Sharon Hartley - Accidental Bodyguard

The two on-duty guards arrived on their carts. He held up his hand to signal them to hold.

This wasn’t a police op, so he needed to follow the emergency protocol established by the home owners’ association.

At the front door, he placed his ear against the wood and listened. All quiet.

He motioned for his backup to approach. He positioned them at each end of the structure—although they were all but useless since their only weapon was a Taser.

Jack removed his Sig Sauer, pointed the barrel skyward and rapped hard on the door.

“Ms. Clark, Island Security. Please respond.”

Protocol dictated to wait five minutes and then breach. Five minutes was too long if someone was inside bleeding.

The door opened. Ms. Clark appeared. No blood visible.

Jack relaxed slightly.

“Took you long enough,” she said.

“What’s the emergency?” Jack demanded.

“Intruder alert.” With a Glock awkwardly clutched in her right hand, she motioned him inside.

“Watch where you point that thing,” Jack said. By the way she held the weapon, he doubted she knew how to use it. He signaled for his backup to stand down and stepped inside the cabana.

A foul smell was his first sensory impression. Next was how the place was closed up tight as a tomb.

P.J., the kid who serviced the pools, lay on a sofa with a washcloth over his eyes. He looked sick.

“This is your intruder?” Jack asked.

“Yep.” Ms. Clark moved to the kitchen, placed the gun on a counter, pulled on plastic gloves and squatted to clean up puke on the floor. That explained the smell.

Jack glanced back to the sofa. “What happened?”

P.J. groaned and sat up. He worked the washcloth between nervous fingers. “I keep Coronas in the fridge. This is my last stop of the day, so I pop a cold one and take a dip in the pool.”

“What?” A slow burn of anger ignited in Jack’s gut. “How do you get inside?”

“Santaluce gave AquaClear a key for some plumbing job last year.” Looking miserable, P.J. sighed. “I made a copy.” He met Jack’s gaze with pleading eyes. “No one is ever here. I never hurt anything, don’t look in any drawers.”

As the scenario unfolded in his head, Jack nodded. P.J. must have walked in unannounced, and Ms. Clark pulled her gun on him. Stupid kid. “You could have been killed.”

P.J. closed his eyes. “I thought I was dead.”

And so he puked out of fear. At the stringent smell of bleach, Jack glanced toward the kitchen where Louise Clark continued to work. “You ought to make him clean up the mess.”

“I’m used to it,” she said. “And he’d just throw up again.”

“I’m sorry,” P.J. said. “I’m really, really sorry.”

Louise stood. “That’s about the hundredth time you’ve apologized.”

“Please don’t tell my boss,” P.J. begged. “I know I’m not supposed to ever—”

“You should have thought about that before you trespassed,” Jack said.

“Trespass?” The kid’s eyes widened.

“Ms. Clark could file charges.”

“Charges? Oh, God. I’ll never do it again. I swear.”

“No, you won’t, because you’ll never set foot on this island again.”

P.J. rose. “I’m fired?”

At his expression, Jack worried the kid might hurl again. “Or your employer loses the most lucrative pool contract in Miami. Yeah, I think you’re fired.”

“Please, don’t do that,” Louise said in a small voice.

Jack turned. She stood in the kitchen holding an aerosol can of Lysol. “What?”

Stripping off gloves, she moved into the living room. “How old are you, P.J.?”

“Nineteen.”

“In school, right?”

“FIU.” He swallowed. “I’m studying hospitality management.”

A smile flitted cross her lips as she met Jack’s gaze. She was probably thinking, as he was, that P.J.’s behavior hadn’t been exactly hospitable.

“I won’t press charges,” she said.

“The home owners’ association has strict rules,” Jack said. “There’s no option here.”

“But you don’t have to tell.” She looked at P.J. “You’ll never do this again, right?”

Hope blossomed on the kid’s face. “Never,” he said. “Never. I swear.”

“Can’t you cut him a break?” she asked.

Jack stared at her. Nice lady. “I have to document the incident.”

“Blame it on me. Say I made a stupid mistake, new tenant and all. I pushed the button wondering what it did. He’s just a kid, really. I’m certain he’s learned his lesson.”

“I’ll think about it,” Jack told her. He turned back to P.J. “Give me the key.”

P.J. removed a key from his shorts and handed it over.

“Have you completed your work?” Jack asked.

“Yes, sir. I always do that first.”

“Then take off. You’ll be hearing from me.”

With a grateful look at Ms. Clark, P.J. scurried out.

“Are you sure about this?” Jack asked Louise.

She nodded. “He scared me when he burst in here, but no harm done.”

“Everything else all right? I still haven’t seen you around the island.”

“Everything is fine.” She looked away. “Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome. By the way, I arrived exactly four minutes after the alarm sounded.”

She glanced up. “You timed it?”

“I did.”

She shrugged, and looked down again. “Seemed a lot longer.”

“Yeah, it did to me, too, actually.” Jack evaluated Louise Clark as she nibbled on her bottom lip, noting long, firm legs beneath the frayed edge of denim cutoffs. She wore a pale yellow bathing suit top, firm breasts as full as he’d imagined straining against the thin fabric.

Down, boy. She’s off-limits for a whole lot of reasons.

Ms. Clark was one fine-looking woman, but she couldn’t hold his gaze. Did she have something to hide? Maybe she didn’t want to file charges because she didn’t want any involvement with law enforcement. He’d been shocked when she opened the door holding an automatic. Why did this woman own a gun? Or maybe it was Santaluce’s weapon.

“Will I see you tonight at the clubhouse?” he asked.

She made eye contact, looking interested. “What’s going on at the clubhouse?”

“Happy hour every Friday night during season. Remember I told you about it?” He couldn’t participate in the festivities, but his job required him to observe.

“Oh,” she murmured. “No, I can’t make it.”

“Other plans?”

“Right,” she said, again looking away. “I have other plans.”

Doubting she’d even leave the villa, Jack moved toward the door. He had no excuse to linger and learn more about Louise Clark, much as he might want to.

“Please don’t report P.J.,” she said. Her words held him at the threshold.

“Are you always so forgiving?” he asked, looking down at her serious expression.

“Forgiving?” she asked, sounding amused, blue eyes widening in obvious surprise. Her gorgeous mouth curled into a smile, illuminating her face with that beauty he’d noticed on their first meeting, and he suddenly needed to know what she was thinking.

* * *

CLAUDIA STARED AT Jackson Richards. This man thinks I’m forgiving? Man, does he have it wrong. She would never forgive her ex for the things he’d done. Her testimony would ensure the murdering bastard remained behind bars the rest of his life.

“Some people would disagree with you about that,” she said.

“What people are those?” Richards asked.

She shook her head. “Never mind.”

Memories of her ex curtailed fleeting amusement. Really, there was nothing funny about her situation.

And the reason she wanted Richards to cut P.J. a break was so the kid wouldn’t hold a grudge. Carlos taught her that people who held grudges were dangerous. What if Carlos’s friends found P.J. and asked questions, offered money for information? The teenager would jump at the chance to turn on the woman who’d cost him his job.