Sharon Hartley - Accidental Bodyguard

He definitely needed to learn more.

She looked at him with raised eyebrows, obviously expecting—no, wanting—him to drive away.

He didn’t want to go, but waved and motored west into the sinking sun, back toward the security office.

Lola had been right on about one thing. His day had been boring as plain white toast before Ms. Clark’s arrival, but now things were getting interesting. He had a project.

Of course, he should keep a watchful eye on Collins Island’s newest resident—which shouldn’t be too hard since Ms. Clark was easy on the eyes.

And it was, after all, his job.

* * *

CLAUDIA UNLOADED HER car and hid it in a garage at the rear of Mr. Santaluce’s estate. She quickly filled the refrigerator—empty but for three lonely Coronas—with perishable fruits, vegetables and dairy items. She’d run out of fresh produce before the trial date in four weeks, but that couldn’t be helped. She’d divide her meat into single portions and stuff the freezer later—after she’d locked herself in. At least she wouldn’t starve.

She left the Glock on the counter within easy reach while she worked. She’d keep her weapon close at hand, always loaded and ready to fire. She’d taken a course and knew how to shoot. She could usually hit the target, if nowhere near the bull’s-eye.

Closing the refrigerator for the last time, she took a deep breath.

Dear Mr. Santaluce had provided detailed instructions on the alarm system, but first she needed to confirm all openings were locked or otherwise secure.

She grabbed the gun and exited the cabana through the front door into twilight. A shiver caused her to hug her arms. Claudia inhaled deeply to calm herself, noting the cool, salty ocean breeze. Because of the wall, she didn’t have a view of the tantalizingly close Atlantic Ocean.

But no one had a view of her, either.

Maybe she could go out occasionally—late at night—and take a peek at the waves. Maybe not.

Claudia walked the villa’s grounds looking for any weakness, a location where someone could breach the eight-foot concrete wall. The activity helped settle her, reminded her of patrolling the pediatric unit on the night shift when her patients, poor sick kids, were all sleeping. She missed her job. How long would it be before she could go back to work?

She discovered there was only one gate, the one she’d driven through, and that it had an electronic lock and an alarm. Carlos’s henchmen would have to ram a truck through, making a ton of noise, definitely attracting the attention of that eagle-eyed security director. She doubted he missed anything.

She shivered again, wondering at her reaction to Jackson Richards, who in no way resembled her dark-headed, dark-eyed ex. Still, she’d had the same visceral reaction to him she’d had to Carlos: the urge to rip off his clothes. Unfortunately, she’d acted on that impulse with Carlos. To the horror of her family, two weeks after that explosive first meeting she’d married the jerk.

Within three months of the vows, she’d realized her deadly mistake.

Deciding all was secure, Claudia moved back to the pool area and eyed the impressive three-story main house. She had a key, but had no intention of entering Mr. Santaluce’s winter home. Her benefactor didn’t plan a Miami visit until mid-March, and she’d be gone by then. She didn’t want her presence to put his family in danger.

She pictured the angelic face of Rosa Santaluce, a sweet child who had suffered through way too many painful nights in the pediatric ICU. Her father had been there for most of them, suffering right along with his daughter.

For the thousandth time, Claudia felt a rush of gratitude toward the man she believed had saved her life by offering this refuge. The irony was he was thanking her for saving his daughter’s life.

Claudia paused by the well-lit pool, which reminded her of promotional brochures for an expensive resort with its landscaping, fountains and gurgling cascades. But that pool, right outside her front door, was also her biggest concern, since the island contractor came once a week to test the water and add the necessary chemicals. Santaluce had given her the schedule, so she could hunker down inside and make nary a peep so no one would know of her presence. Ditto with the lawn maintenance people.

But otherwise she’d be left alone. She could sit out here to study and use the pool to exercise. She just couldn’t show her face beyond the wall.

Inside the cabana, she repeated her patrol, checking each window, door and every possible entrance into the structure. When done, she armed the security system and stared at the blinking red light. If someone breached or she pushed the nearby bright yellow panic button, who would respond? The island security director? She hoped not. She was a woman who learned from her mistakes, and history had taught her she needed to avoid Jackson Richards as much as she avoided contact with Carlos or infectious bacteria.

What was similar about two such different-looking men that caused her to become tongue-tied with desire? Had to be some trait hidden underneath their physical appearance, something she sensed intuitively and her treacherous body reacted to. Carlos was much smaller than Richards, but slick and sneaky as a fox. Richards was built more like a gladiator with his powerful shoulders and arms. While he worked with her car, she’d had the odd sensation he controlled a capacity for extreme violence.

Just like Carlos.

So she liked aggressive males? Dear God, what was wrong with her? She couldn’t be trusted around men. For some sicko reason, she was attracted to dangerous types, the ones your mother warns you to stay away from.

Her stomach cramped at the thought of her mom. It’d been three days since she’d contacted any member of her family, and she knew they were sick wondering where she’d vanished to. She’d sent a text to her dad that first night—with hands shaking so badly she couldn’t control the tiny keyboard—telling him she was okay but had to disappear until Carlos’s trial. Then she’d smashed that phone under the tires of her demon car and purchased a prepaid throwaway the next day.

A noise from the kitchen made her whirl and raise the Glock—but she relaxed her stance, realizing it was just the motor of the huge Thermidor refrigerator switching on in the eerie silence. She’d hadn’t yet learned the rhythms and sounds of her new home. She’d probably lie awake all night listening, wondering if anyone lurked outside her protective wall.

Claudia wandered into the living room and collapsed on the plush sofa, placing the gun on a table beside her.

No one could know where she was. She loved her family, but they were all a bunch of gossips—especially her two sisters—and she might as well put an ad announcing her location in the Miami Herald. For sure there’d be a flurry of traceable emails and texts, and hints of Collins Island would probably even leak to Facebook. Everyone dreamed of living on this ritzy isle. Julie, her eldest sister, would insist on a visit.

Of course that could never happen. Carlos’s very own domestic terrorist group—at least that was what the US Attorney called them—the Warriors for Self Rule, might even be watching her family in hopes they’d lead them to her. She prayed that wasn’t true, but she wouldn’t put it past Carlos. His terrorist friends had killed Moochie to warn her. She wouldn’t underestimate them again.

The next month would be the most difficult in her life, but it was her own fault for allowing lust to overcome common sense and the advice of the people who loved her. No, she had to go through this alone. She’d find a way to make contact eventually, but the less her family knew, the safer it was for everyone.