Excerpt: The Private Bodyguard

Chapter One

At two o’clock on a cold February morning, Dr. Meredith Boren came face-to-face with a dead man.

Asleep in her family’s Oklahoma lake house, she’d been awakened by a noise in the kitchen and gotten out of bed to investigate. She’d crept down the long hallway that led from the master bedroom, edged around the foot of the stairs and frozen between the living room and kitchen.

In the melding shadows of night, a man stood over the sink. Meredith’s breath lodged sharply in her throat. Moonlight glanced off lean muscle, flashing a series of impressions. His right shirtsleeve was ripped and hanging down his arm. His left hand pressed against his bare shoulder. Something dark stained his flesh and the edge of the sink. The first aid kit lay open on the counter beside him.

Hazy moonlight filtered through the window, mixed with too many shadows to discern the color of his hair. She had a gun in her bedside table. She couldn’t see if he had one or not.

He didn’t appear interested in anything except patching himself up. Still, Meredith was calling the police.

She retreated a step, intent on slipping back to her room and dialing 9–1-1. At that moment, the man sagged against the counter as if it was the only thing holding him up. The movement brought his face into profile. Pale silver light skimmed his temple, the long planed line of his jaw, part of a strong neck.

Meredith’s heart stopped. He looked like…

No, it couldn’t be. This had to be a dream, which made sense considering the reason she’d come to the summerhouse at Broken Bow Lake. The cool tile beneath her feet, the whiff of cinnamon from the living area, the underlying metallic scent of blood drifting from the kitchen all felt real, smelled real, but they couldn’t be.

Gage Parrish was dead, had been dead for a year. It was a dream. Yes, it had to be. If this was real, the man would’ve seen her from the corner of his eye and reacted.

Operating on less than four hours’ sleep out of the last forty-eight, Meredith rubbed her forehead. “No,” she murmured.
In the deep stillness, the quiet word shattered the silence.

The man jerked toward her, his hard gaze zeroing in like a laser. Before she could blink, he roared, “What the hell are you doing here?”

She snapped to full attention just as she did when jarred out of sleep at the hospital to tend a new arrival in the emergency room. This was real. He was real. How?

Something fell from his shoulder to the floor—a stained cloth. He didn’t grab for it. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Neither are you!” Numb, she stared at the filmy silhouette of her ex-fiancé. She could barely think. Was she breathing?

With his left hand, the man—Gage—gripped the counter’s edge. Even in the dim light, Meredith could see his unsteadiness, the waxy sheen of his face.

It was the blood tracking down his shoulder and arm that got her moving. “You’re hurt.”

She reached him about the time he crumpled into the cabinet, banging it hard. She grabbed his left arm to steady him.
This wasn’t possible. He was dead. Dead!

Her mind was unable to process anything except that he was wounded, bleeding. She draped his uninjured arm around her shoulder and started slowly toward the nearest bed. Her bed.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No,” he said hoarsely. “Gunshot.”

Surprise jolted her. He’d been shot. Why? How far from here? And completely apart from the gunshot wound, how was it even possible that he was alive? Meredith’s head began to pound. Sweat broke out over her body. What was happening was too unreal, too much. Too raw. She couldn’t function if she dealt with that right now. Judging from how heavily Gage leaned on her for support, he wasn’t up to it, either.

He faltered, his weight pulling her into the wall with him as he propped himself up there.

His warm breath feathered against her face and an unexpected knot of longing shoved painfully under her ribs. She dismissed the emotion.

He struggled away from the wall. “Okay.”

She wondered if he’d be able to make it the rest of the way. They reached her room, painstakingly crossed the silver carpet to her queen-size bed and she eased him down on the edge of the mattress. Reaching over, she flipped on the bedside lamp and stood, paralyzed.

Her mind fought to sort this out, to make sense of it. Believe it.

Blood smeared his shoulder, her sheet. He groaned, jerking her out of her stupor. He was hurt. She knew how to deal with that. Unbuttoning his black button-down shirt, she eased it away from his injured shoulder, then stripped it off.

