Loe raamatut: «The Bodyguard»
Luke stepped in front of her, holding his finger to his lips again to tell her to be quiet.
She flung her arms around his waist and gave him a tight hug before stepping back. The look of surprise on his face had her feeling foolish. But then he pulled her close and hugged her, and leaned down with his lips pressed close to her ear.
“Glad you’re okay, too, but you should have stayed upstairs in the closet. Or better yet,” he whispered, “you should have gotten out of here and hid in the woods.”
She shook her head and pulled back. “I’m not leaving you here alone. So you’d better figure out a way to include me in your plans.”
His brows lowered. “You promised.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. But it wasn’t a promise I should have given.”
The Bodyguard
Lena Diaz
LENA DIAZ was born in Kentucky and has also lived in California, Louisiana and Florida, where she now resides with her husband and two children. Before becoming a romantic suspense author, she was a computer programmer. A former Romance Writers of America Golden Heart® finalist, she has won a prestigious Daphne du Maurier Award for excellence in mystery and suspense. She loves to watch action movies, garden and hike in the beautiful Tennessee Smoky Mountains. To get the latest news about Lena, please visit her website, www.lenadiaz.com.
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I dedicate this book to abused women everywhere. It’s not your fault. It’s NEVER your fault that someone else chooses to hurt you. You deserve a life without fear. Please, don’t wait until it’s too late. For information or help, visit The National Domestic Violence Hotline at www.thehotline.org. (The website has a quick escape option in case your abuser monitors your internet activity). Or call 1-800-799-SAFE(7233) or TTY 1-800-787-3224.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Extract
Chapter One
The monster sat across the breakfast table from Caroline, looking deceptively handsome in a dove-gray, thousand-dollar suit that emphasized his broad shoulders and the bulging muscles in his upper arms. The tanned hand that flicked the page on his electronic tablet was elegant, strong, with perfectly groomed nails.
They should have been talons.
Talons would have warned people who didn’t know Richard Ashton III that those hands were lethal, especially when they were clasped into fists.
He skimmed through the latest stock-market figures, then looked pointedly at the untouched food on Caroline’s plate.
In spite of the worry that had kept her awake most of the night, the worry that had nausea churning in her stomach this morning, she picked up her fork and took a bite of egg the cook had prepared exactly to Richard’s specifications. She dabbed her napkin on the corners of her mouth as he’d taught her, before training her face into the carefully blank expression she’d learned was the safest.
His brows lowered. “You’re getting too thin, Caroline. That displeases me.”
She stilled, her fingers curling against her thigh.
“I—I—I’m sorry, Richard.”
Calm down. He hates it when you stutter.
She fought back the fear that so often jumbled her words. “I’ll eat everything on my plate. I promise.” She took another bite of egg.
Tiny lines of disapproval tightened around his eyes.
Her stomach twisted. What had she done? She raced through a mental checklist. Her hair was neat and curled to drape over one shoulder in the style he preferred. She’d painstakingly applied the makeup he’d selected for her, natural looking but polished. She held her napkin in her left hand in her lap, her fork in her right, no elbows on the table. What had she missed?
“Don’t look so alarmed,” he chided her. He cocked his head, his eyes narrowing. “Or have you done something that requires further instruction?”
“No, no, no, I’ve been good. I don’t...n-need another l-lesson.”
Stop it. Calm down.
“Don’t stutter, Caroline. It’s unbecoming of an Ashton to stutter. Tell me, why aren’t you eating enough?”
Her hands went clammy with sweat and shook so badly she almost dropped her fork. Desperation had her scooping another forkful of eggs into her mouth. As she chewed, she smiled across the table at him, trying to placate him.
He shook his head. “You’re being rude. I asked you a question, and now your mouth is full. You’re making me wait for an answer.”
Stupid, stupid, stupid. She should have answered him first and then taken a bite. She swallowed hard, forcing the lump of eggs down her tight throat without taking the time to chew.
“I’m so sorry,” she rushed to assure him. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I w-wanted you to be proud that I was obeying, that I was eating.” She wiped her moist hands on her pants.
