The Bodyguard Contract

After raising his hand, he once again made the sign of the cross. “God be with you, my child.” With that, Father Xavier Varvarinski stepped out of the confessional.

Lara listened to the receding footsteps, understanding that it would be of no use to follow him. Not even to tell him he was wrong. Her uncontaminated hand slid to her stomach. Innocents were already involved.

Mojave Desert, North of Las Vegas

Wednesday, 2200 hours

PREGNANT. For the hundredth time, she pressed her fingers to her lids and swore. She’d never been one to cry before—not because of any sort of toughness or principle, but simply because she wasn’t capable—could never find the release mechanism within her.

Now she didn’t have eyes, she thought with disgust, she had two spigots. Both spurting water at the slightest emotional whim.

Lara glanced up at the stars, their shine all flash and sass against the shaded layers of the indigo sky. It seemed pregnancy, or more specifically her whacked-out hormones, had found that mechanism.

With a sigh, she turned toward the north, searching the sky, using the diversion to undermine the chaotic emotions churning within.

She saw the belt first, its stars winking—bright beacons that led her to the sword. Within moments, she’d outlined the whole constellation. Orion.

Jerk.

If only she hadn’t let her guard down, hadn’t allowed herself to find solace in his arms. Humiliation rose to her throat, but anger caused the muscles to constrict. If only…

Damn Ian. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. She’d been taking the shots of progesterone for birth control and never had a problem—until now.

She’d been close to her goals. Goals she’d set long ago. Ones that didn’t include children or marriage.

Mercers weren’t meant for relationships, or families. So where did that leave her? “Getting through the next three days,” she promised, determined. Then what?

She concentrated on her surroundings. An ocean of sand stretched between her and the horizon—with nothing between except boulders, scrub bushes… and the occasional tumbleweeds the wind tossed about.

In the distance, a diesel engine rumbled and gravel crunched, shattering the desert’s tranquility. She crouched behind the boulder, peered through her infrared binoculars until she caught the shimmer of movement. Soon a semi appeared, its black cab blending easily in the darkness. The steel of its tractor trailer flashed—a mirror reflecting the moonlight. Lara’s thumb pushed the zoom on her binoculars for a closer look.

Flanking one side was a dark sedan. Automatically, Lara noted the license plate.

When both the big rig and car slowed down to a snails pace, she glanced at her wristwatch.

Half an hour early. How convenient.

Within minutes, the two vehicles stopped, but their headlights remained on, the engines running.

The driver of the diesel immediately jumped out of the cab, his potbelly heaving with the effort. With urgent, bowlegged strides he headed for the nearest bush.

Long trip, Lara mused. She kept the driver in her peripheral vision, heard his grunt of relief, while she scanned the perimeter.

The semi’s headlights glared through the sedan’s back window revealing two men. Almost immediately, the driver of the sedan got out. Dressed in a leather jacket and jeans, the guy resembled a walking bald, brick wall with enough bulked-up muscle to make her wonder if he’d been nursed on steroids.

Once, just once, she’d like to see a hired thug with limbs the size of twigs.

Steroid Boy chose to stay near the car. His eyes expertly took in the immediate area. In one hand, he held a deadly Uzi. Keeping beat to some unknown tune, he tapped the weapon against his thigh.

The other driver had finished his business. He returned to his perch in the big rig’s cab, then lit a cigarette.

Lara sat on the ground, her back against the boulder and considered her next move. Three men. Less than she expected from Novak.

After checking her utility belt, she twisted the silencer onto her Glock and glanced once more over the top of the boulder. Assured no one had moved, she slid her ski mask into place and took a deep breath.

Using the shadows for cover, she maneuvered through the sparse cover of boulders and brush until she reached the back of the semi’s trailer. Easily thirteen feet in length, it could carry millions of dollars worth of illegal arms.

A cough echoed in the night air. Harmless. Still, she waited a scant few seconds before tugging the swing doors’ lever. Locked. Not surprised, she tucked her gun into her waistband, grabbed the hinge and boosted herself onto the bumper.

The top of the trailer was a good four feet above her own five-seven height. She took a deep breath and jumped. Her fingertips snagged the edge of the steel roof and she shimmied up to the top of the trailer.

Flat against the top, Lara’s quick scan told her no one had moved. She tugged a rope free from her belt—a long cable of solid, moldable acid. Quickly, she placed it in a tight circle on the steel roof then reached for a small plastic bottle with the activating solution. She attached a climbing suction cup in the middle and poured the solution over the rope.