“Meredith.”

The deep, grainy voice had her looking straight into his pure blue eyes. Eyes she’d thought to never see again. Meredith started at the realization that there was more than pain there. He looked exhausted and…haunted. Tenderness tugged at her. She tore her gaze from his.

Putting herself on autopilot, she palmed off his shoes then eased his legs onto the mattress and laid him back on the pillow. Leaving his jeans on, she knelt beside the bed and got her first good look at the wound. The bullet had gone through his shoulder, entering close to his clavicle. Where the subclavian vein and artery ran. Concern streaked through her.

“You’re…not s’pposed to be here.”

His words were slurred. Depending on how much blood he’d lost, he’d be getting dizzy. And thirsty.

“It’s winter.”

She understood his surprise. The lake house was used only in the spring and summer, for fishing, boating and water-skiing. And with her Thunderbird in the garage, it looked as though no one was here.

“Never would’ve come.” He reached up, his fingers brushing her mouth.

Hit with panic and a sudden streak of fear, she jerked away.

“Baby, I’m sorry.”

“Be quiet!” She didn’t know if he was aware of what he said. She didn’t want to hear the endearment he’d always called her. All she cared about was stopping the bleeding.

“Don’t move,” she ordered. Pushing to her feet, she hurried to the kitchen and grabbed the first aid kit, snatched some hand towels from the nearest drawer then returned to him.

He was still, unnaturally so, and dread stabbed at her. She felt for his carotid pulse. Weak, but there.

“Thirsty,” he croaked, his eyes slitted against the pain.

She hurried into the adjoining bath and filled a small glass with water, then returned to hold up his head and help him drink.
After placing the glass on the bedside table, she examined his wound. He was bleeding out externally, not into the chest. Of the two, that was preferable. No broken collarbone, no collapsed lung. The man was beyond lucky. “How long ago did this happen?”

“An hour.” He struggled to get out the words. “Or two.”

Using one of the towels, she pressed firmly on the wound, noting the deep penetration, the torn flesh, his shallow breathing. “You need to go to a hospital. McCurtain County’s hospital is about thirty or forty minutes away.”

“No. No hospitals.”

“Gage.”

“They’ll report it.” His raspy voice was firm. “No cops.”

“But—”

“A cop shot me.” His agitation started his blood flowing heavily again. “No hospital.”

“You need to calm down.” A cop had shot him? What was going on? Blood seeped out from under the towel and Meredith pressed harder against the wound.

“Promise me.” His face was colorless, and desperate. He groped for her right forearm with his left hand and squeezed hard.

“Promise,” he rasped, struggling to sit up.

“Be still.” Her voice was sharper than she’d intended. She pushed against his opposite shoulder until he eased back into the mattress. “I promise. Now be quiet and let me do what needs to be done.”

He must’ve been using every bit of his strength because when she finally agreed not to contact anyone, he passed out.

Questions hammered at her. Emotions, too. Anger, confusion, pain. But there was no time to deal with that right now. She could only deal with Gage and his GSW.

Working quickly, she slowed the bleeding, cleaned the wound with alcohol as best she could then stitched the ragged hole near his collarbone. There was no anesthetic. She prayed he’d be out for a long time.

She was cool, precise, steady. She trimmed the stitches. Applied a pressure bandage. Then sat back on her heels and stared at him, her heart thundering in her chest as if she’d run the two hundred and fifty miles from here to Presley.

She began to shake all over.

His dark blond hair reached the base of his neck, longer than she’d ever seen it. His skin was weathered by the sun, putting lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there eighteen months ago when she’d broken things off between them. Six months after that, she’d gotten word he was dead. She’d believed it. They all had. So how could he really be here? Really be alive?

Swept up in a sudden swirl of anger and confusion, she wiped streaks of blood from his neck and lower jaw, the back of her hand lingering on the sandpapery roughness of his skin.

