Bodyguard/Husband (11 page)

“Listen to me, Holly. We’re supposed to be married. Until this is over, I’m your husband, saying things a husband would say to his wife. As I told you yesterday, even our movements inside these walls must convey, to anyone who happens by, that we’re newlyweds. You need to wipe the term
FBI
out of your brain. You need to get into the role you’re playing. Think of yourself as my wife, 24/7. We’re in a play and you and I are the stars. You’re center stage at all
times. If you forget that, the consequences could be deadly. Got it?”

Her throat moved as she swallowed. For a second he was afraid her composure would crumble. Reluctantly, hyper-aware of the new, disturbing feelings she evoked in him, he reached out and caught a fallen strand of hair, his fingers brushing her soft cheek. He couldn’t let anything happen to her. He had to act like her husband, although it would make his life much less complicated if he could maintain his distance, physically and emotionally.

“You asked me not to patronize you. I’m asking you to work with me here.”

She nodded, hugging herself. “I understand. I’m just scared. You can’t imagine what it’s like for me to live like this, knowing someone is out there, threatening the people I care about.”

Jack’s jaw tightened until it ached as he tried to suppress the vision of his mother, lying so still, his stepfather’s brutal fingerprints outlined in bruises around her throat.

“I don’t have to imagine,” he said harshly, then winced, regretting his revealing words. He quickly covered. “I see it every day in my work. I’m more interested in keeping you alive.”

He took a deep breath. “Now I have to ask you some questions.”

“Do you mind if I get a glass of water and sit down? I’m still a little woozy from the headache medicine.”

He followed her into the kitchen.

“Did you know Stanley Hanks had been in prison?”

Her chin went up a fraction. “Of course. He got in trouble right after the senior prom. He robbed a liquor
store with his dad’s gun and went to Parchman, for five years or so.”

“Why didn’t you mention that when we were talking about him?” He filled a glass with water and handed it to her.

She shrugged. “I guess I thought you already knew. You seem to know everything else.”

“How about Winger’s domestic disputes?”

“Domestic disputes? You’re talking about the couple of times the neighbors have complained about Bob yelling?”

“Yelling and more, from the reports.”

She drank the water. “I told you, Bob has problems. His mother is manipulative and demanding. Sometimes he loses control. He’s very…conflicted.”

“Conflicted enough to become obsessed with a nice young woman who will listen to him whine about his life?”

Holly frowned and rubbed her temple. “I can’t imagine Bob being violent, but from what you say, I guess it could be him.” A shudder rippled through her.

“Those two aren’t the only interesting guys on your list of names, either. Donald Sheffield is under a restraining order for getting physical with a girlfriend in Jackson. And did you know that Ralph Peyton had taken out a large insurance policy with you as beneficiary?”

“What?” Holly’s eyes widened in genuine shock. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

“Maybe he intended to. Your boyfriend Isley wrote that policy as well as your husband’s life insurance policy.”

“Earl? Is that significant? There’s only one other insurance agent in town.”

“It could be.”

W
HEN
H
OLLY CAME OUT
of her room an hour later, dressed in a soft linen dress and backless sandals, Jack was waiting. As usual, he looked crisp and cool, even in jeans. His hair was slightly damp from his shower and his face was freshly shaved.

Think of him as her husband? She almost gulped. That was not going to be a problem. Her problem was she didn’t have to act like she was attracted to him. She
was
attracted to him.

And it wasn’t just because of his dark good looks. It was his strength, his attentiveness to her needs, his occasional tender gestures that drew her to him.

But she had to be careful. He was here to do a job. When it was over he’d go back to his life and she’d go back to hers. She didn’t like the empty feeling that thought gave her.

He turned around to pick up the box he’d packed and she saw the gun holstered at the small of his back. The sight of the cold steel magnified the seriousness of their situation.

He glanced up as he clipped his cell phone onto his belt. “Something wrong?” he asked.

“Are you going to carry that thing everywhere?”

“My weapon? Yes.”

“How will you keep people from—”

He grabbed a lightweight jacket from the back of a chair and put it on, settling it onto his shoulders with a sexy, masculine shrug.

