Bodyguard Under the Mistletoe

“I remember getting back on my horse. But I didn’t make it far before I fell out of the saddle. I talked to a woman.”

“Carolyn Carlisle,” Wentworth said. “Dylan’s sister.”

“Then I went unconscious. Tell me what happened next.”

“The first thing? I saved your sorry ass.”

“And I thank you for that.”

“Wasn’t easy,” Wentworth said. “I slowed the bleeding, threw you in the back of a truck. One of the ranch hands—a kid named MacKenzie—drove like a NASCAR racer to get you to the hospital. Might have been the best triage I ever did as a paramedic.”

“Is this your way of asking for a raise?”

Finally, Wentworth laughed. The level of tension between them dropped. “I guess you’ve done okay by me.”

“That’s good because I’m not sure who’s going to hire Longbridge Security after word gets out that I let our client get kidnapped. What happened next?”

“The FBI was called in. There was a ransom demand for a million bucks. The FBI tracked down the kidnappers—a bunch of survivalists who were also smuggling. Case closed. Right?”

“Was it?”

“Hell, no.”

Jesse shifted uncomfortably in his seat. With his right hand, he felt in his jacket pocket for the amber vial of prescription painkillers. “Go on.”

“They couldn’t find Nicole. Last night, she called her husband, met with him and told him that she wasn’t coming home. She wants a divorce.”

Jesse wasn’t sure he understood. “I thought you said the kidnappers were arrested.”

“Two are still at large.”

“And the ransom?”

“Gone.”

The Carlisle ranch house came into view in the distance. The property was bordered by a white slat fence. A gently curving road led to a big, two-story, whitewashed house with a veranda that stretched all the way across the front. Pine-covered foothills framed the area. Hard to believe so much turmoil had taken place in such an idyllic setting.

The drumbeat inside Jesse’s head started up again. A low, hollow throb. “What else do you know?”

“That’s about it,” Wentworth said. “I haven’t been to the ranch house. The client instructed me to stay at the hospital. To protect you. You’re the only eyewitness, and it seemed likely that the kidnappers might want you out of the way.”

Jesse hadn’t seen their faces well. They were wearing cowboy hats that shadowed their features. When he closed his eyes to get a mental picture, his pain intensified. He opened a vial of painkillers, tapped one out and gulped it down.

He didn’t know what he’d say to Dylan. The word sorry sprang to mind. Sorry I messed up and let Nicole get kidnapped. Sorry you lost a million-dollar ransom. Sorry your wife left you.

He winced. All of a sudden, leaving the hospital seemed like a really bad idea. He wasn’t ready for a confrontation. “Don’t go through the gate. Take a left.”

Wentworth followed his instruction. “Are we headed any place in particular?”

“I need a few minutes to think before I face Dylan.”

It went without saying that Jesse wouldn’t quit this job until it had reached a conclusion that satisfied both him and his client. Even if Dylan was ready to take his wife at her word, Jesse wanted confirmation from Nicole.

He turned his head and looked out the window. On the other side of a barbed-wire fence was a field of winter wheat. Still green. Even in December. “Slow down.”

“What are you looking for?”

“Not sure.”

He was hoping for clarity—a flash of insight that would point him in the right direction. In the skies above the field, a hawk circled. His grandfather would have called the bird an omen, a sign that Jesse should be like the hawk. He should be the hunter. Find Nicole. Find the money.

Wentworth stepped on the brake.

A woman was running toward the SUV. Her green jacket matched the low grasses growing in the field. Her long brown braid flipped back and forth behind her.

She yanked open the passenger door. She was thin, delicate. Her cheeks flushed with the effort of running. Her gray eyes shone with a feverish light that made him want to look deeper.

“Your logo.” She gasped. “You’re Longbridge Security.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I’m Jesse Longbridge.”

“I have your gun.”

His gun? As she bent at the waist to catch her breath, he climbed down from his seat. His muscles were stiff from lying in a bed for three days, and his bandaged left leg trembled with the effort of supporting his weight as he stood in the road beside her. “What’s your name?”

“Fiona Grant.”