His familiar woodsy scent was faint beneath the antiseptic, but she could smell it. Smell him. The lanky, wounded man in her bed was really Gage and he was alive.

She thought she’d shed her last tear over him, but one fell anyway.

                                                                                                     * * *

Gage opened his eyes, increasingly aware of the searing pain in his right shoulder and torso, a comfortable bed and a soft feminine fragrance. A familiar apricot scent on the sheets, his pillow. Then he remembered. “Meredith,” he murmured.

The bathroom door across the room opened and there she was. She paused, soap-scented steam floating around her. Her hair was freshly dried, wild blond curls loose around her shoulders. Her cream-and-rose skin was free of makeup, her blue eyes crystal-bright and wary. She was so beautiful, it hurt to look at her. His memories didn’t do her justice.

He’d missed the hell out of her, but despite the telltale spike in his pulse, seeing her was the worst thing for both of them.
Last night hadn’t been a hallucination due to pain and blood loss. She was really here. And looking damn good.

“You’re awake.” She stepped into the bedroom. Her tall lithe figure gloved in a long-sleeved red T-shirt and faded jeans brought to aching life the memory of every bare inch of her.

A slight flush pinkened her skin from her bath. She preferred those to a shower, he knew. And bubbles to bath beads. Apricot or vanilla to any floral scent. Hell. Gage wished he’d forgotten things like that in the past eighteen months, but he hadn’t.

Forcing his gaze away, he glanced at the bandage curving over his shoulder and clavicle. “You patched me up.”

She nodded.

He made a lame attempt at humor. “Will I live?”

Her eyes went cool. She looked at him as if she didn’t know him. “Won’t that interfere with your being dead?”

Ouch. There were a thousand things he should say, all starting with “I’m sorry.” He soaked her in, storing away another image for when he had to leave. “You’re really here.”

“I think that’s my line.” Her words were as sharp as her laugh.

She was angry. What did he expect? “No one’s ever at this house in the winter. I never would’ve come if I’d known you would be here.”

Hurt flared in her eyes. “You’re lucky I was or you would’ve bled out over my sink.”

She thought he meant because he didn’t want to see her. There wasn’t anything he wanted more, but it was dangerous. He couldn’t involve her any more than he already had.

Quietly, he said, “Thanks for saving my life.”

She gave a curt nod, eyeing him warily. Gage hated it. And there was nothing he could do about trying to correct it before he left. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon. Are you hungry?”

“I could eat.” Once he did, he would have to say goodbye. Again.

“All right, I’ll get you something.” She folded her arms under her breasts and nailed him with a look. “Then I want to know what’s going on.”

He could tell her some, not all. Nodding, he pushed himself up on his left elbow.

“You lost a lot of blood,” she snapped. “You shouldn’t try that yet.”

“I’m almost there.” It was an effort to rise into a half-sitting position against the headboard. He bit back a moan as agony ripped through his shoulder.

She stood close enough for him to see the light brush of freckles across her nose, but the distance between them yawned like a canyon. Her eyes were remote, blank. He wanted to see her smile, just once.

But the steady gaze she trained on him said that wasn’t going to happen. He knew what she wanted. Letting out a shaky breath, he asked, “Where do you want me to start?”

“How about with when you died? I’ll get your lunch. We can talk while you eat.”

She left and he sagged into the headboard. He had no energy, felt as if he could barely lift his hand. Through a fog, he looked around the room where he and Meredith had stayed during their frequent visits.

His gaze moved left to the closet and the piles of clothes stacked neatly beside its open door. In the back of the closet, he could see what he knew was the tip of his slalom water ski. The pale gray walls were missing a couple of pictures, but he couldn’t call them to mind at the moment. He felt outside of himself, as if he were barely holding on to consciousness.

Meredith returned with soup, a ham sandwich and a large glass of water on a tray that she set across his lap. “I imagine you’re thirsty, but even if you aren’t, you need to drink that.”

He nodded. “You’re not eating?”

“Not hungry.”

