inside a garage that was quickly filling with carbon monoxide. Someone definitely wanted her dead.

She could not die. She couldn’t leave her child an orphan. But then Maisy wouldn’t really be an orphan. She had a father still. Would Cole even want her?

Would he ever forgive Shawna for keeping her from him all these years? At the moment, his forgiveness was the last thing she needed to think about. Survival was paramount.

She was not the helpless damsel in distress Cole had once accused her of being. She was going to fight like hell to get out of here.

She was going to fight for Maisy...

I cannot live with what I’ve done. I am the one who planted the bomb that killed my husband. I wanted out of my marriage. Now I want out of my life.

Using the eraser of a pencil, the killer tapped out the message on the keys of Shawna Rolfe-Little’s laptop keyboard. It would have to suffice. There was no way to print out the paper and have it signed—even if Shawna could have been coerced to sign it.

It was probably too late for that. Shawna might already be dead. She should already be dead.

If only Emery hadn’t been the one to start her car...

It would have already been over, but then Little would still be alive. The killer stared at the urn on the table in the library and felt no regret over his death. It wasn’t as if Emery Little had been an innocent man. He’d been causing problems as well, problems that had pushed up the killer’s timetable.

The plan had been to send Emery Little to prison, not the grave. Little was supposed to have been held responsible for Shawna’s murder.

Plans could be adjusted, though. Now Shawna would be held responsible for Little’s death and for her own. And Cole and his damn friends could return to wherever the hell they’d come from.

Cole turning up at the funeral had been a surprise. An unpleasant surprise.

But once Shawna was dead, he would have no reason to stay. She had to be dead.

W here the hell is she?

Cole hadn’t searched the entire house for her. The old mansion was too big for him to have investigated every nook and cranny. He had hit the main rooms first—the living room and dining room and parlors where the other mourners and unfortunately some of his scowling family members were hanging out. But he’d caught no sight of Shawna nor had any of his fellow bodyguards reported having seen her. They were all searching for her now, too.

Unsuccessfully.

How the hell had she just disappeared?

Cole retraced his steps to the library where he’d lost her. The pocket doors were open again, so more people—some of Cole’s contemptuous cousins and his mom and his stepdad—had gone inside to pay their last respects to the urn of Emery Little’s ashes.

He sucked in a breath at the sight of his mother. Tall and blonde and slender, Tiffani still looked like the pageant queen that she’d once been, the one who’d turned his father’s head while working as an intern in his company. She didn’t look old enough to be Cole’s mother, but then she’d rarely acted like it.

She’d taken more to Shawna than she ever had him. They even used to work with the cheerleaders at the high school. He wondered if they still did that, but he didn’t care enough to ask; that would have required approaching his mother. Since his father had died, they struggled to have any conversation at all, let alone a civil one.

His cousins—the female twins—Lori and Tori scowled at him. They tried to look like his mom by bleaching their hair and using colored contacts. They looked like caricatures of her instead. Then there were his male cousins, Bobby and Reggie, who were a little older than he was but still dressed and acted like frat boys, even at a funeral. They completely ignored him the way they’d done since they were all kids.

Jeffrey Inman, his stepfather, was the only one who paid him any attention. He waved at him and smiled. He seemed to be a nice man, and was also a former vet, retired now from the Army. But instead of heading toward him, Cole backed away from the open pocket doors.

Manny was in the library, too. Although the dark-haired bodyguard didn’t know anyone beyond the descriptions of them that Cole had shared over the years, he was carrying on a couple of conversations. The bleached-blonde twins had latched onto him as if they had a chance with a man who was dating a supermodel. But Manny was friendly. He could talk to anyone or no one at all. As his roommate, Cole often heard the other man talking in his sleep.