Undercover Bodyguard

“No. She lived alone.”

“Okay. We’ll do what we can to find her, but it doesn’t look good.”

“I know.” Shelby offered a watery smile, and Ryder’s heart constricted, the feeling both surprising and uncomfortable. He’d noticed Shelby and her sweet smile every time he’d gone into her bakery, but noticing wasn’t the same as feeling something for her.

And he was feeling.

Sympathy, concern, curiosity about the woman who seemed both strong and vulnerable.

“I’m going to send an EMT over. You need to get the cut on your head looked at.” The firefighter hurried away, and Shelby put a hand to her temple, fingering the lump that still oozed blood.

“It doesn’t even hurt,” she said, shivering as she looked at her bloodied fingers.

“Shock will do that to you. Here.” Ryder shrugged out of his jacket and draped it around her shoulders, his knuckles brushing the silky flesh beneath her jaw as he adjusted the collar.

She stilled, something flashed in the depth of her eyes. Fear? Anxiety? It was there and gone too quickly for him to read.

“Thanks. I’ve never been so cold in my life. I guess that’s another thing sho—” Her voice trailed off, her eyes widening as she caught sight of his side holster. “That’s a gun.”

“Right.”

“You’re carrying a weapon.”

“Right.”

“But…why?”

“I’m in the security business. I protect people and property.”

“You’re a bodyguard?”

“A security contractor.”

“Which is the same as a bodyguard.”

“If you want.”

“What I want is to go back to last night and insist that Maureen spend it at my place.”

“It would be nice if life had a do-over button, Shelby Ann, but it doesn’t.”

“I know. I just wish that I’d had a chance to save her.” She swayed, her face colorless. He slid an arm around her waist, motioning to the EMT who was making his way toward them.

“Ma’am, why don’t you sit down and let me have a look at your head?”

“I’m all right.”

“You’re bleeding, and you may have a concussion.” The EMT used gloved fingers to probe Shelby’s wound, and she stiffened.

“Ow!”

“Looks like you’re going to need a few stitches. The doctor may want to do a CAT scan to rule out any fractures or brain bleeds. Let’s get you transported to the hospital and see what’s what.”

“I really don’t need to go to the hospital,” Shelby protested.

“You really do,” Ryder responded, urging her onto a stretcher that had been wheeled over by two other EMTs.

“But—”

“Just relax, ma’am, and let us do all the work.” They rolled her away as she continued to protest.

Ryder figured he’d have a chat with the fire marshal and then find a place to buy some coffee, eat one of the protein bars that he kept in his glove compartment and get on with his day.

He scanned the mass of people fighting the blaze, searching for the one who might be in charge. A dog yapped from the bushes at the edge of the yard, but he ignored it, focusing on the task, determined to follow through on his plan.

“Wait! Stop!” Shelby’s cry sent adrenaline pumping through him, and he turned.

She hung over the side of the stretcher as she whistled and called to something. If she leaned any farther, she’d fall on her head. The EMTs seemed helpless to stop her.

Ryder was not.

He covered the ground between them quickly, grabbing her arm and hauling her up. “Are you nuts? You’re going to break your neck!”

“That’s Mazy. I’m sure of it.” She pointed to the edge of the yard.

“Mazy who?”

“Mazy. Maureen’s dog. She’s probably scared to death. Come here, Mazy. Here, girl,” she called, leaning over the side of the stretcher again.

“Cut it out before you kill yourself!” He grabbed her arm again. Hauled her up again.

“But—”

“I’ll go look for the dog. You stay put.” Disgusted, he tramped across the yard, following the sound of yapping dog until he found a little white puffball cowering in the bushes. It looked more like a piece of fluff than a dog, but he picked it up anyway, ignoring its rumbling growl.

“This her?” He held the puffball out for Shelby to see, and she teared up.

“Yes. Poor thing. She must be so scared and confused.”

“I’ll take her to the shelter. She’ll get good—”

“No! The other dogs will eat her alive.”

She had a point. To a bigger dog, Mazy would probably look like a tasty morsel. “I can leave her here. Maybe Maureen had family or friends who will come and get her.”

“You can’t leave her here. She’ll be—”

“Scared and confused?”