She’d cut the sandwich in half and still the effort required to pick it up surprised him. He hadn’t realized how weak he was. It took him a while, but he was able to eat without help. By the time he finished the soup, he felt stronger and sleepy.

Meredith walked to the window beside the bed and glanced over. He thought he saw a glint of tears before she looked away and stared out at the gray day, the private dock and lake less than a hundred yards away.

“Your grandparents and I—We thought…”

“I know,” he said softly.

She turned, anger crossing her face before she closed it against him. “Why did you let us think you were dead?”

He couldn’t tell her everything. The less she knew, the safer she’d be. Breathing past the pain, he stared.

Despite the shadows in her eyes, she was gorgeous. He’d been a self-absorbed fool to let her go. Her creamy skin was velvet-soft. Her blond curls were pulled back in a neat ponytail that made him want to mess it up.

After what he’d done to her, he’d be lucky if she ever let him get close enough to touch her hair, let alone put his hands on her.

Whatever she saw on his face made her frown. “Gage.”

“Sorry. I just can’t believe I’m seeing you.”

“Ditto,” she said drily. “Now talk.”

“Yeah.” He drew in a deep breath, struggling to focus. “Okay, here it is. After you—after we—our—”

After she’d broken their engagement.

“I know what you’re talking about,” she said stiffly. “Go on.”

She’d thought she hadn’t regretted returning his ring. Until six months later when she’d gotten word he was dead and she kept hearing her last words to him over and over. You don’t need to push me out of your life any longer. I want you out of mine.

They’d been engaged for nearly two years and she’d never been able to get a wedding date out of him. That, along with being repeatedly put second to his job as a fire investigator, had made his obsession with Operation Smoke Screen the last straw. She understood priorities and no one knew better than a doctor that sometimes work must take precedence. But not every time.

So Meredith had finally called it quits. Her last words to him had filled her with guilt. She thought she had gotten past it and now he was here, stirring it up all over again.

His woodsy, body-warmed scent settled in her lungs and notched up a sense of dread. A steadily growing anger. She didn’t see how anything he said could be good.

“There was a series of fires. None of us Oklahoma City fire investigators could get anywhere on the case and neither could an investigator hired by an insurance company.” He paused, pulling in a shallow breath, looking pale and wasted.

“The residents of one burned-out section went to the State Attorney General with evidence against the torches. He ordered an investigation, asked me to be part of a task force. We discovered an arson ring, a conspiracy made up of gang leaders, city officials and city employees. It was the easiest money they’d ever made, and the more they got, the more they wanted.

“Our evidence was strong. They were all arrested for murder, conspiracy to commit arson and fraud, and indicted. The trial is scheduled to start in ten days.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. After sitting with him through the night, never looking away in case he disappeared, some of the shock had worn off, but now it surged inside her again. She shook her head. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“It’s pretty wild,” he admitted.

“Does the trial have anything to do with you being shot?”

He hesitated. “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“That doesn’t explain why you let us believe you were dead.”

He wanted to touch her, pull her close, but he’d given up that right when he’d let her walk away. And again when he’d made the choice to let her believe a lie. A lie necessary to save his life, but still a lie. “There were two attempts on my life.”

Her only sign of distress was the sudden way she paled. Her gaze skipped over him, thoroughly, dispassionately. Looking for proof of his claims. His wounds weren’t visible and he wasn’t talking about them.

“After those attempts, the Attorney General involved the marshals. They put all of us in WitSec.”

She frowned at the term.

“Witness Security,” he explained. “Their witness protection program.”

“All the investigators?”

“Yes. We argued against it, but by then the decision was out of our hands.” Gage had agreed to it in the end because it was his only option, which made him hate it even more. “The police and the AG’s office announced that they believed the gang leaders had succeeded in the attempts on our lives. We were all ‘pronounced dead,’ different ways. One a hunting accident, one a car wreck, one simply disappeared.”

“And you,” she said hoarsely, “in a fire.”