Even the awareness of the weapon he carried didn’t detract from his appeal. If anything, it made him even more dangerously sexy. She swallowed.
Not a problem.

He smiled at her, a twinkle in his eye. “The jacket hides it. Kind of gets in the way of the husband thing, I know. But that’s just something you’re going to have to live with,
honey.
”

His words and his devilish smile irritated her. “Are you ready?”

“Let’s go.”

She gave him directions to the post office.

“How are you going to mail that to the FBI? The postmaster is an awful old gossip.”

“It’s addressed to my aunt Jenny at a post office box in Maryland.”

“Your aunt Jenny.” She marveled at the care and thought he put into every action. Considering all possibilities, thinking of every contingency.

She went in with him to mail his package.

Mr. Ames, the postmaster, eyed him like a curious bird, tilting his head and peering over his half-glasses. “So this is your new husband, Holly? What’s your name, son?”

Jack glanced at Holly as he set the box down on the counter. “O’Hara. Jack O’Hara.”

“Well, Jack O’Hara. You know you got the prize, don’t you? We don’t know what we’d do without Holly here in Maze. So you better be good to her, you understand?”

“Yes. I’m beginning to.”

Mr. Ames looked at the label on the box. “Overnight, eh? So, Jack, what do you do?”

The question startled Holly. They’d never gotten around to talking about how they would field these questions. Now they were out here in the midst of the people who had known her all her life, and she had no idea how her new husband was going to respond.

Jack leaned an elbow on the counter. “I’m a writer,” he said easily.

“Ah. A writer. Well, I guess that explains how you can just pick up and move down here. So what do you write?”

Holly did her best not to let her panic show. What would a real wife do? Hoping Mr. Ames wouldn’t send one of his probing questions her way, she jerkily slid her arm around Jack’s waist, stifling a startled yelp as her fingers touched the gun at his back.

“Honey, we’re going to be late,” she said, putting what she hoped was a loving tone into her voice.

“I freelance,” Jack told Mr. Ames. “I was at the seminar Holly attended, doing a series of articles on strength training for a fitness magazine. Of course—” he straightened and casually put his arm around Holly’s shoulder “—I have to confess, right now I’m having a little trouble concentrating. We’re still honeymooning, you know.”

Mr. Ames chuckled and his eyebrows went up another notch as Jack pulled Holly closer. She had the alarming notion Jack might kiss her, right here in the post office.

As Jack pressed his lips against her hair, sending shivers over her scalp, the bell on the door jangled. She pushed away and saw Bob Winger.

When he saw Holly, his face brightened like a flashlight with a new battery. “Holly, hi!”

“Hi, Bob.” She looked up at Jack. “Bob, this is Jack O’Hara, my husband.”

Jack held out his hand, but for a few seconds, Bob just stood there, as if stunned.

“H-husband?” he stammered. “Well, that’s certainly a surprise. Um, congratulations.”

“I got your phone messages, Bob,” Holly said, “but I haven’t had a chance to call.” She felt herself blush when Jack put his arm around her shoulder as if staking his territory.

“I’m afraid I’ve been monopolizing her time,” Jack said. “I’m sure I’ll see you around, once we’re more settled. Holly tells me you teach English and American literature at the high school.”

Bob nodded and wiped his hand down the front of his pants.

“Sorry to run,” Holly said, “but we’re on our way to Uncle Virgil’s house.”

As they headed toward the door, Jack leaned down to whisper in her ear. “So that’s Bob of the lunches that aren’t dates?”

Embarrassed by his casual familiarity, she ducked out from under his arm, and almost collided with another customer.

“Excuse me— Oh!” It was Thomas Frasier, Brad’s father. Holly’s smile suddenly felt frozen. “Mr. Frasier, how are you?”

The older man’s broad face and fair hair were just like his son’s. It always pained Holly to see him—not only because of the resemblance, but also because of his undisguised hostility toward her. Thomas Frasier believed Holly had ruined his only son’s promising future. He had never forgiven her for marrying Brad.

Frasier shot her a venom-laced look and pushed past her without speaking.

“Mr. Frasier.” Jack’s voice held the perfect note of deference. Holly cringed. Of course he knew who her ex-father-in-law was. She pushed open the exit door, but Jack didn’t take the hint.

