Mallory Kane - Her Bodyguard

“Okay then,” he said. His gaze flickered downward, toward his feet, for an instant. Then he looked at her from under his brows.

“Take care, Ange. I’ll see you around.” He turned and headed back toward downtown.

For a couple of seconds, she watched him. In some ways he hadn’t changed since high school. That eyebrow still rose as if he knew a secret nobody else knew. And he still had that same cocky attitude.

No one would consider him skinny these days— cut was a better term. And his walk held more confidence than swagger. All things considered, he was still the best-looking guy she’d ever seen.

“Lucas,” she called out, not sure why.

He stopped and turned.

“It was—you know—good to see you.”

He nodded and smiled, as if he’d known she was going to say that, then kept walking.

Annoyed, she abandoned the notion of getting a magazine and turned on her heel, back toward her building. At the door, she glanced up the street, but he’d disappeared.

She frowned. What had he said? He was in town for a few days staying at a buddy’s apartment.

That was a lie. She had no idea what he was doing in New Orleans, but it wasn’t just a vacation. Her earlier thought had been right on the money.

Something was wrong. And whatever it was, Lucas was in the middle of it.

LUCAS ENTERED HIS BUILDING through the rear door, still cursing himself. All he’d have had to do was pause for five seconds to make sure Angela had gone into her building, before heading across the street.

Now she knew he was here. It wouldn’t take her long to figure out why. He’d seen how her eyes narrowed when he’d spun the vacation story. Those chocolate-colored eyes should be declared a lethal weapon.

Chocolate. The word conjured the scent he’d picked up when they’d collided. She’d been eating chocolate.

Chocolate and old movies. Her favorite guilty pleasures.

A thrill of lust slid through him as his mind flashed back twelve years to the night she’d kissed him. She’d been eating chocolate then, too. And ever since, he’d avoided it—tasting it was like tasting her lips.

He growled and forcibly shut down that part of his brain as he pushed open the door to the barren second-floor loft.

In front of the window across the room, his cousin Dawson was plugging a computer monitor into a black box. Four other screens were lined up on a long folding table.

“So, how’s Angela?” Dawson said. “Leave it to you to go all the way around the block and still manage to run into her.”

Lucas ignored the barb. “Are the cameras in her apartment working?”

“Of course. But you’ve got a problem.”

“What now?”

Dawson nodded toward one of the monitors. “Look at her door.”

Lucas looked at the monitor just as Angela came into view. The camera he’d set up over the transom opposite her apartment showed a perfect view of her entry door.

It was ajar.

“Ah, hell. I know I closed it. The lock should have caught.”

He watched as Angela stopped and stared at it.

“Maybe it doesn’t always catch,” Dawson offered. “Maybe she’s found it open before.”

Lucas shook his head. “Nope. She hasn’t. Look how rattled she is. And she’d never forget to lock it. Angela doesn’t make mistakes like that.”

He watched her glance around and knew exactly what she was thinking.

Do I go inside or find the building super and call the police?

“Damn it. Don’t go inside. You know better than that.” He tapped his fist against the table top. “She knows somebody’s been in there, because she knows she locked the door this morning. But I hope to hell she doesn’t call the police. If she does, we’re sunk. They’ll find the cameras.”

She finally made her decision and pushed the door open.

“That’s my Ange. Diving right into the middle of danger.” He glanced toward the other monitors. “Which one’s the living room?”

Dawson plugged the last monitor in and turned it on. “Right here.”

“What’s that?” He pointed at the box that all the cables ran to.

“A UPS. Uninterruptible power supply. Finest kind. It’ll run the computer for four hours if the power goes out. Take a look.”

The last monitor lit up. Lucas took in the array. The five monitors gave him a clear view of the street in front of her building, the front lobby, the hallway leading to her apartment, a wide-angle shot of her kitchen and her living room, where she was turning the lock on her door.

He watched as she scrutinized every inch of the room. She was looking for signs that someone had been in there.

“Only the kitchen and living room cameras pick up sound,” Dawson commented. “Keep it turned low. They’re powerful and sensitive.”

The high-definition monitor clearly showed the tense line of her jaw and her white knuckles. She looked toward her bedroom, then toward the French doors that led out onto the balcony, her teeth scraping her lower lip.

“That’s not the fearless bratty kid I remember. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this shaken by anything.”

Except once, his brain was quick to remind him. Again, the memory of her soft lips and chocolate scent assaulted his senses. He immediately shut off those thoughts. He needed to concentrate on protecting her.

She tossed her purse, her leather tote and the DVD onto the couch and headed for the balcony.

Lucas turned his gaze from the monitor to the streaked, spotted window. Her balcony was almost directly across the street. She opened the balcony doors and peered out. Her face was pale, her mouth set.

After a quick look up and down the street, she closed the doors and flipped the latch.

When he looked back at the living room monitor, all he saw was her sexy backside disappearing into the bedroom.

“You should have put a camera in her bedroom,” Dawson commented.

“What the hell is she thinking, living in a place like that?”

“You mean a place where someone can install cameras in her home without her knowledge?”

Lucas growled. “You know what I mean.”

“Thousands of people live in New Orleans in perfect safety.”

“Thousands of people don’t have ruthless Chicago crime families out to kidnap and kill them.”

“You can’t blame her. She doesn’t know she could be a target, right?”

“Right. But look at that place. I could fly a 747 through the holes in security. Anybody could climb up the balcony. Those French doors are an open invitation to burglars. And there’s no security at all in the lobby. The doors are unlocked 24/7. I got in her front door with a credit card.”

“A credit card? I thought her brother gave you a key.”

“He did. But when I saw that lock—it’s ancient. I mean, how long has it been since you unlocked a door with a credit card?”

“Let’s see. Forever. Why would you even try to do that?”

“Because those locks are so old that—never mind. The point is, she needs deadbolts.”

“If she had deadbolts, you wouldn’t have been able to get in.”

“Fine. I’ll give you that. But at least I’ve got the surveillance system in place, thanks to you. And it looks good. I appreciate it.”

“Yeah. Don’t mention it. Seriously, don’t. Particularly when you’re arrested for breaking and entering, not to mention stalking. I’ve taken all the Delancey Security logos off the equipment.”

“Thanks for the support.”

“Why didn’t your buddy Brad hire a private investigator to bodyguard his sister until he can put that crime boss behind bars? Or just make her move to Chicago, where he could keep an eye on her himself? Didn’t you tell me that the police there have his family under an order of protection?”