“Yeah.” He hated seeing the ravage of grief in her eyes, the pain, the betrayal, but he’d had no choice then. Just as he had no choice now.

“So shouldn’t you still be whoever you are now?” She frowned. “And back wherever it is you live now?”

“Getting shot changed my plans. I knew there were medical supplies here and I thought the house would be empty this time of year. It always has been before.”

She studied him for a long moment. “There’s more.”

There was, but he didn’t want to give her one iota of information more than necessary. He was determined to keep her safe.

Under the guise of making sure Gage was ready for trial, the marshal assigned to his case had arrived at the house where he’d been living for the past year. It was there that Gage had overheard the man being threatened into killing Gage. If he had to literally give up his life for Meredith, he would. He never should’ve pushed her out of it.

He’d been half-dead since leaving her, anyway. Dumb-ass. He clamped down on the thoughts. She was a regret he lived with every day and looking back on it didn’t change one thing. He had to look forward, move forward.

He knew he’d lost a lot of blood. He knew how crappy he felt, but he also knew the risk of staying. “I need to go.”

She eyed him critically. “Think you can?”

“I have to.”

“How’d you get here?”

“Drove an SUV I’ve been fixing up. It’s at the side of the house.”

“You should stay in bed for another twenty-four hours.”

The longer he stayed, the higher the chances of Meredith getting involved and he wasn’t involving her. “It’s best.”

“Suit yourself.”

He wished he could. Tearing his gaze from hers, he asked, “Where’s my shirt?”

“I threw it away. It was ruined.”

“My leather jacket?”

“It’s on a bar stool in the kitchen, along with your laptop. I’ll find you something to wear.”

She left and came back with a man’s long-sleeved denim shirt. “This is Wyatt’s. You can borrow it.”

“Thanks.” Gage was about the same size as Meredith’s younger brother, which was good because the only clothes Gage had left here were shorts, T-shirts and underwear.

“Need help getting it on?”

Yes, he did, but if she touched him, Gage didn’t think he would be able to make himself leave. “I can do it.”

“All right. Let me know if you change your mind. I really don’t think you’re strong enough to go anywhere.”

He sure as hell didn’t want to. “I’ll be okay.”

After studying him for a moment, she shook her head. “I’ll get your jacket and laptop.”

Her tennis shoes scuffed softly on the hallway’s wooden floor as she walked away. Regret welled up inside him. He wanted to stay here, look at her, be with her, but he knew he couldn’t. He hated this. It was just as painful as it had been a year ago, letting her believe, along with his grandparents, that he was dead.

He sat up and eased his feet to the floor, gripping the edge of the mattress as the room spun. Long seconds later, the dizziness receded. Biting back a moan, he pulled the right sleeve up his arm.

The next thing he knew, he was on the carpet, his shoulders propped against the side of the bed and Meredith was kneeling in front of him.

“What happened?” he asked groggily.

“You passed out.”

“Passed out?” Pain pounded through his shoulder, his skull. He felt himself fading. “You have to help me so I can leave.”

“And then what? Drive you wherever you need to go? Babysit you? You can’t even get dressed on your own.” She leaned over, her sweet-smelling hair tickling his jaw as she fitted her shoulder under his, supporting him to his feet.

Light-headed and wobbly, Gage was aware of the blackness at the edge of his vision. He couldn’t feel his legs, had no control over them.

Meredith got him prone on the mattress and pulled the blanket over his bare chest. “Don’t try that again until I tell you it’s all right.”

He was fading, his vision blurring, but as she straightened, he said, “Are you okay with this?”

“Does it matter? You can’t even walk the three feet to the bathroom let alone out of this house.”

“I just…don’t want you to get hurt, Meredith.”

The look she turned on him was glacial. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

Yes, he did. As he watched her walk away, regret rolled over him. The hurt he’d caused her—them—was only one more reason he needed to leave ASAP. He’d avoided going to Presley and had come here solely for the purpose of keeping her out of this hell. Instead, he’d made her a target.

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