My Biker Bodyguard (2 page)

She rushed past walls painted black and filled with gelpen graffiti from the guests who'd stayed over the years. They
used to write in anything handy on the '50s sea green paint.
Tired of the look, she had repainted and hung neon pens from
electrician's cord at intervals. Now it looked like Vegas at
midnight.
Jess flung open the door of the last bedroom and turned to
watch him come down the hall. He ducked to avoid the
hanging chrome light and stopped once to read an especially
hearty thanks scribbled to her father.
"Cool idea," he said, then peered inside the bedroom. He
threw back his head and laughed, a wonderfully raucous sound.
Jess retreated fast before her resolve could be damaged
more than it already had. Down the stairs, through the house,
and into the kitchen she ran. She banged out the screen door,
rushing for the bright afternoon sunshine.
He would leave in a few days, like they all did. If she ever
saw him again, he'd be sporting a big-breasted biker babe on
his arm. Despite knowing this, there was no way she would go
for her swim now. Whatever Mitch wanted with her father,
he'd have to go through her first.
* * *
Mitch stepped into the room, still chuckling. The Owens
had a very different approach to home decor. A painted, blackand-white checkerboard covered the floor, the walls, the
ceiling, and the sparse furniture. Each section melded together
at odd points. It played havoc on his depth perception and
innate balance.
He walked to the window and his stomach flipped. No
wonder they called it the drunk tank. Even sober he felt like
he'd had a few too many.
Outside, Jess paused at a picnic table and yanked her thick
caramel-colored ponytail tighter, as if angry. Maybe she had a
right to be. She knew more was going on than they had told
her. It was obvious in the way she'd threatened him. Loyal
and tough.
Definitely Beth's daughter
.
No need to compare the slightly darker green eyes, high
cheekbones, or the matching pointed chin. They shared more
than physical DNA.
The way Dirty Dan had gone on about his sensitive
daughter being spared the truth, Mitch had expected her to be
spoiled, a bit of a prima-donna. Instead, he'd met a woman
ready to commit assault and battery if he tried to harm her
family.
To make it worse, Dan had sworn him to secrecy. If he
said one word about why he was really in town, he could kiss
this crazy room goodbye. The thought may be appealing, but
he couldn't do his job from anywhere else. How much simpler
this would all be if she knew the truth. Apparently, Dan had
told Jess nothing about her mother's side of the family. If they
were lucky, that wouldn't turn out to be a fatal mistake.
As she disappeared into the garage, he used the height
afforded by the second-story window to canvas the area. All
appeared normal, at least for this rough neighborhood.
She'd been raised by protective bikers, surrounded by
streetwise tough guys. Basically, his kind of people. It looked
like luck would have a little more help than he'd first thought.
Maybe, just maybe, the built-in security of bikers in residence
would be enough.
Luck was a lady he didn't normally bet on, however, and it
made him grind his teeth to do so now. For a decade he'd
never once failed. He'd known it was possible, but deep down,
he supposed it would never happen to him. Only the careless,
the reckless failed, not those who were as methodical as he.
Why is this assignment so damned different?
He gripped the windowsill, breathing in the summerheavy scent of exhaust, hot tar and the faint yeasty odor from
the brewery. Jess might be a secret back in L.A., but she'd
been too easy to trace.
Returning to the bed, he pulled his cell phone from inside
the leather coat he hadn't worn since things got ugly in New
York. It felt strange, but damn good to wear the battered jacket
instead of the suits he'd worn since settling on the West Coast.
The phone picked up in midring. "Hello?"
"It's me, Mitch," he said as he dug the spare Glock out of
his pack and flicked the safety off. "I've got her."

"Okay, Dad, spill it." Jess had waited three torturous
hours before she could corner Dirty Dan in the supply pantry
off the parlor. He wasn't going anywhere, even if Trash put his
first paying customer in a coma.

"What do you mean?" He sat on an upside down bucket
and stroked his beard; his super-sage, thinker pose and a telltale
sign he wanted to be difficult.

"You know exactly who I mean." Jess kept her voice a
fierce whisper, afraid to shout and scare the customers. "Who
is Mitch and what's he got on you?"

Both hands went flat on the knees of his black jeans.
"Remember who you're talking to, kiddo."