“I’m still waiting for an answer.”
She blinked. What was the question? What was it? She couldn’t remember. He’d said something about her being too thin, and then he’d said—
“I asked why you aren’t eating enough.” His voice was clipped, harsh.
“I’m s-sorry. I guess I’m just...tired. Not hungry.”
One of his elegant brows arched. “And why, exactly, are you tired?”
She grasped for an excuse, anything but the truth—that she’d lain awake most of the night, going over her plans, trying to build her courage.
“I—I don’t know. Perhaps I worked too hard in the garden yesterday. I am a bit sore.”
The slight reddening of his face had the blood draining from hers, leaving her cold and full of dread. He would take her comment about being sore as an accusation against him, a complaint. Because, as he frequently reminded her, it was always her fault when he was forced to teach her a lesson, her fault he had to punish her.
“You’ve worked in the garden plenty of times without being sore.” His voice lashed out at her like a whip. “I’m more inclined to believe you’re complaining that you forced me to teach you a lesson yesterday.”
She dropped her gaze, her pulse slamming in her ears. A whimper bubbled up inside her, but she couldn’t let it escape. Crying was undignified. Ashtons did not cry.
“Look at me when I’m speaking to you,” he demanded.
“Please,” she whispered, trying to appeal to the man he used to be, the man that must surely still be there, somewhere, hidden deep inside, the man she’d loved once, so very long ago. “Please, Richard. It was a...poor choice of words. I’m sorry.”
He plopped his napkin on the table and stood. “Yes, it certainly was, a very poor choice.” He stalked to her chair.
She shrank back and hated herself for it.
The cook walked into the dining room, smiling a greeting at Richard, ignoring Caroline, as she’d been ordered to do. As they’d all been ordered to do. The staff knew Richard was the perfect, loving husband saddled with an unbalanced wife who made his life miserable—a wife who was to be ignored, for her own safety, lest she get too worked up. A wife who must never be allowed to leave the estate without her husband, except for her once-a-week errands, which were carefully timed and reported upon so Richard could immediately come to her aid if she became confused. Only Richard knew how to handle her, how to take care of her, how to keep her calm, or so they all believed.
At times like this, Caroline almost believed the lies herself. After all, she had to be insane to have stayed with the devil as long as she had.
“Mr. Ashton, good morning to you. Can I get you anything else, sir?” the cook asked.
His face smoothed out and he returned her smile. “Yes. Please let Charles know I’ll be leaving a bit later than planned.” He circled his fingers around Caroline’s wrists and pulled her to her feet, smiling the entire time. “Have him bring the car around front in exactly one hour. Mrs. Ashton and I would like to...talk.”
He added a wink that had the cook blushing and assuming exactly what he wanted her to assume—that he was a loving husband intent on loving his wife.
“Very good, sir.” She hurried out of the room.
Richard’s grip on Caroline’s wrists turned crushingly brutal.
She gasped and tried to pull her hands back. “Please, you’re hurting me.”
He immediately let go, frowning at the red marks he’d left. “Later, you will change into long sleeves. I won’t have someone misinterpreting anything they might see. Now, come along. Apparently yesterday’s lesson was insufficient.”
He put his hand on the small of her back. She tottered on shaking legs toward the winding marble staircase in the two-story foyer.
She could endure this. She could get through this. She could survive this.
Those three sentences went through her mind over and over, like a prayer, giving her the strength to climb the stairs with her husband at her side, towering over her, like a prison guard leading an inmate to the death chamber.
At the first landing, he caught her shoulders, turned her around and kissed her. She was so stunned she forgot to pretend to respond. He broke the kiss and pressed his lips close to her ear.
“Close your eyes, Caroline. Kiss me back.”
She saw the reason then for his pretend affection. A maid had entered the foyer below. This was part of Richard’s game, making others believe he was devoted to her. Appearances were everything to an Ashton.
His lips touched hers again. When the hard ridge of his erection pressed against her belly, she shuddered with revulsion. His arms tightened painfully around her bruised side where he’d kicked her last night. She fervently hoped he’d taken her shudder for passion instead of disgust, or her lesson would be more severe than usual.
