Julie Miller - The Bodyguard

“I said I’ve got your back.” He caught the independent curl with the tip of his finger and smoothed it back into place, then leaned down to press a kiss to her temple. “In this, too. Just give me a chance to show you I’m not the bad guy here. If I say or do anything you don’t like, you tell me.”

His body could scream away in protest if denying any physical or emotional need for this woman is what it took to see trust shining in her eyes.

Maybe it was time to go back to proving that. He pulled his hand away and turned into the sitting room. “You don’t have to worry about any us right now. Finish drying the dog and get his collar and leash. You said you wanted to go to the cemetery? Let me call the rest of my team. We’ll get you away from this house for a little while.

“You’re under KCPD’s watch now.”

Charlotte knelt down to lay the bouquet of roses on the turned-up mound of earth beside the flowers that had once been draped over Richard’s coffin. Max came over to sniff her handiwork and she scratched his head before shooing him on his way to follow the path of some squirrel or rabbit that’d come through earlier. She kissed her fingers and touched them to the plastic marker that held Richard’s name and dates until a permanent stone monument could be fixed into place, knowing it was as close to trading a hug with him as she could ever get again.

“Thank you, my friend. For everything. I’m sorry. So sorry.” Tears burned in her sinuses and squeezed out through the rapid blink of her lashes to warm her cheeks in the cooling air.

In the middle of the spring afternoon it felt like twilight. A storm was brewing overhead again, filling the sky with fast-moving clouds. Tall oaks and pine trees dotted each side of the road that twisted up through the hills of Mt. Washington Cemetery, their thick trunks and budding branches casting long shadows over her. But no shadow seemed as tall and foreboding as the sturdy bulk of Trip Jones standing beside her, with a handgun strapped to his thigh, a military-looking rifle draped in the crook of his elbow and a stone-cold expression of wary alertness stamped onto his rugged features.

“You okay?” Trip’s voice rumbled down on the breeze that was picking up.

Charlotte huddled inside her trench coat and the body armor Trip had insisted she wear, and slowly stood. “He should have been retired, enjoying his grandchildren. He shouldn’t have died because some freak wanted to get to me.”

She saw Trip’s black-gloved hand leave his rifle and reach for her. But just before he touched the small of her back, he curled his fingers into his palm and tapped at the headset hooked to his ear instead. “How are we doing?”

A chorus of “clears” and one “nothing here” answered loudly enough for Charlotte to hear.

Captain Cutler buzzed in as well. “Easy, people. Keep your eyes open. We’re not in any rush here.”

But Trip apparently was. He moved a couple of steps along the trail Max had taken, then circled around to stand beside her again. His hazel eyes stopping scanning their surroundings long enough to land on her. “Are you ready to head back?”

With his truck in the shop, Trip had driven her to Mt. Washington in one of the team’s SUVs, which was parked at the foot of the hill, while the others had followed behind them in an imposing armored SWAT van. It was parked around a bend, out of sight beyond a copse of trees, just like the other members of his team remained hidden in the trees and monuments around them.

“I think I’ve decided how I’m going to honor him.” Charlotte murmured the announcement to the flowers and the sign and anyone who might listen. “I’m going to set up a college fund for all his grandchildren. I’ll call the bank and our attorneys when I get home.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me.” He glanced toward the sky. “The storm’s about to break. I can feel the dampness in the breeze. We should get home so you can make those calls.”

But she wasn’t ready to disturb this solemn, secure moment. “Could we stay for a while? Richard was always so patient with me—I don’t want to rush my time here. I don’t mind a little rain.”

“A little?” That stern mouth eased into a grin. Trip’s easy capitulation to her request reminded her more of the man who’d kissed her and less of the warrior standing guard. “We’ve had so much this spring, creeks are flooding, roads are closing—they’re sandbagging the levees up by the river.”

Charlotte discovered she could smile, too, with the subtle glimpse of Trip’s humor. “Washing away is the least of my worries. I used to love playing out in the rain. I think when I was little, I thought I was combining bath time and playtime, meaning I could stay outside longer.”

“Why do I get the feeling you were a real handful growing up?”

“Me? An odd duck is more like it. I just spent a lot of time in my head. I was always curious, always reading, always thinking. I suppose I did give my dad a few headaches when I wandered off on one of my adventures and lost track of the time. I didn’t become any trouble until after high school.”

She shivered and slid her fingers up to her rebuilt ear to finger the gold earring there, her thoughts automatically including prom night and the disastrous events that had changed her life.

This time, his black glove settled at the small of her back. “Chilly?”

“I’m okay.” At first she stiffened at his touch, unsure of its motive. Comfort? Protection? Keeping her focused on the conversation? Years of shielding herself from anyone outside her family made it difficult to resolve this growing fascination with Trip’s passion and strength and almost poignant patience with her. He liked to touch and she … liked him touching her. But despite the fretful anticipation his sheer masculinity and straightforward desire seemed to have awakened in her, it took a huge leap of faith to admit she was developing feelings for this man she’d known for a week. Her body’s instincts to seek warmth and shelter let her relax and turn her cheek into his chest.

But her mind, her emotions, insisted on holding something back. In some ways, she knew as little about men as she knew a lot about archaeology. Boys hadn’t looked at her as dating material in school, and she hadn’t looked at men in that way since. There was a security in being able to shut off her feelings, knowing that was one aspect of her life she could control—no one could mock or hurt her, no one could trick or abuse her. Yet there was a loneliness in that particular skill, too, and she was just beginning to wonder whether it left her in a more perfect prison than all her phobias put together did.

Trip’s fingers tightening at the nip of her waist encouraged her to stay in the moment and continue. “I loved to read mysteries, solve puzzles. But I was just as interested in climbing trees and exploring whatever new places I could get myself into—a friend’s attic, the museum’s back rooms.”

“So you’ve always been the explorer.”

“It wasn’t like I had any dates to keep me busy. I had my friends, my homework, my adventures … I guess I always did march to the beat of my own drum.”

“High school’s a tough place to be different, isn’t it?”

Charlotte nodded against the rough weave of his vest cover. She had an idea he was referring to his own experience about being labeled for his brawn and learning disability, rather than commiserating over her odd habits and plain looks. But he understood. Maybe more than most people, he understood why she’d made the choices she had. “That’s why I was so excited about going to prom. It was my first date that Dad and some social event of his had nothing to do with. Landon Turner. He was a new guy in school my senior year—he had that whole swarthy Italian look going on.”