She rolled her eyes. "I'm not a kid anymore, Dad. If he
wants to drag you into trouble, I have to know. We're in this
together, remember?"
"Yeah, I remember."
"Then don't B.S. me. What's going on?"
"I owe him a favor, that's all, from way back, before I
went in the joint. Nothin' illegal, but I gotta make good on it.
Relax, he'll be gone in a week."
"A
week
?" She fought back the high-pitched squeak in
her voice. How could she believe him when he refused to look
her in the eye? If he had laughed, called her a worry wart, and
given her a noogie, she would have felt a heck of a lot better,
though she hated the burning, knuckle-rub to the scalp. Even
worse, how could she survive a week of Mitch? "What
happened to a few days?"
"It'll be all right. I promise." He stood, held his arms out,
and waited.
She scowled, not yet ready to give in and frustrated by
how easy it was for him to end her questions. The guilt of
denying him that hug would kill her and he damned well knew
it. "Fine. Okay. You win. For now."
He held her tightly, pressing her face into the buttons
pinned to his leather vest. Her cheek mashed against an
American eagle and she inhaled his suede scent, happy for a
moment.
Of course when she stepped back, the double whammy of
doubt and worry filled her gut with barbed-wire. It didn't help
either, that her next appointment would arrive soon.
There's
never enough time to talk
.
"Just remember," he said and let her go. "He isn't
staying."
She got the warning loud and clear.
Don't get attached.
Like she wanted to hitch herself to a dishonest drifter. "Yeah, I
know."
Didn't matter anyway. Her father would never understand
how his constant disapproval made it impossible to date any
man they knew, much less dare to get involved with one. Her
choices outside their friends were never good enough either.
He left her toeing a box of latex gloves on the bottom
shelf. Why couldn't she meet one normal guy? They either
bored her and wanted to stay, or excited her and wanted to go.
Men just left. J.D. had just got back from his annual crosscountry summer, and even Trash, well, he kept his job, but he
disappeared from the house every time he got a new girlfriend.
This sucks.
The loud, electronic bell on the front door beeped.
Another customer, probably her appointment. Jess rubbed her
face. Had she really thought questioning her mule-headed dad
would turn out any different? She'd been suffering delusions of
grandeur to think she could get the truth out of him.
In the parlor, she waved to Lisa, a hardcore biker groupie.
The sort that didn't actually ride, only exclusively dated men
who did. A cloud of nicotine and perfume wafted up from her
as Lisa plopped into the chair and began chatting about a hot
date she had that night.
Jess nodded and tried not to think about their strange guest
now. Her hands needed to be steady for the Geisha girl Lisa
wanted on her shoulder. She set out ink and opened the
sterilizer for fresh reservoirs.
Tonight, at the cookout, she'd solve the Mitch situation.
* * *
The party was in full swing, the keg empty, and Jess
hadn't yet taken one minute to breathe. Between running steak,
chicken, burgers, and brats to her dad, opening bags of chips
and deli containers of go-withs, she'd been busy since the shop
closed.
In the back of the garage, she worked the new keg to the
edge of the standing cooler. Hair hung in her face and she
inhaled a stray lock. With a curse, she spat it back out.
Music thumped through the walls and vibrated the spare
bottles of beer in the cooler door. Another pair of hands would
be nice, but she'd set up kegs since before she'd been old
enough to discover the stuff tasted like rancid lemonade. She
wasn't about to start asking for help now.
"Need some help?" Mitch's deep voice came from the
doorway.
Of course it was him.
He'd shadowed her all day; hovering in the parlor,
watching her set out the disposable china, staring at her in the
kitchen. Fed up, she'd told him to chill out and claim a lawn
chair, but here he was again. She grunted a 'no', conscious that
with her knees bent, her derriere bobbed in the air.
"You sure?"
She nodded and finished waddling the heavy gray barrel
onto the dolly. When she straightened, her back popped.
God,
that felt good.
She huffed more hair out of her face and turned
to Mitch.
Without his leather jacket on, standing in his sleeveless tshirt, she could finally admire his tattoos. Lots of tribal black
work and a pair of Japanese characters she recognized from
one of a few she'd chosen for herself. It meant Banzai, not a
war cry as many thought, but eternal life. Did he know the
difference?