He led her to the master bedroom at the end of the hall. As he closed the thick, soundproof double doors behind them, she reminded herself again that she’d endured his lessons many times. She could survive one more. She had to. Because after today, she would be free. After today, she would never see Richard Ashton III again.
He yanked her long hair, jerking her backward, twisting her neck at an impossible angle. She sucked in a sharp breath, loathing and despair boiling up inside her. His eyes darkened with the anticipation she’d grown to dread, even as he shook his head like a teacher bitterly disappointed with his star pupil.
She knew what he would say next, the same thing he said every time he “instructed” her, the same thing he would tell her when he plunged into her bruised and battered body to slake the lust that always consumed him after giving her a lesson.
“I love you, Caroline. I do this because I love you.” The disappointment in his voice might have been convincing if it weren’t for the anticipation that had his mouth curving into a feral smile.
His eyes narrowed when she didn’t rush to say what she was supposed to say.
Perhaps it was the knowledge that this was the last time she’d ever have to endure his touch that made her brave. She glared at him, refusing to give him the words he wanted.
He grabbed her upper arms, his fingers digging into her with bruising force.
The pressure made her cry out. Unwelcome tears pricked the backs of her eyes. “Please, stop.”
“Say it!” His fingers dug harder, like the talons she’d pictured earlier.
Her vision blurred.
“I love you,” she choked out, despising him all the more for the coward he’d forced her to become. But she would say the empty, meaningless words a thousand times if it would stop the blinding pain. “I love you, I love you, I love—”
“And?” He shook her, snapping her teeth together, making her bite the inside of her cheek. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.
“I—I’m...s-sorry.”
He abruptly let her go. She staggered back. A wave of dizziness sent her wobbling to the nearest piece of furniture in the expansive room, the four-poster bed. She clung to one of the thick posts. The pain that lanced through her upper arms made her cry out again.
His nostrils flared. He stalked toward her, shedding his clothes as he approached, his arousal stiff and heavy, an unyielding sword to wield against her. She cringed against the bed as the monster’s perfect hand coiled into a fist.
Chapter Two
Another wave of nausea hit Caroline. She clutched the edge of the receptionist’s desk and drew in deep breaths, fighting the dizziness that had plagued her since she’d dragged her aching body out of bed this morning. Richard’s “lesson” yesterday had delayed her plans by a full day. But nothing would stop her this time. She’d just have to fight through the pain.
“Mrs. Ashton, are you okay?” The receptionist hurried around the desk, her youthful face mirroring concern.
“She’s fine.” Leslie Harrison, the Harrison part of the law firm of Wiley & Harrison, admonished the other woman. “I’ll escort Mrs. Ashton to her car.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The receptionist resumed her seat, aiming a resentful look at her boss’s back.
“Leslie, I’m actually not feeling all that well. Perhaps I should sit down for a moment.”
“Come along, Caroline. You’ll feel better when you get out of this stuffy office into the fresh air.” She leaned in close. “It’s just nerves.” Her voice was low so no one else would hear her as she escorted Caroline outside the busy lobby. “You’re taking a huge step today. Besides, you don’t have a minute to waste if you’re going to get to the new house before your husband discovers you’re missing.”
Caroline gave her a shaky smile. “I’m sorry. You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to help me. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.” She clicked her key fob and unlocked the black Mercedes S600 sedan Richard had chosen for her. Not for the first time, she wished he would allow her to drive something simpler, less pretentious.
Leslie held the car door open. “No worries, dear. I’m happy to help. Remember, go straight to the new house. No stops along the way. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
Leslie smiled and stepped back as Caroline eased into the driver’s seat.
A few miles down the road, another wave of dizziness hit. A sharp cramp shot through her belly. She yanked the wheel, pulling to the shoulder of the road amid a flurry of honking horns as other drivers swerved to avoid her.
Sweat popped out on her forehead in spite of the cold air blasting out of the air-conditioning vents. She tried to sit as still as she could, willing the dizziness and pain away. Being sore the morning after one of Richard’s lessons wasn’t unusual. But for some reason it was so much worse today. It must be nerves, as Leslie had said. She’d been plotting her escape for months. And now that she was actually going through with her plan, the stress was making her sick.