Wyatt Grant’s widow. He never would have recognized this waiflike creature from the photograph her late husband kept on his desk. Wyatt had been proud of his young bride. In that picture, Fiona was as serene as the Mona Lisa. Her long hair fell around her shoulders in shining curls. A diamond necklace glistened against her smooth olive skin. He’d been hired to protect Wyatt Grant a little over four years ago. If he recalled correctly, Fiona had been pregnant at the time and on bed rest.

When she caught her breath and looked up at him, he said, “I was sorry to hear about your husband’s death. Wyatt was a good man.”

“You have to come with me right away,” she said with a sense of urgency. “I think the kidnappers are at my house.”

“Did you see them?”

“Last night, I heard voices. And just a little while ago, I left the house and didn’t lock the door. As I was coming back, it slammed.”

“But you didn’t actually see or hear them?”

“I saw something. A man.”

“Describe him.”

“It was only a fleeting glimpse. A shadow.” She shuddered. Whatever she’d seen had scared her. “I’m not even sure I saw anything. And the wind could have slammed the door. I might be overreacting.”

He reassured her. “You’re right not to take any chances.”

“Do you believe me?”

Much of what she’d said was jumbled, especially the part about having his gun. But she was obviously distressed, and she didn’t strike him as being crazy. “We’ll make sure your house is safe.”

After losing Nicole to the kidnappers, he wouldn’t take any more risks. Fiona needed his protection.

Chapter Three

Jesse shifted his thinking from speculation to action. If there really was an intruder at Fiona’s house, they needed to act fast to make sure he didn’t escape.

“Wentworth, call the Carlisle ranch for backup. Tell them we’re heading to the Grant house.” He opened the back door of the SUV for Fiona. “Climb in.”

In the few moments it took to reach the turnoff to her ranch, Jesse formulated a simple plan. He and Wentworth would cover the front and back of the house, keeping the intruder trapped until backup arrived. With more manpower, they could search the house, then spread out and search the entire property.

Wentworth got off the phone. “Agent Burke and some men from the ranch are on the way.”

“How long until they get here?”

“Five or ten minutes.”

They drove up the packed dirt road leading to the house. Unlike the other ranches in the area, there was no fence circling Fiona’s property. Her long one-story log cabin nested in a stand of aspen that would be beautiful in the fall when the leaves turned to gold. Behind the cabin, he saw a barn and a couple of outbuildings.

“Fiona, how many entrances does your house have?”

“Only front and back.” Her voice was soft but not breathy. The tone reminded him of gentle notes played by a wooden flute. “But there are windows. If somebody wanted to escape, they could go out a window.”

“Stay in the car, Fiona.” Jesse glanced at Wentworth. “I’ll take the front. You go around back. Don’t enter until backup arrives.”

As soon as Wentworth parked outside the detached garage, Jesse got out of the car. The adrenaline rush masked his pain. His gun felt natural in his hand. He could handle this. No problem.

Moving as quickly as he could with a bum leg, he took a position at the corner of the house beside a long, one-step, wood-plank porch covered by a shingled roof. From this position, he could see the entire front of the house and another side in case the intruder decided to exit through a window.

Leaning against the logs of the cabin, he felt his heartbeat drumming inside his head. His blood pumped hard. He was sweating. In his peripheral vision, darkness began to close in. Not a good sign. He shook himself. Stay awake. Stay alert.

If Fiona’s intruder was, in fact, one of the kidnappers, they were armed and dangerous. They hadn’t hesitated before opening fire on him when he tried to rescue Nicole.

His knees began to weaken. Wentworth had been right. He needed more time to recuperate. Too late to turn back now. No way in hell would he allow himself to collapse. This was his job. His life.

When he glanced toward the car, he was surprised to see Fiona dart across the yard toward him. What the hell was she doing? Didn’t she know it was dangerous? She flattened her back against the log wall beside him.

“What can I do to help?” she asked.

“You could have stayed in the car,” he said dryly.

“This is my home. I need to be ready to defend it.”

In different circumstances, he would have read her the riot act about why she ought to leave the business of security to professionals. But he wasn’t exactly a shining example of rational behavior. Not today. Not when he’d left the hospital only an hour ago. Not when he was taking prescription painkillers. He wasn’t fit for duty.

