Carol J. Post - Bodyguard For Christmas

“What do you have in mind?”

“Ernest Barrett Parkway is the next exit. Easy off, easy on.”

After he disconnected the call, Jasmine slowed down so much he almost lost sight of her. Several cars moved between them. The Mustang didn’t.

As he approached 575, the GPS told him to exit. He ignored it. Jasmine was in charge and he had no problem letting her call the shots.

After he exited I-75, the light ahead was red. He eased to a stop, then dialed her back. “Did our friend follow?”

“I’m not sure, but I think he’s behind the box truck.”

He counted the vehicles lined up in his rearview mirror. In their lane, three waited between him and Jasmine, two more between her and the box truck. Likely every one of them would turn left on Ernest Barrett. If the Mustang followed him and Jasmine back onto 75, they’d know for sure.

The light changed, and he moved forward. As he made his way up the on-ramp, two vehicles followed from Ernest Barrett, a semitruck blocking any farther view.

He completed his merge and touched the phone, still clipped into the dash mount. Jasmine’s rang four times, then went to voice mail.

Maybe she was calling the police, which meant someone was following them. A sense of protectiveness gripped him, an urge to wrap Liam in his arms so tightly no one could pry him loose.

Colton lifted his chin until the rearview mirror framed his son’s face. Sad eyes looked back at him. Brown, just like his mother’s. Liam had gotten Mandy’s eyes and Colton’s blond hair.

When his phone rang a few minutes later, he swiped the screen, heart racing while he waited for Jasmine’s update.

“Sorry, I was on the phone with 911 when you called. He followed us back onto the interstate, hanging back like before. But he knew we were onto him. He got off on Chastain Road, no signal, just whipped it over. The police know to look for the car there, but I’m not holding out high hopes.”

He wasn’t, either. “What now? Exit, then head back south to pick up 575?”

“Not knowing where that Mustang is, I say we continue north and take 411 near Cartersville. It might be a little out of the way, but it’s better than running across those guys again.”

The next two hours were uneventful. When he finally pulled onto Hilltop Road, several miles southwest of town, all of nature seemed to wrap him in a comforting embrace. He was home. The quaintness, the low crime rate, the small-town atmosphere, the feeling of having stepped back into a safer, slower, less complicated time—Murphy was still a great place to raise a child.

He stayed left where the road forked and wound his way upward. He hadn’t been back since Mandy died. For weeks, he’d stumbled around in a grief-induced fog, somehow managing after a two-week bereavement leave to return to his duties and care for Liam when he wasn’t working.

A week later, he’d gotten word that Mandy’s father had had a heart attack. Though he’d survived, it was going to be a long road to recovery. Having just lost their only child, they’d had no one to turn to.

So Colton had taken a leave of absence, loaded up Liam and headed to Montana. He wasn’t sure who had benefited the most from his trip out West. He’d gone to help his in-laws. But in those quiet moments, sitting on the back deck as the sun sank behind the mountains and daylight turned to dusk, then darkness, God had ministered to him. Little by little the frayed pieces of his heart had begun to heal.

Near the top of the hill, he pulled into a gravel drive. A huge hemlock rose from the center of the front yard, hiding the majority of the A-frame log cabin from the view of the road. Trees huddled around the other three sides of the house. The hardwoods’ limbs were bare except for the most stubborn leaves. Brown and curled, they were determined to hang on until they had no choice but to succumb to winter’s fury.

Colton put the vehicle in Park and turned in his seat. “We’re here, buddy. Our favorite place.”

The excitement he tried to inject into his tone had no effect on Liam. He didn’t expect it to. Every week, his little boy seemed to retreat a bit more into himself. And Colton had no idea how to help him. Apparently, his counselors hadn’t, either, because nothing had seemed to work.

Colton climbed from the vehicle and removed his son from the car seat. After retrieving one of the suitcases, he walked up the sidewalk, Liam’s hand in his. Halfway there, Liam broke away and ran toward the house. When he reached the front deck, he looked over one shoulder. Hope had replaced the vacancy in his eyes.

Colton’s heart swelled with emotion. Liam remembered the place.

Of course he did. It was where he’d lived the first year and a half of his life and where they’d spent almost every weekend after that until the past six months.

As soon as Colton opened the door, Liam burst through. He crossed the living room at a full run, skidded around the bar that marked the boundary of the kitchen and disappeared into the bedroom to the right. Colton smiled, laughter bubbling up inside. It was the first glimpse he’d seen of the carefree little boy he used to have. Coming back to Murphy was the best thing he could have done for his son.

Liam reappeared moments later. After running into the master bedroom, he returned to the living room. His gait was shuffling, every bit of excitement gone. Had he worn himself out that quickly?

Colton dropped to one knee in front of him. “What’s the matter, buddy?”

Liam’s lower lip quivered, and his eyes filled with tears.

Colton sank the rest of the way to the floor, realization kicking him hard in the chest.

Liam wasn’t happy to be back in Murphy.

He was looking for his mother.

Colton stretched out his arms and grasped his son’s hands. “Sweetheart, Mommy’s not here.”

When he’d pulled him onto his lap, he wrapped his arms around his little body and held him tightly, rocking side to side, seeking to comfort himself as much as his son.

Movement drew his attention to the left. Jasmine stood in the open doorway, her purse hanging from her shoulder and a suitcase in each hand. She didn’t say a word, but the sympathy in her gaze spoke volumes. She’d had her own heartaches.

Maybe having her there would help ease some of Liam’s sorrow and loneliness. Maybe it would help ease some of his own.

No, Jasmine wasn’t a mother figure. And she certainly wasn’t a wife. That wasn’t why he’d hired her. He’d hired her to protect him and his son.

Once the assignment was over, she’d be gone.

No one would ever take Mandy’s place.

Not in his life or his son’s.

Jasmine parted the curtains and peered into the front yard. Late afternoon shadows stretched across the landscape. Security here was minimal. Actually, it was nonexistent, something that would be remedied this week.

Shortly after arriving at the Murphy house three days ago, she’d walked the premises and come up with a security plan. An alarm system was a minimum requirement. Before the weekend, all windows and doors would be wired and motion-sensing lights installed on the perimeter of the house. For the time being, camera installation was on hold. But it would be scheduled immediately if she felt the need.

She let the cloth panel drop. For the past thirty minutes, she’d made her rounds to several of the house’s windows, checking on Liam in between. This residence wasn’t elegant like Colton’s Atlanta home. But with hardwood floors, tongue-and-groove walls and a fireplace tucked into one side of the living room, it was nice—cozy and rustic. And as long as Colton’s enemies didn’t know he was here, it was safe.

Ideally, she’d have backup, a second or third bodyguard to help patrol and provide relief. But Colton didn’t have as deep pockets as Burch’s celebrity and big-business clients, especially after the extended leave of absence to care for his in-laws—one of the things she’d learned from Gunn after Colton had left the office Friday. If he’d remained in Atlanta, they wouldn’t have given him a choice.