Ryanne Corey - The Heiress and The Bodyguard

“Looks like you’ve got yourself in a sticky situation,” he said.

Julie cocked her head, trying to see where the worrisome bearded person had gone to. “Did you kill him?” she asked, her voice trembling with nerves.

He looked perplexed. “Why on earth would I kill him? You’re a complete stranger. Don’t take offense, but I really don’t want to go to jail for someone I don’t even know.”

“Did you beat him unconscious?” she persisted, warming to her subject.

He rolled his eyes. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a little dramatic? He told me if I knew what was good for me, I’d keep driving. I told him I’d never done what was good for me and hit him once. Now he’s taking a nap here on the road. He’ll be fine.” He paused, added, “Except for the black eye he’ll have. So what are you doing out here in the wee hours of the morning? If you don’t mind my asking.”

The window went down another inch. “I’m sitting here because my car broke.”

“What do you mean, it broke?”

“It’s out of gas.”

He considered this for a moment, and the grin came back. “Yeah, I guess that would break it all right. So how can I help?”

“Well…” Julie considered her options, starting up the tapping on the steering wheel again. “Do you happen to know where I am?”

He bit his lip, trying not to laugh out loud. “You’re a couple of hours north of the coast.” He paused. “The Florida coast.”

“I know I’m in Florida,” Julie replied indignantly. “I just wondered if there was a town nearby, somewhere I could get some gas.”

“I’m a tourist, so I’m afraid I don’t know. I’m exploring myself. I’d be happy to give you a lift to a gas station, if you’d like.”

“That’s probably not a good idea,” she said nervously. “I should be able to handle this myself.” Still, there was such an enormous difference between should and could.

“Whatever,” he shrugged. “This isn’t exactly a freeway, so you may be here for a while. Keep your doors locked, especially when what’s-his-name here wakes up. He won’t be a happy camper. See ya.”

“Hold it!” Julie’s yelp stopped him from walking away. She rolled her window down another two inches. “Maybe I will take you up on your offer, if I won’t be putting you out.”

“Fine by me.” He lifted his hand, sticking four fingers through the top of the window. “I’m Billy.”

“Julie,” she said, taking his lead and foregoing last names. Hesitantly she took the tips of his fingers in her hand and shook them politely. “How do you do?”

This time Billy laughed, the sound rich and deep, lingering in the heavy air. “How do you do? Has anyone ever told you that you look a lot like Grace Kelly? Same voice, too. Very cultured.”

“Is that good?”

“If you like Grace Kelly. I loved her myself.” He stepped back, hooking his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans. “I don’t want to scare you, but you’ll need to get out of your car if this is going to work.”

Julie still hesitated. “Maybe I should sit here and wait for you to bring some gas back.”

Billy sighed, digging his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. He flipped it open, allowing her to see the flash of his old police badge. As a retired cop, this was highly illegal. That fact didn’t stop Billy from doing it now and again. “You couldn’t be safer, ma’am. I’m an officer of the law, sworn to protect and serve the citizens of California when I’m not on vacation. I wouldn’t do anything mean to the citizens of Florida, either. Could we hurry this up? The mosquitoes are eating me alive.”

Julie realized this was the first time she had met an actual public policeman. The well-dressed private security people Harris hired were nice, but hardly battle-scarred veterans of the streets. Immediately her mind took off on a fantasy flight, imagining the dire and dangerous situations he must face in his work. How thrilling. “Do you shoot people?”

He assumed a terribly serious expression. “Only very bad people who shoot at me first.”

“Where do you keep your gun?”

Billy almost lost it at that point. He stared down at the toes of his runners for a good fifteen seconds before he could talk. “I’m on vacation,” he finally managed. “Besides, the shoulder holster would look terrible with this shirt. Any more questions?”

“Not at the moment,” Julie said graciously, turning off the interior light and pushing the button to unlock the car doors. “I do appreciate your help.”

“Hold it a minute,” Billy told her. If she got out now, she would step on the beer belly of her unconscious, not-so-good Samaritan. He took him by the arms and pulled him away from the Porsche. “Okay, princess. Your carriage awaits.”

Princess, Julie thought, smiling to herself. This was getting better and better. She couldn’t have come up with a more perfect hero if she’d tried. He was an authority figure, an officer of the law. He had gone into battle for her. He was charming. He was absolutely gorgeous. Her nervous tension was gradually being replaced by unexpected excitement.

She got out of the car, sparing a quick look at the fellow in the undershirt. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully. “Are you going to report this?” she asked Billy.

“As soon as I can,” he replied, thinking of poor Harris Roper. While following Julie, he’d tried using the cell phone, only to realize the battery was out of juice. He’d have to do this the old-fashioned way and use a pay phone as soon as he could. “It’s part of the job, princess.”

Up close and personal, little Julie Roper packed a wallop. From the top of her designer gown to the toes of her absurd sneakers, she was clearly one-of-a kind.

She wasn’t cool, self-centered or spoiled, the way Billy had imagined a heiress would be. She was nervous, but Billy sensed the nervousness was something she was enjoying. She talked like someone had put a quarter in her, asking him questions at the speed of light.

Do you like your job?

Do you enjoy danger?

Have you ever been shot?

What do you mean, a few times?

Twisting sideways in her seat, blond hair flying every which way from the open window, she demanded every detail. Billy shook his head, assuming a deeply troubled expression. “I can’t really talk about it. It brings back such horrible memories.” Which, of course, was another bit of fiction. In reality he was rather proud of his war wounds, keeping all three bullets surgeons had dug out of him in a peanut-butter jar in his closet. Still, he was beginning to sense Julie Roper would be impossible to send home like a good little girl if she enjoyed her adventure any more than she seemed to be doing already.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Julie said earnestly. “Truly, I didn’t mean to open any old wounds—” She stopped, realizing what she’d said. “Gracious. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Oh, dear.”

“No problem,” Billy muttered. It wasn’t often he found himself in a situation that made him uncomfortable, but Julie Roper did just that. She was a bundle of brown-eyed enthusiasm, using her hands as she talked, her animated face illuminated in the yellow light from the dashboard. There was no artifice about her, nothing pretentious. This was the woman-child he had seen skipping in the surf. This was the true Julie Roper. Part child, part woman and apparently starving for a taste of life with all its adventures and dangers.

In all his experience, he’d never come across a woman quite like her. He began to worry.

“Is there someone at home you should be calling?” he asked abruptly. “Someone who might be terribly worried about you? Someone you need to get home to?”