She worried her bottom lip with her teeth and clutched her cramping belly. Richard’s extra lesson had almost ruined everything, making it physically impossible for her to do her Wednesday chores. But this morning it was Richard who insisted that she couldn’t be lazy two days in a row. He’d ordered her to get out of bed to take care of the errands she’d skipped yesterday. Her eagerness to do his bidding had pleased him. What he didn’t realize was that he’d given her a gift by ordering her to go.
After breakfast she’d stood at the door and waved goodbye to her husband for the last time while Charles pulled the Rolls-Royce around the circular driveway. Richard closely watched her through the rolled-down window in the backseat. His suspicious gaze had her clutching the doorway, worried she’d done something to give away her plans. But the car hadn’t stopped, and Richard continued down the road toward his office.
Careful not to do anything that might trigger a call from the household staff to her husband, she’d stuck to her usual weekly itinerary of going to the dry cleaner’s and then to the lawyer’s office. The difference this time was that instead of dropping off her clothes with Richard’s at the cleaner’s, she’d only dropped off Richard’s. She kept the small bag of her clothes and toiletries she’d carefully packed to begin her new life. Using the dry-cleaning trip as her excuse, she’d been able to carry her bag out of the house without tipping off the security guards that something was different.
After the cleaner’s, she drove to the lawyer’s office to deliver the accordion of tax receipts and documents to Leslie and to supposedly collect any papers Richard needed to review or sign. Of course, this week, there would be no return trip to give him anything. She wasn’t going back.
Since he could have ordered any number of people to perform both chores every week, Caroline assumed her errands were some kind of test. So she’d always been careful to go straight to the cleaner’s, then straight to the lawyer, then straight home.
The clock in the dashboard had her hands tightening on the steering wheel. Leslie had warned her not to make any stops. She didn’t have time to sit on the side of the highway, no matter how much she hurt. In exactly twelve minutes, the security detail would notify her husband she wasn’t home. Richard would call Leslie and ask when Caroline had left. Once he realized she hadn’t gone straight home, he’d leave the office and go searching for her.
She lifted a shaky hand to her brow. Dear Lord, what was she doing? What had made her think she could escape? She debated turning around and racing back home. But even if she managed not to get pulled over for speeding, she’d never make it in time. How would she explain being late?
If she told the truth, that she’d been sick and had pulled over, he probably wouldn’t believe her. But even if he did, he’d accuse her of complaining again. It was her fault that she felt bad, and she shouldn’t make him worry or have to come check on her just because she couldn’t accept the consequences of her actions. He’d feel compelled to “instruct” her again.
She clenched her teeth. She was already one huge mass of bruises. Everything hurt. Endure another lesson? No, she couldn’t, she just couldn’t.
Protection. She needed protection. But who could protect her? She had no friends, no family—not in Savannah, anyway. And her parents wouldn’t exactly be pleased to find out she’d left her wealthy husband. They’d be worried the monthly checks Richard sent them would stop.
Who else, then? Leslie was the only person she ever dared to speak to outside the house, unless she was with her husband at some function. And since her duty at those functions was to cling to his arm like a decoration and not leave his side, she never had the opportunity to foster any friendships.
But she couldn’t ask Leslie to outright defy Richard by harboring her. Leslie’s law practice depended on Ashton Enterprises’ lucrative account. Jeopardizing Leslie’s income wasn’t fair, especially after everything the lawyer had already done to help her. No, she’d started down this path. She had to see it through. So, what, then? What could she do?
The idea of going to the police flitted through her mind but was quickly discarded. She’d seen the shows on TV. The cops couldn’t do much until after a crime was committed, except maybe tell her to get a restraining order. And what was the use of a flimsy piece of paper against a man as rich and powerful as Richard Ashton III?
Not that a judge would believe her and give her a restraining order in the first place. Society worshipped and adored Richard. To them, he was a generous humanitarian who donated millions every year to charity and supported the campaigns of just about everyone holding office in Savannah right now, including the sheriff of Chatham County. No, going to the police wasn’t an option.