“Yes.” She offered a half smile. “Listen, I hate to ask, but could you bring her to the hospital? I’ll have someone meet us there and bring her to my place. That way, she won’t run off while she’s waiting for rescue.”

Bring the dog to the hospital?

He frowned at the little beast, and he was pretty sure it frowned back, but Shelby was waiting, her eyes big and dark with concern, and no refused to make its way past his lips.

“Okay, but if she chews the upholstery in my truck, she’s toast.”

“Mazy has good manners. She’ll behave.” Shelby smiled the same sweet smile she greeted him with every time he walked into her bakery, and his pulse jumped, his blood warming.

He’d dated plenty of beautiful women during his time in the navy. After his injury and recovery, he’d been more selective, dating just a few women before he’d found Danielle. Gorgeous, driven and strong in her faith, she’d been the kind of woman he’d thought he could make a good life with, but after two years of dating, the relationship had felt hollow, Danielle’s clawing, grasping need to get ahead putting a wedge between them.

He’d wanted a cozy home in the suburbs of New York City, a few kids, maybe a dog. She’d wanted a high-rise apartment in Manhattan, no kids, no pets. Nothing but work and money.

In the end, they hadn’t found a way to make their goals mesh.

When he’d broken up with her, he hadn’t bothered looking for another relationship. Ryder had had plenty of opportunity to find The One. But he hadn’t, and he figured she wasn’t out there.

But Shelby appealed to him, everything about her soft and warm and inviting. No matter how much he’d tried to ignore her, he couldn’t. Four months of visiting her bakery, and he was no closer to understanding why.

She was pretty, sure, but that wasn’t it.

When he looked into her eyes, it was like looking into her soul, and Ryder wanted to keep on looking.

He wasn’t sure what to think about that.

Wasn’t sure if he should think anything about it.

He’d come to Spokane to open another branch of his company, Personal Securities Incorporated. One year, that’s what he’d planned to devote to setting things up. In eight months, he’d be going home to New York City. He didn’t have time to get involved in a relationship, and he wasn’t sure he would have wanted to if he did have the time.

But he couldn’t seem to stay away from Shelby and her quaint bakery and easy smile.

He frowned, the dog whining and wiggling as the sirens blared and the ambulance sped away.

THREE

No way was Shelby ever going to let Dr. Jarrod Estes sew her up. She’d dated the man for about two minutes after she’d found Andrew and Stephanie kissing outside of Andrew’s apartment building. One date with the most sought-after bachelor at Grace Christian Church, because Shelby had wanted to feel as if she wasn’t the biggest loser on the planet. One date had been plenty. Jarrod had spent more time checking his text messages than talking to her, and Shelby had decided there and then that she was done with the dating scene.

Done.

Finished.

No more men.

Ever.

She’d made some lame excuse about leaving an oven on at the bakery and excused herself halfway through the entrée. Now the man she’d ditched on their first date was coming at her with a needle.

“Really, Jarrod, I don’t think stitches are necessary.” She eased off the exam table, her bare toes curling against cold tile, the acrid scent of smoke wafting from her hair.

Smoke from the explosions and fire that had killed Maureen.

Tears clogged her throat, but she’d already cried so much that her eyes were hot and dry.

“Shelby, I know you’ve had a tough morning, and I know you’re anxious to get out of here and take some time to grieve, but you do need stitches.” Jarrod dropped the needle back on the tray, glanced at his watch and sighed. “Tell you what, why don’t I call Dottie and have her come to hold your hand?”

“Do not call Dottie.” That was the last thing Shelby needed.

“How about one of your friends, then? Someone from church? Jasmine or Faith?” He leaned forward in his chair, a hint of impatience in his tone.

“I wouldn’t want them to drive all the way here. Besides, I’m opting out of the stitches. I’m sure my head will heal just fine.”

“It’s going to scar,” he warned.

“I can think of worse things.” She scooped up her clothes and the jacket Ryder had thrown over her shoulders. Since Jarrod didn’t seem keen on leaving the room, she’d find a restroom and change there. Sure, Ryder had said he’d bring Mazy to the hospital, but Shelby had seen the look in his eyes, and she figured he was about as likely to follow through as she was to let Jarrod stitch her up. She hadn’t even bothered calling someone to come get the dog.