As she studied the tattoos, it occurred to her that he was
studying her in much the same way. And suddenly she was
certain the red, lace-edged tank she wore was the one she'd
stained last week putting new forks on Mickey's soft-tail
Harley.
She crossed her arms. "Shouldn't you be out there
catching up with all your old friends?"
Despite her father's efforts to encourage his buddies to
remember him, no one did. More importantly, it was obvious
Mitch didn't know a soul. That didn't look as if it would last
long though. Already he'd been back-slapped a few good ones
and ogled hungrily by every woman, single or not, in the back
yard.
Mitch merely grinned, the white of his teeth bright in the
dimness. "Just thought I'd see if you needed help."
His muscles jumped as he flexed them, proving he could
handle the keg. The show was more than a girl should be
forced to resist on a perfect summer night.
Need help? Lots of
it.
"I can manage." She grabbed the dolly and in her hurry,
turned it too fast. The barrel teetered.
Mitch bent and righted it quickly. He looked up at her
from where he crouched. His face, mere inches from her navel,
sparked a dark combination of need and rebellion. She
shuddered the sensation away. Too dangerous while they were
alone. "Thanks, I can get it now."
"Do you always do things the hard way?"
She didn't have enough fingers and toes to count the times
her father had asked the very same thing. From Mitch,
however, it made her want to kick something. "What's that
supposed to mean?"
"It means, I came in here to help. Let me help." He gave
her a healthy nudge and she let go of the dolly to keep her
balance.
Mitch grasped the handles and tilted the dolly back as if
the keg was empty. He grinned. "There. Was that so hard?"
"No." She tucked hair behind her ear and smiled, despite
herself. Trash would've retreated with his tail between his legs,
J.D. would've scolded her for being ungrateful, and her dad
wouldn't have offered his help. He liked her independent.
"You might come in handy after all."
"I'm good at a lot more than this, Sweetheart." He jerked
his chin toward the half open door. "Catch the door."
"Don't call me sweetheart." Jess grinned, certain she
looked like the joker in a deck of cards. She held the door
wide.
"Whatever you say, Sugar-pie."
He actually winked at her. She opened her mouth to
reply, but as he maneuvered through the narrow space, his arm
brushed against her breast. He didn't appear to notice, but her
entire body short-circuited and she went mute.
Cheers greeted them as they rolled the new keg into the
crush of partiers. Trash swayed on his feet like a weed in the
wind as he helped J.D. lift the empty keg out of the ice-filled
trashcan and set it beside the deck stairs.
"Better leave the full one to the big guys." J.D. shoved
Trash back and nodded to Mitch. "Grab an edge."
It was tantamount to J.D. welcoming Mitch to the family.
Jess scowled at him, and didn't know why. Maybe because she
couldn't stop thinking about how temporary Mitch's visit was.
This man didn't live in town, he didn't own property, and likely
the only business he did was on the dark side of shady.
Jess didn't want her father hurt, she wanted Mitch gone.
But every hour that passed, she found herself dreaming up
ways to keep him just a little longer, like a stray dog she'd once
brought home, hoping her dad wouldn't make her get rid of it.
Only Mitch was no lost puppy, he was a lone wolf on the prowl
for…something.
Abruptly, she turned on her heel and stalked into the
kitchen. They were low on cups, as usual. She ripped the bag
open so fast the cups flipped in her hands and she had to
scramble to catch them all. She slammed them on the counter
and took a deep breath.
Her dad was too old to go back to prison and she was too
old to forgive him a second time. Even Trash knew better.
Ever since she'd chased him and his stolen radio out of the
house with a baseball bat. Nothing illegal–ever. Later, she'd
helped Trash talk to her dad about working for them.
She couldn't see Mitch taking orders, sweeping the garage,
restocking the inventory. Nor did she believe he'd be easy to
clobber with a bat. In fact, she had an idea that he'd snatch it
away from her and…what? Hit her with it?
Through the screen door, Jess watched him. She'd seen
dangerous men her whole life. Knew some of them well. Yet
this comparably clean-cut guy unnerved her. No, he wouldn't
hit her. He would yank the bat away and simply glare at her.
Why did that seem even more threatening?
Because it made him all the more appealing.