Then how could she protect herself? Richard’s idea of protection was a twenty-four-hour guard at the house. Maybe that was what she needed: her own guard, someone who would be loyal to her and only her.
She drew her hand across her damp brow and used her car’s voice-command center to search the phone book for “bodyguards in Savannah, Georgia.” She selected the first company that popped up in the search results and set the GPS to direct her there.
* * *
IF HER ROYAL HIGHNESS—Kate Middleton—had materialized in the offices of Dawson’s Personal Security Services, it would have surprised Luke Dawson far less than the woman who’d just stepped through his door: Caroline Ashton—beautiful, platinum blonde, wife of billionaire businessman Richard Ashton III.
Luke couldn’t say what designers had made her tasteful silky tan skirt and matching blazer, or the tiny, shimmering handbag hanging off her shoulder. But he did know her clothes were expensive—and totally out of place in the cramped, dusty office that normally catered to hookers looking for protection from their pimps, or small-business owners needing protection when they got behind with their bookies.
Obviously, she was lost.
He glanced at the only other person in the room, his office manager, Mitch Brody, sitting a few feet away. Mitch shrugged, indicating he didn’t know what was going on, either.
Luke waited for their guest to say something, but she simply stood in front of his desk as if she was waiting for permission to speak—probably some quirk of the superrich. He shoved his chair back and offered his hand to shake.
“I’m Luke Dawson. And that’s Mitch Brody. What can Dawson’s Personal Security Services do for you, Mrs. Ashton?”
Her blue eyes widened, providing a stark contrast to her pale complexion. Was she surprised he knew her name? Didn’t she realize everyone in Savannah knew who the Ashtons were? The “perfect couple” was plastered on the front pages of the local gossip rags at least once a week, and their annual Christmas party was the event of the social season, rivaling the acclaim of the infamous parties held by Jim Williams back in his heyday. Or at least, that was what Luke had heard. His name would certainly never appear on the Ashtons’ Christmas party’s prestigious guest list.
She swayed slightly, as if caught in a daydream, before stretching her manicured hand out to shake his.
His hand practically swallowed hers, and he felt a shudder go through her. What the hell? She pulled her hand back, but not before he noticed something flash in her eyes, something he’d seen too many times in his line of work not to recognize it.
Fear.
Was it possible she was here on purpose, and that she needed help? That seemed so unlikely as to sound ludicrous, but Luke’s internal radar sounded a warning. Rather than show her to the door as he’d been tempted to do the moment she’d walked in, he rounded his desk and picked up a stack of folders from the one guest chair he owned.
He frowned at the lint on the dark green fabric. Normally he wouldn’t give it a second thought, but Caroline Ashton was far too sophisticated to sit on a dirty chair.
“Give me a minute and I’ll find something to cover the seat.”
“No, no, please. Don’t go to any trouble on my behalf. This is fine.”
She sat before he could stop her.
He raised a brow in surprise and leaned back against the edge of the desk, his legs stretched out in front of him as he waited for her to explain why she was here. But again, she seemed perfectly content not to say anything. She simply looked up at him with a polite, blank look. He wondered again at the foibles of the wealthy.
“Mrs. Ashton, how can we help you today?”
“I n-need t-to...” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment as if she was in pain. “I need to hire a bodyguard.”
Her nervousness had him studying her more closely. “I figured you came in here by accident and needed directions.”
Her thick lashes dipped down to her lap, as if keeping eye contact was too difficult.
“I’m not lost. I need protection.”
Her words, and the desperate quality of her voice, had those alarms ringing in his head like church bells on Sunday. Still, he didn’t want to offend her if he’d misunderstood—because surely a billionaire’s wife didn’t really need Luke’s protection.
“Mrs. Ashton, it’s no secret that your husband has a contract with Stellar Security, one of the best security firms in Georgia, one of my biggest competitors.” He glanced at Mitch, who’d gone stone-faced as soon as Luke mentioned Mitch’s former employer. Mitch hated Stellar Security, but since he’d never explained why, Luke could only go by his own personal dealings with the other firm.