Later, he’d reprimand himself. For now, the best he could hope for was to avoid getting himself or Fiona shot.

“Stay close,” he said to her.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine.” Damn it, I’m fine.

“I’ve thought about you often, Jesse. I never got to thank you in person for saving my husband’s life.”

“You sent me flowers in a handmade vase.” A strange gift for a man like him whose job meant he was seldom home. “And a note.”

“Which wasn’t enough. That was such a crazy time. I was pregnant, and the doctor told me I had to stay in bed. Then I had the baby.”

“Boy or girl?”

“My daughter’s name is Abigail. Abby.” As she spoke her child’s name, her voice turned musical again. “She’s with the babysitter.”

As he focused on Fiona’s delicate face, the dark edge of unconsciousness receded. Conversation might be what his brain needed to stay alert. “You said this cabin was your home. I thought you lived in Denver.”

“Not anymore.” She peeked around him to see the front door. “Shouldn’t we be rushing inside or something?”

“We’re waiting for backup.” He didn’t tell her that the idea that he could rush anywhere was just about as likely as sprouting wings and flying. “Why did you move up here?”

“Not by choice,” she said. “I lost the house in Denver. And the Mercedes. And the boat. Pretty much everything, actually.”

Her problems distracted him. He couldn’t imagine that Wyatt Grant, a savvy attorney, would have left his widow in such bad shape. “Everything?”

“Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything.” Her gaze turned downward. “I haven’t told anybody.”

“You can tell me,” he said. “It won’t go any further.”

“Are bodyguards confidential? Like lawyers.”

“Not in a legal sense. But I wouldn’t have many clients if I started telling them their business.”

“I’m not your client,” she pointed out.

“As of this minute, I’m working for you. No charge. Pro bono.”

“Deal.” She held out her hand for him to shake before realizing that he was holding a gun in his right, and his left was in a sling. Her confusion ended with a fist bump against his left elbow.

“Now you can tell me anything,” he said.

“There’s not much to say, really. Wyatt had an ex-wife, and two adult children from that marriage. They weren’t happy with the terms of his will. Their attorneys froze everything that was jointly owned, including our checking and savings accounts. When I couldn’t pay the bills, they swooped in. The only reason I have this cabin is that Wyatt signed the deed over to me on our first anniversary. It’s in my name only.”

“You must have contested the family’s actions.”

“Not as much as I should have. Obviously.” There was an edge of bitterness in her voice. “I didn’t have a taste for arguing. Nothing seemed to matter, except for my daughter. It took all my energy to crawl out of bed and take care of her.”

“You let everything go.” Probably even that diamond necklace she’d been wearing in the photograph.

“Didn’t seem worth the effort to hold on. Not when I’d already lost the most important thing in my life.”

A caravan of vehicles from the Carlisle Ranch made the turn off the main road and poured toward them. Jesse would have liked to be the man in control; leadership was natural to him. But he was in no shape to be calling the shots.

He looked down at the slender, delicate woman who stood beside him. “I’m sorry, Fiona.”

“Don’t be.” A mysterious Mona Lisa smile lifted the corner of her mouth. “Starting over isn’t the worst thing that could happen.”

Two trucks and a Jeep parked beside the Longbridge SUV. Nine or ten armed men disembarked. Through a blurry haze, Jesse watched the guy who seemed to be in charge disperse the other men to surround the house. Then he ran across the yard toward Jesse and Fiona.

“Special Agent J. D. Burke,” he introduced himself. “You must be Jesse Longbridge.”

“Must be.” Burke was a big guy, as broad-shouldered as a linebacker. Standing next to Fiona, he looked like a giant—a competent, intelligent giant. “You got here fast.”

“We were already planning to come over here when Wentworth called. Carolyn mentioned that Fiona heard voices last night.”

“But I haven’t actually seen anyone,” she piped up. “Agent Burke, you’re not going to break my front door down, are you?”

“I’d rather not.”

“The back is unlocked.”

He gave a brisk nod. “We’ll enter through the back. You both stay here and keep an eye on the front. Does that sound all right to you, Jesse?”

“It does.”