She shifted her gaze to her father. He spoke with Shelly,
who had the hots for J.D. Jess didn't blame her. J.D. wasn't bad
looking–in a rebel-without-a-cause way, but Jess could never
see herself with him, and neither could her dad. Unless a guy
looked like an altar boy, her dad wouldn't approve. Except for
Jack. Dirty Dan hadn't just disapproved, he'd hated her dating
a cop. Right look, wrong occupation.
A solution came with startling clarity. The minute she
showed interest in Mitch, the minute Mitch showed real
interest in her, Dirty Dan would toss Mitch out on his ear.
Such a simple plan, and so easy. Armed with a fresh stack
of red plastic cups, Jess bounced down the steps, matching the
rhythm of Ram Jam's Black Betty and feeling very much like
that damn child gone wild. Without fail, Mitch's eyes went to
where her t-shirt stretched across her breasts.
Oh, this is gonna be too easy.
* * *
Mitch forced his gaze away from Jess's chest. Guiltily, he
glanced at Dirty Dan. The man stared missiles at him.
Damn
.
The old biker shook his head slowly, a reminder of the
other half of their agreement. Hands off. No funny stuff. At
the time, Mitch had thought himself so clever. Agreeing to be
platonic with Jess had been easy. He never intended to break
that particular professional rule to begin with. Except for the
first time, he wanted to question the wisdom of that rule. God
help him if her father suspected. Dan would send him packing.
Well, he could try.
"Here you go." Jess handed him a stack of cups.
He glanced at the empty space on the table. She could've
set them down herself. He did it for her, surprised by her
suddenly flirtatious grin. From get-off-my-land cold, to
cheerleader friendly, the switch made him a little dizzy. He
found a dimple on her right cheek he hadn't noticed in the
gloomy garage. The dimple, the smile, the inviting look in her
eyes, turned his blood to hot diesel.
She eyed his empty hands. "You're not drinking?"
He couldn't say he was on the clock, sobriety a must. "I've
had a few, but that steak took up too much room." The answer
was honest enough, he thought as he rubbed his stuffed belly.
Dan did make a mean barbecue. "What about you?"
Jess shrugged. "I don't like beer."
She might be a wrench jockey, do awesome skin art, as
he'd been shown by nearly everyone in the backyard, but being
one of the guys didn't extend to their obvious drink of choice.
On the tail end of a slight breeze, he caught her scent
again. He leaned closer, almost touching, and inhaled. She
smelled like…cinnamon toast. Voice lowered, he asked,
"What do you like, then?"
She took a sharp breath and stepped back, the dimple
disappearing in a look of confusion. "I like my space."
"I like your space too." In the back of his head, a sharp
voice yelled at him to knock it off. He couldn't afford a
distraction like this. At the same time, he needed her to trust
him, to let him inside and do his job.
"Is that why you came all the way out here?" She flushed,
but didn't lower her gaze. "To enjoy my space?"
He smiled at her chutzpah. "That's just a perk."
"Of what? What do you do? For a living, I mean."
He shrugged. "This and that." Mitch didn't want to lie to
her, not when he needed her loyalty. This impossible situation
got worse by the second. "What about you? You ever think of
doing something different?"
"Why?" Her eyes iced, her smile icier. "Are California
girls so afraid to get their hands dirty? You think only guys are
good at what I do?"
"No, not at all." How easily she'd turned the tables on
him. "Just wondered what makes you tick. You make me
curious."
"Don't be. It's not…" She shook her head as if afraid to
say more. The abrupt return of her distrust made him wonder
what he'd done wrong. "Look, just…have fun while you're
here. Okay?"
She didn't wait for his reply but spun around and nudged
through the crowd to her father's side. Her gait was so rigid,
her thick hair barely moved.
Dan's watchful gaze hadn't left him. Mitch tried to ignore
that assessing look by giving the guests another once over.
Jess's mix of uncertainty and protectiveness made her different
from the other women at the party. She wasn't hardened by the
lifestyle. Somehow, she'd managed to preserve an air of…not
innocence, she was too shrewd for that. But goodness, or
maybe, a cleanness that came from avoiding an addiction to
drama.
Despite Dan's bluster, Jess was obviously the captain of
this ship and she'd never let anyone rock the boat. The way
others treated her, it was obvious they, too, respected her
authority.