Kimberly Meter - Trusting the Bodyguard

She took a seat on the sofa, hugging the baby to her chest. The child yawned loudly and settled against Marissa. He wondered what kind of life the kid had been living with Mercedes for a mother. From what he remembered, Mercedes Vasquez had been the exotic type, with tastes that ran to the extreme, which explained the hookup with a known gangster.

But that didn’t explain why Marissa was the one sitting in front of him looking as though she’d taken a nasty crack across the face, holding a baby that didn’t belong to her.

“The cabin is just as I remembered it,” Marissa started, glancing away, as if she couldn’t stand to look him in the eye. “Except the yard. I don’t remember the weeds last time I was here.”

“I’m not much of a gardener.” He placed his beer on the granite-topped coffee table with deliberate slowness, and then met her gaze. “What’s going on, Marissa? Why are you in trouble?”

She swallowed. “Ruben killed my sister.”

“Did you witness the crime?”

“No, but I know he did it.”

“How so?”

Her mouth tightened but her eyes watered. “Because he swore he would kill her if she tried to keep Jenna from him. She’d just gotten a restraining order against him the day before I found her with a bullet in the back of her head.”

“You found your sister’s body?”

Her bottom lip trembled. “Yes. In her apartment.”

Sympathy softened his voice. “I’m sorry. That’s rough. What happened next?”

She drew a deep breath. “I called 911. They came and took Mercedes away and I called Ruben.”

“Why?”

“Because I needed him to think that I didn’t suspect him so I could get to Jenna. I knew he had her. There was no sign of Jenna in the apartment and her diaper bag was gone.”

“So you went to Ruben’s house?”

“More like a compound than a house,” she nearly spat, contempt pinching her supple mouth into a hard line. “Ruben lives like a king in the Oakland Hills. He may run East Side but he sure as hell doesn’t live there. I went to get Jenna. Even if he hadn’t killed Mercedes, he isn’t fit to raise a child.”

“Wouldn’t that be for the courts to decide?” he asked, his mind quickly putting together the scenario and not liking the way it ended. She glared and tightened her arms around the baby protectively. He shrugged. “If he’s as bad as you say…”

“He is and worse.”

He let that slide for the moment. “Something tells me he didn’t just hand you his daughter.”

“No.”

“Is that how you got the busted lip?”

She glanced away, self-conscious. “Not exactly.”

“How exactly?”

“One of Ruben’s cousins caught me as I was sneaking out of the nursery. He got in a lucky punch.”

“How’d you manage to get away?” His frown deepened. “If this guy is as dangerous as you say he is, it’s likely his guards are armed. Am I right?”

She drew a shuddering breath and nodded but she didn’t elaborate.

“Marissa…”

A red stain crept up her neck, spilling onto her cheeks and she refused to look at him. Something went down at that compound that she doesn’t want to share, he mused silently, concern and his innate need to know warring with the instinct to give her some money and send her on her way. He didn’t know this Ruben character but he was familiar with the Oaktown Boyz gang—a vicious street gang with ties to the Colombian drug trade, not a bunch of posers trying to look cool. They were the real deal and very dangerous.

“Archer…I’m exhausted,” she said simply and looked to him to answer her unspoken plea. She must’ve known he wouldn’t refuse her shelter, if not his protection, and she was right. He wasn’t about to kick a defenseless woman and child out on the streets when they had nowhere to go, but she had to know also that he would do things his way, not hers.

“You can take the spare bedroom,” he said, “but tomorrow I want the whole story, Marissa, not the Reader’s Digest version or else I place a phone call and the choice is taken out of your hands.”

She hesitated, clearly displeased with the terms of his hospitality but sheer fatigue won out over her stubborn nature and for that he was secretly relieved. Marissa had never been one to capitulate easily, her pride being nearly as strong as her backbone. It’d been one of the things he’d loved about her—but also what had torn them apart. She gathered the baby close and headed for the stairs. As she reached the landing, she offered a stiff, yet grateful “Thank you” and then made her way up to her bedroom.

MARISSA ROSE EARLY just as she always did before her life took a catastrophic turn for the worse. While the baby still slept, Marissa went into the adjoining bathroom and quickly scrubbed her face and ran her finger over her teeth to freshen up as best as she could.

Her hair, wavy and loose, looked untamed and messy but there was little she could do about that seeing as she’d busted out of Ruben’s place with nothing more than the baby’s diaper bag and a healthy dose of insanity and rage to keep her going. She’d been too afraid to pack anything for fear of Ruben getting suspicious. And she certainly couldn’t go back to her condo because that’s the first place Ruben would’ve sent his thugs looking for her. So, she had nothing in the way of toiletries and the thought of wearing the same pair of underwear for the next couple of days was too gross to contemplate. She’d have to go shopping. Although, if memory served, Emmett’s Mill wasn’t exactly a bustling metropolis; she’d be hard-pressed to find much more than the basics at the handful of small boutique-style shops on the main street.

She wandered to the window and peered through the glass to the breaking dawn. The sun crested the horizon in a warm blaze, casting gentle rays of light along the tops of bull and sugar pine trees that dotted the mountainside of the Sierra National Forest, creating an idyllic scene if she were of a mind to appreciate it. But right now her thoughts were crowded with details that she’d rather forget.

White Berber carpeting drenched in a pool of red.

Marissa squeezed her eyes shut for a heartbeat.

Dull, lifeless brown eyes staring at nothing.

A strangled sob erupted from her throat even as she tried to muffle the sound with her knuckles. Dead. Her sister was dead. Damn it, Mercedes.

She wiped at the wet trails leaking from the corners of her eyes and focused on the glistening patches of snow that had clung to the ground in stubborn spots, defying the warmth of the springtime sun. It wouldn’t be long before they completely melted and disappeared. Wiping the last of the moisture from her cheeks, she drew a deep breath and tried to pull what she needed from what little well of strength she had left. Archer was already awake—she’d heard his footfalls on the stairs—and he’d soon want to return to their previous topic of conversation. Whether she wanted to or not.

She checked Jenna, found her to be sleeping still, and then quietly went downstairs.

She was not surprised to see Archer in the kitchen, fully dressed and ready for anything, at 6:00 a.m. That had been one of the things they had in common. They both were ridiculously early risers. She ignored the faint sadness at the memory and gestured toward the coffeepot. “May I?”

“Help yourself,” he said, taking a sip from his own steaming mug as he looked out the wide kitchen window.

It was entirely too strange to be here with Archer under these circumstances when the last time they’d enjoyed the view from the kitchen, they’d spent the morning making love in various and inventive ways. Three years was a long time to go without…She felt heat creeping into her cheeks and she moved away before Archer could read her expression and give her one of his famous narrowed stares that would only make her blush harder. There were things she certainly did not feel like sharing at the moment and that included the details of her sex life. Up until two days ago, Archer had been the last person she’d been intimate with. She liked to tell herself that she just hadn’t found anyone compatible in that way, but you have to date to get to that next level and Marissa had buried herself in work, precluding a social life. “How have you been?” she asked, unable to stomach the silence between them. “You look good.”