Soon acid ate through steel. The smell, only slightly pungent, lost its fierceness in the desert wind.

With a quick tug on the suction cup, Lara broke the steel free.

A chopper sounded in the distance and Lara swore. Hastily, she slid down the side panel of the truck, then hung by her fingers on its edge and waited.

The helicopter landed a hundred feet from the front of the diesel engine. The blades kicked up sand and debris, forcing Lara to turn away.

Using her arms, she pulled herself back to the top, wincing when steel scraped against her belly.

The copter’s blades slowed. Two men jumped to the ground, both in suits, one carrying a briefcase—a large enough case to hold quite a bit of cash—while a younger man with black hair and a beard carried a machine gun. The pilot, she noticed, stayed in the helicopter.

A man, in his midthirties, stepped out from the sedan. With a cigarette hanging from thin lips and sporting short, blond tipped hair—spiked like a David Bowie wannabe—the man waved a casual hand in greeting. Novak.

Shifting for a better view, she slowly drew her miniature binoculars, trying to get a read on the faces, the movement of their lips. Her frown deepened. Nothing.

Suddenly, Novak slapped the buyer on the shoulder and nodded toward the big rig driver.

The trailer door banged, sending a shock wave rippling through the steel beneath her. Lara pulled out her silencer pistol.

She listened, heard the laughter, recognized the underlying tone of satisfaction. Novak and his buyer climbed into the trailer, leaving the two bodyguards outside.

Lara scowled, but didn’t waste time on the slight glitch. She grabbed the gas canister from her utility belt, pulled the release and dropped the cylinder through.

Swiftly, she covered the hole. Shouts of alarm penetrated the trailer walls. The Uzi guys came running, each taking a side. Lara aimed, fired, taking down the buyer’s man with a bullet in the throat. With a cry of pain, he grasped his neck, the blood already gurgling between his gasps of breath. Lara ignored him, knowing the man was already dead.

Steroid Boy was much smarter. He dropped, rolled, then came to his knees and fired.

A rapid spray of bullets hit the air, pinging the steel beneath her. Lara twisted, grabbed the trailer’s opposite edge and dropped. She scrambled under the rig. Exhaust and the scent of gasoline thickened the air beneath. Nausea roped through her belly. Ignoring it, she aimed at the booted feet and squeezed the trigger. An agonized scream tore through the air. The man dropped, both ankles shattered by bullets. One more to the chest took him out of the picture.

The copter pilot fired its machine gun. Bullets kicked up the dirt between the car and trailer, catching the semi’s driver in their path. He jerked once, then fell to his knees. With eyes frozen open, he landed facefirst on the ground.

“Nice aim, idiot,” Lara murmured, then rolled back into the open air and fired. The helicopter’s windshield exploded and on its heels came another agonizing scream of pain.

Lara dropped her clip and shoved in her spare. Using the tires for cover, she waited two slow minutes. Bit by bit she crept around the back, knowing one or more of the men could’ve made it out before the gas rendered them unconscious.

She levered herself up, checked the darkness for signs of movement, then maneuvered around the stacked crates.

Both Novak and his buyer lay slumped on the floor—the briefcase at their feet.

Lara grabbed the case and straightened. Almost instantly, a bullet punched her chest. She flew back, her shoulder slammed against the wall of the rig.

Pain exploded from chest to chin. It knocked her legs out from under her. One of the men tackled her, sending them both out of the trailer and onto the dirt.

Before she could stop him, Novak reared back and whipped off her mask.

“Well, look what we’ve got here.”

“Surprise.” She rammed her knee into his crotch. Novak went down gasping. Lara jumped up, grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. Placing the gun just under his jaw.

“Okay, Tony. I don’t have time for any guessing games. So for each correct answer you get to stay healthy. Each wrong answer, you get a bullet in a vital organ. Got me?”

“You realize who I am?” His eyes narrowed, but she noticed he still gasped out the words and took a great deal of pleasure in it.

“Well, after you get done being my bargaining chip, I’ll ask you for an autograph. How’s that?”

“Bargaining chip?”

“Later.” Lara took a quick glance around. “How many of your guys are watching from the sidelines?”

“None,” he denied, his tone artificially friendly. “Armand and I have been doing business for years. This was to be simple. In, out. No surprises.”

“Yeah, and I’m Moses looking for the right desert—”

A gun clicked behind Lara’s ear. “Drop your weapon, Moses. Or lose your head.”