The only good man is a dead husband with a good life-insurance policy.

Another one of Beulah’s truisms. One Shelby’s mother and sister wholeheartedly believed. Shelby had tried to believe something different. She’d opened herself up to love, tried to create what Beulah and her mother had insisted was impossible—forever with a man who loved her for who she was.

Tried twice times, actually.

Once in college.

Once with Andrew.

Both had been disastrous.

She didn’t plan to try again.

“Thanks for everything, Jarrod. See you at church Sunday.” She yanked the door open, colliding with a rock-hard chest.

“What’s the hurry, Shelby Ann?” Broad hands grabbed her waist as she caught her balance.

She knew the voice, the hands, the dark chocolate eyes that stared into hers.

Ryder.

Her heart jumped in acknowledgment, her body humming with an awareness she knew she shouldn’t be feeling. “You came.”

“I said I would,” he responded, frowning slightly. “Is your friend around here somewhere? That dog and I aren’t getting along, and I want her out of my car ASAP.”

“Mazy gets along with everyone.”

“She’s not getting along with me. So, where’s your friend?” He glanced at Jarrod, at the otherwise empty hospital room and then turned the full force of his gaze on Shelby again.

Yep. Dark chocolate eyes. Only they weren’t sweet, they were hard and intense.

“I…didn’t call anyone. I didn’t think you’d actually come. You can just leave her…”

“Where?”

“Well…” Where could he leave her? “Just give me a minute to get changed and I’ll get her.” She tried to step past him, but he blocked her path.

“It’s going to take more than a minute to get your head stitched up.” He edged her backward.

“I’m not planning to have it stitched up.”

“Shelby, will you please just let me get this done?” Jarrod asked, exasperated and not even trying to hide it.

“Fine.” She walked back to the exam table, dropped her clothes and the coat on the chair beside it.

“Don’t worry. You’re going to feel this first stick, and then you won’t feel a thing.” Jarrod leaned toward her, the needle pointed straight at her face, and she felt every bit of blood drain from her head.

“You’re not going to faint, are you?” Ryder put a hand on her shoulder.

“That would be preferable to the alternative.”

“Which would be?”

“Staying conscious for the entire horrifying procedure.”

Ryder laughed, the sound rusty and gruff. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

“I guess that depends on which side of the needle you’re on.” Shelby winced as Jarrod shot her with the anesthetic.

“That’s the worst of it, Shelby. Let’s give it a minute to take effect. So—” Jarrod turned his attention to Ryder “—were you at Maureen’s, too?”

“Yes.” Ryder didn’t offer more than that, and Shelby wondered if Jarrod would take the hint and stop asking questions.

He didn’t.

“You work at the bakery with Shelby?”

“Why would you say that?” Ryder asked, and Jarrod frowned.

“Shelby said she was making a delivery when Maureen’s house exploded.”

“Shelby was making a delivery.”

“And you were with her?”

“Is there a reason you want to know, Doctor?” Ryder asked as Jarrod lifted a needle and bent close to Shelby’s head.

“Just curious. I was shocked to hear about the explosion and Maureen’s death. I’m just trying to figure out how everything went down.” Jarrod had the good grace to flush, his neck and cheeks going deep red.

“That’s the job of the police and fire marshal. It may take a while for them to figure it out. The house is pretty much rubble. I’m not sure how easy it will be to piece together what happened.”

“Did they find Maureen’s…Maureen?” Shelby asked, and Ryder nodded.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Poor Maureen.” The tears Shelby had thought were completely dried up began again, slipping down her cheeks as Jarrod worked.

“If it makes you feel any better, she didn’t suffer. If the initial explosion didn’t kill her, the smoke overcame her so quickly, she didn’t have time to be scared,” Ryder offered, patting her back as Jarrod continued his slow, methodical stitching.

“Dead is dead. She should be flying to New York right now, celebrating with her friends. Not lying in a morgue,” Shelby said, taking a tissue Ryder shoved toward her.

“She’s celebrating in a different way.” Jarrod’s easy platitude did more to irritate Shelby than it did to comfort her. She knew Maureen was a Christian, but that didn’t make her death any less tragic.