“I wish I could tell you my company could do better,” he continued, “but honestly, I don’t have the resources the other firm has. I have five bodyguards, besides myself. Stellar has dozens. If someone’s bothering you, I can call your husband’s security guys and talk to them for you.”
She shook her head, her eyes widening. “No, don’t call them. They’re the last people I would trust.”
He frowned. “Why wouldn’t you trust them? They work for you.”
For the first time since coming into the office, she seemed to really focus on him. The blank look evaporated, replaced by a look of startling clarity and intelligence, as if she’d been playing a role earlier and she’d decided to drop all pretenses.
“No. They don’t work for me. They work for my husband.”
Few people surprised Luke Dawson anymore, but Caroline Ashton had just given him a sucker punch. Was it possible she was afraid of her husband? If something...bad...was going on between them, Luke would have expected rumors in those gossip magazines. At the very least, he’d expect to hear something in the bars when he and his security friends bantered about their clients and the crazy things they sometimes did. But he’d never heard a whisper of anything bad about the Ashton couple. Not one.
He had heard the exact opposite, that Richard Ashton III was practically a saint, in spite of his wife being a bit...needy, to put it kindly. She was said to be nervous, high-strung, but her husband was the epitome of tenderness whenever they were seen together. He was always at her side, seeing to her every whim.
Luke studied her face. Her skin tone was even, her makeup accenting her natural beauty, not thick like women wore when trying to cover bruises. Long sleeves covered her arms—no clues there. But her legs, at least what he could see beneath her modest, below-the-knee skirt, were long and sleek, without the hint of a bump or a bruise. There was nothing about her appearance that made him think she had valid reasons to fear her husband.
With everything he’d heard about the Ashtons, he should believe she’d come here, like so many women before her, planning a divorce and hoping to use the “abuse excuse” to take her husband for everything he was worth. That would make sense, except for one thing.
The fear in her eyes is real. He’d bet his autographed Tom Glavine baseball on it.
Still, just in case he was wrong, he proceeded as he would with any other client, probing for the facts.
“Let me guess. You’re getting a divorce, and you want a bodyguard until the divorce is final.”
Her eyes widened again. “I haven’t filed yet, but that’s my intention, yes. I’ve rented a house outside of town. I’m on my way there now. I just need someone to stay with me until things are...settled.”
That admission sent a flash of disappointment through him. Maybe he was wrong about the fear in her eyes. Maybe she was just like those other women, the ones who would tarnish their husbands’ reputations with ugly lies so they could profit financially when their relationships went south.
“You need a bodyguard right now?”
“Yes.”
He straightened away from the desk. Regardless of the kind of person she was, he couldn’t afford to turn away a paying client. He had too many unpaying ones to allow that luxury and keep his business afloat.
As for going on assignment right now, that wasn’t a problem. He kept a go-bag packed at all times with his clothes and extra ammunition. Since Luke needed to keep his hands free while guarding a client, Mitch would load the bag into the car while Luke escorted the client outside. Standard operating procedure, and so routine he didn’t even need to remind Mitch, who had already jumped out of his chair and grabbed the go-bag. He stood waiting beside Luke’s desk with the strap over his shoulder.
“We can leave right after you sign a contract and pay a retainer fee,” Luke said. “Do you want to take your car or mine?”
Her cheeks flushed a light pink. “Mr. Dawson, I mean no disrespect, but you’re a bit...small. Is there someone else you could assign to help me?”
He stared at her in stunned amazement. Mitch shook his head, obviously as confused as Luke was.
Luke crossed his arms over his chest. “Mrs. Ashton, in all my thirty years, no one else has ever called me small. I’m six foot three and weigh two hundred twenty pounds. I’m not bragging when I say most of that is muscle. It’s just a fact, a necessity of my occupation. I was a champion boxer in high school and college. I’m extensively trained in self-defense. I carry a concealed weapon, am a crack shot and I know just about everything there is to know about guarding people. I assure you, I’m more than capable of protecting you.”