He appreciated the way Burke had consulted him before taking action. Jesse wanted to think he was still capable. Like all marines, he was a sharpshooter. Even with blurred vision, he trusted his aim. “Stay behind me, Fiona. If I need to open fire, you should run to the back of the house.”

“I’ve never done anything like this,” she whispered.

“You shouldn’t have to. You’re a mom.”

“That’s exactly why I should know how to protect myself and my daughter.”

From the rear of the house, he heard Burke making his entrance. Jesse’s muscles tensed. He raised his handgun and stood ready to shoot.

No one came out.

After a long couple of moments, he heard Wentworth call to him, “All clear, Jesse. There’s nobody in the house.”

Staying focused had been a strain. His gun hand dropped to his side. He sagged against the wall. As soon as his eyes closed, darkness welled up around him. Sweet and silent. For three days, he had rested in the embrace of darkness, peaceful as a tomb.

He felt a hand against his cheek. Her touch was cool, soothing. He blinked and focused on her wide gray eyes.

“Jesse? Are you all right?”

“Fine,” he mumbled.

As she studied him, her face filled with concern. Though her lips didn’t move, he heard an echo of her soft voice inside his head. Starting over isn’t so bad.

After his failure to protect Nicole, he wouldn’t mind having a fresh start. A new direction for his life.

He’d been looking for a sign, a reason he had come back from death. And he sensed that Fiona might hold the answer to his deepest questions. She might provide him with a reason to go on living.

Chapter Four

Standing in her front room, Fiona wasn’t sure whether she should be scared or embarrassed that she’d reported an intruder who didn’t exist.

She couldn’t turn to Jesse for guidance; he’d disappeared into the kitchen, moving slowly. When they were outside and he leaned against the wall with his eyes closed, she’d thought he was going to keel over, which wasn’t surprising considering his injuries. Carolyn had told her that he was unconscious for three days. Jesse was still weak and ought to be in bed. Not that he’d ever admit it. Typical man! When men got sick, they either put on a macho attitude or curled up in bed and whined like babies.

Agent Burke was giving the orders. “Everybody out,” he said. “We need to spread out and search.”

It went against her instincts as a hostess to have these men troop through her house without offering hospitality. “I should make coffee.”

“Later,” Burke said.

Turning away from her, he spoke to the man who had been in the car with Jesse. Wentworth? Burke rattled off instructions about how the outbuildings should be searched and reminded him that they should proceed with caution.

Fiona could see why Carolyn had fallen for this big, rugged FBI agent. Not only was Burke a fine-looking man, but he seemed strong-willed enough to stand up to Carolyn’s dynamic personality. These two would strike sparks off each other for sure.

While the searchers dispersed, she asked, “Is there something you’d like me to do, Agent Burke?”

“I’ll get the sheriff over here to dust for prints, but I doubt we’ll find anything. You keep a tidy house, Fiona.”

“Except for the enclosed porch off the kitchen. I’m using that as my pottery studio.”

“Let’s take a look around and see if anything’s missing.”

Dutifully, she scanned the living-room furniture and the shelves near the door where she stored some of her finished pottery. The TV was still there. And the computer. Nothing seemed out of place.

Burke followed her down the hall to her bedroom where she checked the contents of her jewelry box that rested on the knotty pine dresser. “Nothing appears to be missing, but the door to my walk-in closet is open. I didn’t leave it that way.”

“It might have been opened when we searched,” he said. “Take a look inside.”

Against the back wall was a neat row of dressy clothing, still in plastic dry cleaner’s bags. Matching shoes were stored in their original boxes. She never wore those clothes anymore. They were part of her old life.

Jesse joined them. Though still pale, he seemed to have regained some of his strength. “I’ll take over in here,” he said to Burke. “You might want to keep an eye on the search.”

“Thanks. Except for your man Wentworth, these guys aren’t trained in forensics. They wouldn’t know a clue if it jumped up and bit them on the ass.” He gave Fiona a wave. “I’ll be back.”

Jesse came toward her. In spite of his slight limp and the black sling on his left arm, he moved with confidence.

“You seem better,” she said.

“I’m getting a handle on these pain pills. Just a little foggy around the edges.” He peeked around her into the closet. “Tidy.”

