Mallory Kane - Her Bodyguard

The hall spy cam picked up on a dark figure, barely visible in the wan light of the inadequate 40-watt bulbs that lined the corridors. The camera aimed at her door showed the back of a man’s bald head.

Lucas shoved his arms into his long-sleeved shirt and fastened a couple of buttons. He couldn’t see a damn thing through the living room monitor. The stem of the wine glass was blocking it. He had to rely on sound and what little he could see through her French doors.

ANGELA’S HEART BEAT a staccato rhythm as her fingers closed around the glass door knob.

“Who is it?” she said sharply.

“Electrician,” came the terse reply.

She jerked her hand away as if the knob were hot. A repairman this time of night? That didn’t feel right.

Billy must have told Bouvier what she’d said about her kitchen light. But why would Bouvier send the guy up here at night? He normally went around the world to avoid paying overtime.

“I’m sorry, but it’s late. Please come back tomorrow,” she called through the door.

“Look, lady, I get here when I get here. Now do you want your light fixed or not? “

“It—it’s working now. It was probably just a burned-out bulb.”

“Awright,” the electrician growled. “No skin off my nose. I’m billing Bouvier anyhow.”

She listened as his heavy footsteps echoed down the hall. Once she could no longer hear them, she slumped and hugged herself, her hands shaking.

“What’s wrong with me?” she muttered. She was becoming too paranoid. She pressed her palms against her hot cheeks. Overreacting to every little thing.

Was it the pressure of exams causing her to make mountains out of mole hills? Sure, a few odd things had happened in the past few days, but every single one of them had a reasonable explanation, didn’t they?

Her gaze lit on the smudge on her sofa. No. Not all of them. In the eight months she’d lived here, Bouvier had never sent a repairman during the evening, and he’d never gone into her apartment when she wasn’t there.

At least not to her knowledge.

She sucked in a deep, shaky breath. First thing tomorrow, she was going to march down there and demand he change her locks and install deadbolts.

But what about tonight? She twirled slowly, looking around the room.

“I know,” she whispered. She grabbed a dining chair and dragged it over to the door. She braced it under the knob. Then she fetched her broom and slid it through the dual handles of the French doors.

For a few seconds she stood in the middle of the room, feeling appalled by her makeshift locks.

She’d always prided herself on her fearlessness. And now look at her.

She sighed. At least if anyone tried to get in, she’d hear them. She grabbed her cell phone and headed into her bedroom.

Then she stopped. What had she done with her wine glass? A quick glance around and she spotted it on the shelf of DVDs. Retrieving it, she headed into the bathroom to take a shower.

By the time she got out of the shower and dried her hair, she was yawning. It wasn’t that late. Barely eleven. But she couldn’t study any more tonight. Not only was she really tired, but she wouldn’t be able to concentrate. That meant she’d have to study all weekend if she wanted to do well on Monday’s exam. So maybe getting to sleep early tonight was a good idea.

After she finished brushing her hair, she put on her red pajamas and climbed into bed. Just as she reached to turn her light out her phone rang.

It was Doug. She was tempted not to answer, but she was afraid if she didn’t he might show up at her door, just to check on her. He’d done it before.

She answered.

‘Angela, I’m sorry. I meant to call earlier. Now you’re in bed.”

“Oh, I just—” She stopped. Why had he said that? “I’m studying, Doug. What did you want?”

“Studying? Really? It was nice seeing you today. It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other face-to-face, much less had a good talk.”

“I just saw you today. Have you been drinking?” He always tended to ramble, but tonight he wasn’t making any sense.

“Oh, I’ve had a little wine. Just sitting here thinking about you.”

She grimaced and rubbed her temples. “This isn’t a good idea, Doug. You need to move on. Go out with someone else.”

“I don’t want to go out with someone else, Angela. I want you.”

“Please, Doug. Don’t—”

“Don’t try to deny it, Angela. We were perfect together. I felt it, and I know you did, too.”

“No, we weren’t. Don’t make it more than it was. We went out three times. I’m sorry, but I have to insist that you don’t call me again. If I have to, I’ll change my number.”

“Oh, Angie. You don’t want to threaten me. You’re just tired from all your exams. I’ll let you go to sleep. We can make plans later.” He laughed softly. “By the way, I really love you in red pajamas.” He hung up.

Angela frowned at the phone as her brain processed what he’d just said.

Love you in red pajamas.

Oh, God. She looked down at the red silk pajamas she’d put on after her shower—put on right here in the bedroom.

Her blood froze in her veins as the ominous implication of his words sunk in.

Now you’re in bed.

Love you in red.

Her gaze flew to her bedroom window. The blinds and the curtains were closed. There was no way anyone could see in.

She frowned as she looked around the room. Window, closet, bathroom doors, door to living room. There was no way he could possibly see, unless—

The answer that hit her like a slap in the face was inconceivable. It couldn’t be, could it?

“Oh, no,” she moaned. It was the only answer.

“No, no, no.” Her breath caught and her scalp burned with panic.

She wanted to scream. Wanted to vault out of bed and run. But if what she was thinking were true, he was watching her, waiting for that very reaction.

With her skin crawling and her insides knotted with fear, she reached out as quickly and smoothly as she could and felt for the switch on the bedside lamp. It took several tries with her terror-numbed fingers before she turned it off.

With the lamp off, the room was dark, except for the pale light seeping in around the window curtains. She stood on shaky legs, the hairs literally standing up on the back of her neck, and her shoulder muscles cramping.

She felt like someone was right behind her, breathing down her neck, about to grab her.

Moving slowly, as if it would keep her from being seen, she slipped out from under the covers and fled into the living room. For a few seconds, she just stood there in the dark while gigantic shudders shook her body.

Finally, she turned on the overhead light. She’d rather be seen through the balcony doors by half the population of New Orleans than consider what her brain was telling her.

“It can’t be—” she breathed. “Oh, God, what do I do?”

Her brain felt as frozen as her blood. She couldn’t think of anything except the awful implication of Doug’s words. How had he—? Surely he couldn’t have—

Yes. He could.

She had evidence that someone had been inside her apartment. Not to mention her feeling that someone was watching her.

And what he’d said.

“Police!” she said aloud. “I’ve got to call the police.”

Where was her phone? Staring down at her hands, she tried to make her brain work. She didn’t have it. That meant it was still in the bedroom. She’d dropped it, either on her bed or on the floor.

She had to go back in there.

“Oh, God, no. I can’t. He’s watching me!”

ANGLEA WAS IN TROUBLE.

Lucas jerked awake and almost tipped over his chair. He’d dozed off leaning back in it.