Chapter Four

Armand’s pilot stepped from behind Lara, his shoulder blood soaked from a bullet wound, his pistol prodding the middle of her back.

Slowly, she released Novak and held her hands up, leaving her gun dangling from her fingertips. Novak jerked himself away and stood. He grabbed her gun, prodded her belly with its barrel.

On the second jab, a tiny wisp of fear circled her heart.

“Looks like I’m the one with the dilemma now.”

Before Lara could react, Novak backhanded her across the face, sending her sprawling. Stars exploded behind her eyes, scraped the inside of her skull. With a deliberate pause, she spit the grit from her mouth, then sat up. Tasting the bite of metal, she wiped the blood from her lip.

“It’s my turn to ask the questions, Moses.”

“I don’t talk to dead people,” Lara taunted.

Anton Novak’s lips curled into a feral grin. “Oh, I can see this is going to be fun.” He turned to the pilot. “See to your boss. We still have a deal to finish.”

The pilot nodded and headed for the back of the trailer.

Novak crouched, this time his hand gripped Lara’s hair. “Don’t I know you?”

The shadows blurred Novak’s features, so Lara knew her own were no more distinguishable. “I haven’t been slumming lately.”

Swearing, Novak raised his closed fist.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The order came from behind Novak, its tone clipped and menacing.

Lara’s gaze snapped around in time to see Ian.

“Are you okay?” he asked calmly, but the anger was there, seething under the surface of the man. Hot enough that she could almost feel the sand liquefy beneath her.

“Yes.” Lara jerked to her feet, using the momentum to place a well-aimed elbow to Novak’s gut. His breath whooshed and he dropped to his knees. A wicked smile curved her lips, despite the soreness. “Next time, be a gentleman.” She turned to Ian. “The pilot?”

“Dead.” The word was short, to the point. Ian studied her for a moment, ignoring Novak. “How long will the buyer be out?”

“Half hour, max.” Pain radiated through her ribs from where Novak had shot her. Grimly, Lara rubbed her chest, grateful for her body armor. She’d have a hell of a bruise but not much more.

“How—”

“Later.” Ian patted Novak down, discovering a pen-sized cylinder in his pocket.

“Look what I found.” He tossed the miniature oxygen canister to Lara. “It recycles a person’s carbon monoxide back into oxygen.”

Ian grabbed Novak by the collar. “You knew she was coming?”

“Not me.” Lara answered for Novak, then scanned the perimeter. “But someone.”

A high-pitched whine, faint but distinct cut through the night air.

“Hit the deck!” Ian yelled. The explosion swallowed his warning, spitting it back in a bursting ball of fire and white-hot debris.

Ian dropped Novak midstride and dived into Lara, catching her in a side tackle that sent her flying.

Blast on blast surged over them, raising dirt, shattering the air.

Lara waited for the ground to settle, then shook her head. The after-buzz faded from behind her ears.

“Get off me, hotshot.” Lara wiggled to emphasize her point. “I mean it—” She stopped, felt the slack in his muscles, the deadweight on her back.

“Ian! Oh, God, Ian.” Lara leveraged her shoulder against the ground, then shifted her hips. “Hold on.” Rocks scraped her back, bit into her scalp. But desperation had her ignoring the pain as she worked herself out from beneath him.

Please, don’t let him die. Not because of me. She stripped off his mask. “Come on, hotshot! Talk to me,” she yelled. She pushed at his shoulder and hip until he rolled over. “Come on.” She placed her ear to his heart, heard the steady rhythm beneath her cheek. Relieved, she glanced at his face, tapped it with gentle fingers. “Wake up!”

“I’m up, sweetheart,” he murmured. “So you can stop shouting at me. I’m stunned, not deaf.” Ian groaned, then rubbed the back of his head. “Must’ve caught some flying debris.” Slowly, he sat up, looked around. “I’m going to kill that son of a bitch.”

Novak. An engine revved and Lara swore. The sedan, with Novak behind the wheel, sped off, gravel and dirt clouding the headlight beams.

As she turned back to Ian, she caught sight of the briefcase lying ten feet away.

Lara didn’t waste time on arguing. She grabbed the case, then boosted Ian up using her frame to support his and staggered to where darkness rimmed the site.

“Well,” Lara commented, as she stared at the burning inferno. “This sucks.”