He nodded at the shorter man and held out his hand. “I’m Jack O’Hara, Holly’s husband.”

Brad’s father looked at Jack’s hand. He didn’t offer his own. “I know who you are,” he growled.

“Sir, I’m glad to meet you. I know you wish your son’s widow well. I look forward to getting to know you and the rest of the people in Maze.”

Frasier never met his gaze. He barely looked at Holly. “Better tell your new husband to watch his step around here. It’s not a very friendly place for strangers.”

Stepping around Jack without further acknowledgment, he approached the counter. “Ames, I’ve got a book I need to mail.”

Holly caught Jack’s eye and silently gestured with a nod. He glanced back at Thomas Frasier, then followed her out.

Relieved that Jack didn’t intend to pursue his conversation with Mr. Frasier, Holly headed for the car.

Once Jack was in the driver’s seat, she pleaded with him. “There are so many things you don’t understand. Please don’t bait Mr. Frasier. He’s never gotten over Brad’s death.”

“Why not?”

“Are you a robot?” she cried, shocked at his response. “What kind of question is that? Because people never get over the death of a loved one. Brad was his son! He was just twenty-four. Nobody should die that young. He had his whole life ahead of him.”

Jack sent her an unfathomable look. “That doesn’t explain his hostility. I thought everybody in Maze adored you.”

She shrugged, her heart aching. If Uncle Virgil had told Jack everything, why hadn’t he told him about her
and Brad? She rubbed her temple. She didn’t want to talk about this.

“Holly?” Jack’s voice took on a new timbre, a soothing, seductive tone. “I’m your husband. We’re being watched.” He put his fingers on the side of her face and urged her to look at him. “Smile for me.”

She raised her gaze to his, and saw a soft, smoky concern there that sent her heart racing and lodged a lump in her throat. She gave him a tremulous smile. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Brad’s father glaring at them from the post office doorway, as Bob walked down the sidewalk.

Jack was just acting. She was surprised at how much that reminder hurt.

She forced her smile to stay in place, and touched his hand where it lingered on her cheek, aware that this was only the beginning of many falsely loving touches she was destined to endure before this nightmare was over.

Jack leaned over and kissed her, the hard line of his mouth softening, his lips warm, sure and slow. She closed her eyes, held captive by his mouth and the surge of need that erupted inside her. All thoughts of Brad’s father flew out of her head. Her lips parted and his tongue touched hers. Then he pulled away, ducking his head briefly before he met her gaze.

The hunger was there, she was sure of it, before he morphed back into the actor playing his role.

“What’s Brad’s father got against you?”

“What?” she murmured, half mesmerized by his kiss and his dark gaze.

“Holly.” He sounded impatient. “I’m a trained observer. I recognize hatred when I see it.”

Hatred?
The fantasy of yearning his kiss had stirred
waned and she was thrust back into the real world, a world where a killer was stalking her.

“Mr. Frasier blamed me for ruining Brad’s pro football career. Several pro teams were watching him during his first year of college. I—thought I might be pregnant.”

He sat up a little straighter and stared at her. “You were pregnant? That’s not in my report.”

She shook her head, remembering the mixture of joy and fear she’d felt when she looked at the little blue stick.

“We were engaged, so we just moved up the wedding date and Brad registered for the fall semester. None of the pro teams had come forward with a concrete offer anyway. But then…the pregnancy test must have been wrong.”

“Or you miscarried?” His words were gentle.

She shook her head. It didn’t matter now. The baby she’d wanted simply hadn’t been meant to be. The tiny knot of grief and regret that lurked deep inside her throbbed painfully.

“Do you have to do this?” Her anger flared. Why was he dredging up old pain, making it new again? “Do you have to slice up every minute detail of my life like a mad scientist searching for a cancer cell?”

Jack’s gaze turned cold. “Yes. I have to consider every angle. What if Brad’s death
was
an accident, but his father is obsessed with making sure you can never destroy another man’s life again?”

Holly stared at him. He’d voiced her own fears. She put her hand on her chest where his sharp-edged words stabbed her heart with guilt.
Never destroy another man’s life.