“I think, if given the choice, she’d rather be on the plane.”

“Right,” Jarrod conceded, stepping back. “Okay, you’re all set. I’m going to send a nurse in with aftercare instructions. See your personal physician tomorrow. The stitches will need to come out in ten days.”

“Thanks.” She stood on wobbling legs, grabbing the closest thing to her, which just happened to be Ryder’s arm. She jerked back, the spark of electricity that shot through her palm an unwelcome surprise.

What was it about the man that made her heart race every time she looked in his eyes? That made heat shoot through her when she touched his arm?

It certainly wasn’t his winning smile or charming personality. The guy looked like a carved statue of a Roman centurion, all hard angles and cold calculation.

“I need to get changed,” she mumbled, turning away.

“I’ll be right outside.” He stepped into the hall and closed the door.

Alone, Shelby dressed quickly, pulling on her white polo shirt and the faded jeans that were just a little looser than they’d been when she’d broken up with Andrew. Ten pounds lost so she could fit into a fancy black dress. It all seemed futile now, the worry, the wondering if she’d look beautiful enough to make Andrew regret his lying, cheating ways, a waste of time.

She sighed as she tied her lilac apron. Just Desserts’ insignia emblazoned on the front, it was the only uniform she required for people working at the bakery. It was Beulah’s favorite color and a nod to the grandmother who’d provided the funds to open the shop. Today, Shelby’s normally immaculate apron was soot marred and grass stained, splotches of blood mixing with the green-and-black mess, a modern painting that spoke of chaos and tragedy. She’d have to throw it away. No way would she ever get the stains out, and she couldn’t imagine wearing it without crying.

Someone knocked on the door, and she pulled it open, expecting Ryder to be standing impatiently on the other side.

“Hold your horses, big guy. I’m almost…” Her voice trailed off as she looked into the face of a stocky, middle-aged man.

“Sorry. I thought you were someone else.” She glanced down the hall, surprised at how disappointed she was to see it empty.

“Mr. Malone is speaking with the sheriff. I’m sure he’ll be back shortly. I’m Fire Chief Timothy Saddles, Spokane County Fire Marshal. How are you feeling?”

“Okay. All things considered.”

“It’s been a rough morning. I’m sorry to say your friend lost her life in the fire.”

“Ryder…Mr. Malone told me you’d found her remains.”

“We did. They’ve been sent to the medical examiner and will be released to the family once he’s finished.”

Medical examiner? That made Maureen’s death sound less like an accident and more like…

Murder?

Shelby’s pulse jumped, her thoughts spinning back to those moments before she’d rung Maureen’s doorbell, back to the man with the sunglasses jogging away from Maureen’s street.

“Is that common procedure? I thought the medical examiner only made rulings on suspicious deaths.”

“Not really, ma’am. His job is to determine cause of death when an examination by a physician can’t determine it. In this case, we’re assuming the explosion killed the deceased, but assumptions don’t make for good investigations. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Go ahead.”

“Mr. Malone said you were making a delivery to the deceased’s—”

“Maureen.”

“Pardon?”

“The deceased was Maureen. A bestselling author, a mother, a good friend. I was making a delivery to her place because it was her birthday, and she had invited a dozen friends to go on a shopping trip to New York City. They were going to meet at her house, have some breakfast and then take a limo to the airport.”

“My apologies if I sounded callous, Ms. Simons. What time did you arrive at Maureen’s house?”

“At 5:25. Five minutes later than she had asked me to be there.”

“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary? Anything different about the house?”

“There was a guy jogging down South Hill as I was heading up it. I saw him come off her street.”

“Plenty of people jog on South Hill,” Chief Saddles said as he jotted something in a small notebook.

“I know, but he was wearing sunglasses and gloves. It struck me as…odd.”

“Did you get a good look at his face?”

“He was Caucasian. Medium complexion. Maybe five-ten. I didn’t see his hair. It was covered by a hood.”

“It was a chilly morning. A hood and jacket wouldn’t be out of the ordinary. Gloves, either, for that matter. We’ll ask around, though. Maybe he lives in one of the houses on 21st.”

Maybe.

But Shelby couldn’t help shuddering as she remembered the way he’d turned, taken a step toward her.