“I haven’t touched most of those things since I unpacked.” She looked up into his eyes. His pupils were so dilated from the medication that she could barely see the dark cognac brown of his irises. “Maybe you should rest.”

“When I need a nap, I’ll let you know.” He flashed that killer grin. “In the meantime, I’m your protector.”

In spite of his light tone, she took him seriously. Her instincts told her this was a man she could trust with her life. In a way, she already had. Within moments of meeting Jesse, she’d told him the secret behind her move to the mountains. None of her friends in Denver knew how much she’d lost. Fiona’s story was that she and Abby were going to live at the cabin and seek a more peaceful life. Peaceful? Not today!

She cleared her throat and said, “Burke told me to look for signs that someone had been in my house.”

“Keep at it.”

She closed her closet door and led him into Abby’s room, which was more cluttered than the rest of the house but didn’t seem to have been ransacked.

“I can’t imagine why anybody would want to rob me,” she said. “I don’t keep valuables here.”

“From what you told me, you don’t keep valuables at all.”

“Things aren’t important to me. I care about people. People matter.”

He mattered. She’d only just met Jesse, but he mattered to her. Why was she so drawn to him? Very likely, because he was an incredibly good-looking man. His straight black hair was combed back from his forehead. He had high cheekbones, deep-set eyes and a firm jaw. But his features weren’t perfect. His nose looked as if it had been broken more than once. And he had a scar on his chin. An interesting face.

“Let’s go to the next room,” he said.

The guest room with the colorful handmade quilt was neat as a pin. Again, the closet door stood open. It was the same in the den.

The only rooms left to search were the kitchen and her studio. She backtracked through the living room, passing the dining table where she and Abby had begun their Christmas decorating with a centerpiece of handmade clay elves and reindeer.

In the kitchen, her gaze went to the top of the fridge where she’d left the antique Colt .45. The rectangular box appeared to be unmoved. She should take it down and make sure the gun was still inside. But something else caught her attention.

“The apples.” She pointed to a bowl on the table. “There are only three, and I’m sure I had four. I remember because I was going to run in here and grab an apple for Elvis.”

“Elvis?”

“Carolyn’s horse. She dropped by earlier.” It seemed crazy that someone would break into her house for a healthy snack. “I could be wrong. Nothing else is out of place.”

That left only her pottery studio. She went through the laundry room attached to the kitchen and stopped outside a closed door. “I always keep this door locked so Abby can’t come in here unsupervised. Too many sharp implements. And a kiln.”

She reached up for the key that hung from a hook near the top of the door frame. It was gone. Had she misplaced it?

Jesse reached past her and turned the doorknob. “It’s open.”

She stepped inside. Her potter’s wheel was in one corner. The kiln in the other. The long table between them was cluttered with sketchbooks and current projects. On the opposite side of the room, tall storage cabinets against the wall were opened. The larger boxes had been dragged out to the center of the room and opened. “Someone was in here.”

“Don’t touch. There might be fingerprints.” Using one of the sketching pencils, he opened the lid on one of the boxes and peered inside at an assortment of small kitchen appliances that she didn’t use anymore. “Anything missing?”

“Hard to tell. That’s just clutter.”

“Your intruder didn’t come here to rob you. He didn’t take the flat-screen TV or the computer. I’d say he was looking for something specific.”

But her house hadn’t been torn apart. The drawers and cabinets in the kitchen were untouched. “He was searching for something big enough to fit into one of these boxes.”

“Something that’s about the size of a suitcase.” With the fingers of his right hand, he raked his black hair off his forehead. “Something that’s gone missing.”

Fiona realized that she should have been frightened. The unlocked door and the boxes were evidence. An intruder had been inside her house. Instead, she felt angry and confused as she imagined a stranger wandering through her house, poking into her things. “I’m not in the mood for guessing games. What was he looking for?”

“The ransom,” he said. “A million dollars in cash. That much money in small bills would fill a suitcase.”

“Why would anyone think the ransom was in my house?”

“That’s a million-dollar question.”

“How about an answer?”

“Your property is close to the Carlisle’s. If the kidnappers were on the run and had to stash the money, they might have stopped here.”