“Who the hell fired that rocket?” Ian asked while he surveyed the fire. With the right coordinates, the launcher could be a mile away.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense. Neither man would risk blowing up the rig. Not with one boss inside and the other owning the merchandise inside.” Lara shrugged herself out of his embrace and showed Ian the briefcase. “Maybe the answer is in here.”

“It wasn’t worth your life.” Ian half sat, half leaned against a small boulder. Lara curbed the urge to get close again. To feel the reassurance of his body next to hers.

“If you do something like this again, you’ll answer to me.”

“Is that a threat? Because if it is, you’ll have to do better to scare me.” Lara surveyed the area. Only the driver’s body hadn’t been destroyed by the fire. Lara walked over to him and went through his pockets. After a moment, she came up empty.

Ian sighed and shrugged off his gear. “I don’t think anything scares you. That’s most of your problem.” He snagged the infrared binoculars and scanned the perimeter to make sure their company had given up on them. “Our friend is long gone.”

“He’s not our anything.” Lara turned, grabbed the briefcase and stalked away. “He’s my problem.”

“Don’t you even want to know why I’m here?”

“Nope. I’m angry enough that you are,” she snapped, not breaking her stride. “Any time you try to help me with my problems, I end up with worse problems.” Like an unwanted pregnancy. “So do me a favor and just go away, before I kill you.”

“Frankly, Red, I’d thought you’d be more appreciative,” he said, not bothering to follow.

“Why? Because the infamous Orion—” Lara sneered Ian’s code name “—let my one lead go?” She looked over her shoulder. The flames from the fire cast him in an eerie light, making his features all angles, sharp and hollow. “Drop dead.” She turned back and continued walking.

“I let him go to save you.”

“Thank you.” Lara waved a careless hand in the air. “Don’t do me any more favors.” She glanced at the stars. Thought briefly about wishing on one for the first time in her life. Then automatically discarded the idea as nonsense. “Could my day get any worse?”

“If you’re heading for your SUV, you’re wasting time.”

Slowly, she swung back. “Why?”

“It has four flat tires.”

“Four flat—” Definitely worse.

“Good thing for you, I just happen to have a Hummer sitting about a quarter mile away. Interested?” he invited with a lazy arrogance.

“Of all the dirty—” She bit off the words, and for a moment stared into the darkness, forcing herself to draw in three long, deep breaths. Only after—when she’d calmed down a bit—did she answer. “Do I have a choice?”

“No, you don’t.”

Her nerve ends crackled while her mind ran through the complications Ian brought with his appearance. With reluctance, she started back toward him. “How did you know where to find me?”

“I followed you from the church. Then after, when you hightailed it out here.” He paused, considering. “And with no Katts Smeart, or am I mistaken?”

The fact that she hadn’t made his tail irked her more than the flat tires. If she hadn’t been distracted with the baby—his baby… “You’re not. There was a hiccup in the plan.”

“Some hiccup. The desert is a long way from Norfolk and headquarters, Red.”

He’d said headquarters. A muscle twitched in her jaw. “Cain told you about my operation?”

“That’s not all he told me.” The bonfire lit the area, giving Lara clear sight of Ian’s gaze, pausing deliberately on her stomach.

“Cain has a big mouth.” And she’d deal with it later, she vowed. “It’s not your baby.”

“Liar.”

Realizing her hand lay protectively over her belly, she jerked it away, balled it into a fist. “Damn it, Ian. This is exactly why I didn’t want you to know yet.”

“Then you were going to tell me.” Sarcasm saturated the air between them.

His attitude, his problem. She had her own to deal with. “Yes. But only after I had a chance to absorb it and figure out what I’m going to do.”

“You sound like you have a choice.” Two quick, masculine strides ate the distance between them. He grabbed her by the shoulders, his grip flexing with indecision on whether to shake her or not. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Lara snapped back. “Adoption maybe. Considering our lifestyles.”

“Let me tell you something,” he snarled. “I don’t like this pregnancy any better than you do. But never once did I consider walking away.” He brought her closer until only millimeters separated them. “And by God, neither will you.”

“What I do is my decision. I’ve had a little over twenty-four hours to deal with this. And it’s not like this baby was conceived in love.” She paused, absorbing the ache that slipped through her. “It was in anger, Ian.”

“Your anger, not mine.”

“Either way, this baby should’ve never happened.” Fear filled her—not the natural adrenaline rush that came with risk, but the instinct for survival. It was sheer terror that rose from her toes, poured out her skin in a cold, clammy sweat.

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