“Do you know what caused the explosion?” she asked, trying to refocus her thoughts and get ahold of her wild imagination. He hadn’t followed her, hadn’t tried to harm her, hadn’t done anything except jog by and look, then turn and look again.

As if he were memorizing her features.

Trying to make sure he’d recognize her if he saw her again.

“A gas leak in the heater. It looks like the heating unit cracked, gas escaped. One spark of electricity from old wiring and the whole place went up.”

“A spark? Like from someone ringing the doorbell?” Shelby asked, cold with the thought. Had she killed her friend?

“It’s possible. Either that, or Maureen turned on a light—”

“All the lights were off. The only electricity was from me ringing the doorbell twice. It’s my fault, isn’t it? I killed her.” She dropped into a chair, her stomach sick, those stupid tears back again.

“Of course you didn’t, ma’am.” The chief patted her arm awkwardly, and Shelby almost felt sorry for him.

“Everything okay in here?” Ryder stepped into the room, his height and oversize muscles dwarfing the average-size fire chief, his dark gaze on Shelby.

“You’re crying again.” He stated the obvious, and she frowned, irritated with him, with herself and with the fire chief, who hovered uneasily a few feet away.

“Because I just realized I killed my friend.”

“Ma’am, your friend may very well have been dead before the gas was ignited. The amount of gas it took to cause such a catastrophic explosion was enough to asphyxiate her while she slept.”

“That really doesn’t make me feel any better, Chief.” But she stood anyway, refusing to meet Ryder’s eyes as she shoved his jacket into his arms. “I really need to get to work. Are we done here?”

“Yes. Just give me your contact information, and I’ll call if I have any more questions.”

Shelby spouted off her home address and her cell-phone number, and gave the chief the bakery’s address for good measure.

“Will you call me once you have news from the medical examiner?” she asked.

“Of course. You’ll probably hear from me in a day or two. If not, give me a call.” He handed her a business card, and she shoved it in her apron pocket.

His findings wouldn’t change the fact that Maureen was dead, but they might ease some of the guilt Shelby was suddenly feeling.

She’d felt the same way when Beulah had died alone in a hospital in Beverly Hills while Shelby sat in an airport in Seattle waiting for her connecting flight. She’d been trying to get to her grandmother after receiving a late-night call from the nursing home saying Beulah had had a heart attack, but all the trying in the world hadn’t put her where she needed to be when she needed to be there.

And all the crying in the world couldn’t undo what had happened at Maureen’s house, because crying over spilled milk never got the mess cleaned up.

That’s what Beulah would have said, and Shelby knew it was true. When Dottie had shown up on her doorstep, homeless because she’d been kicked out of Beulah’s Beverly Hills rental property, Shelby had let her live in her spare room, offered her a job at the bakery, made her feel like family, because she’d known it was what Beulah would have wanted. Shelby hadn’t been able to be at her grandmother’s side when she’d died, but she had carried on the legacy of kindness and compassion that Beulah had shown to the people in her life.

She might not be able to bring Maureen back to life, but Shelby could press the fire marshal and the police to find the reason for Maureen’s death. It’s what Maureen would want. Complete disclosure. Absolute truth. Just like she always wrote in her true-crime books.

The fire chief left the room, his shoulders stooped, his hair mussed. He’d probably been sleeping when he’d been called out to Maureen’s place. Shelby had a feeling he wouldn’t be sleeping much in the next few days.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Ryder cupped her elbow, led her through the quiet hospital corridor. Shelby didn’t bother telling him she needed to wait for aftercare instructions, because she didn’t want to wait. She wanted to go to the bakery, lose herself in the process of creating cakes and cookies and pastries.

“Thanks again for bringing Mazy.”

“I probably should say it wasn’t a problem.”

“But it was?”

“She chewed a hole in my car’s upholstery, so yeah, it was.”

“I’ll pay you for the damage.”

“You weren’t the one who chewed the hole,” he growled, but Shelby thought there might be a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“No, but I did ask you to give her a ride here.”

“You asked. I said yes. I’m as culpable as you.”

“I can pay for half of the repair cost, then.”

“No need, but for future reference, when I say I’m going to do something, I follow through. I expect other people to do the same.”