My Bodyguard

скачать книгу бесплатно


Was he conducting business? Did he have something big going down? Was it connected to Tsernyakov?

Sam glanced across the sand and her gaze met Reese’s. He nodded slowly. It was near midnight. Time for them to get started.

She walked up to him and stepped behind him as he chatted with a small group, put her arms around his waist and leaned against his back. She was comfortable with this much.

He covered her hands with his own. “Hi.”

She tugged on reflex, expecting to feel trapped, then caught herself and went still. “Want to go for a walk on the beach?”

He turned and smiled at her. “Sure.” He extricated himself from the conversation and grabbed on to her hand as he led her toward where the waves met the white sand glowing in the moonlight.

“Have you seen Cavanaugh?” she asked. She’d been wandering around the property, trying to spot him for the last hour.

“He went out on the speedboat with a couple of women a while ago.”

So that had been him. She’d been too far away at the time to see.

The breeze was gentle and still warm, the sand soft under her bare feet. Now and then she had to jump to get out of the way of an overreaching wave. The flower print, wrap-style skirt hung to her ankles, stroking her skin with each step.

That she would feel comfortable in clothes like these surprised her, having dressed for years in nothing but black, accessorizing with chains, spiking her hair, building an armor around her from clothes and attitude. She didn’t miss the whole Goth look. Odd that she couldn’t remember when she’d begun feeling comfortable without it.

The breeze blew the material of her skirt against Reese’s legs from time to time. She adjusted her hand in his. Now that she was more comfortable around him, she didn’t mind the physical contact as much. She could see why some women thought it nice.

A sense of contentedness filled her without warning. Then, self-consciousness. Was this how normal people felt when they were out on a moonlit night? The thought brought a sudden, breathtaking need for life, her life, to be as normal as that. Could she ever achieve it? What would it take to make it happen?

“Let’s start walking up.” Reese led her toward the line of palm trees that separated Cavanaugh’s property from his neighbor’s ostentatious palace.

The trees widened into a little grove with a few hammocks strung between the trunks. If anyone was watching them, a man and a woman heading that way would look anything but suspicious.

Another couple had thought of utilizing the area already, it seemed. One of the hammocks was occupied and swaying suggestively. They passed in a wide arc around it.

A stone path began at the other end of the grove, leading to the pool. They took it.

“Should we spend a few minutes here?” she asked, nervous all of a sudden.

He put his arms around her and turned her in a circle, pretending to pay attention only to her, while effectively surveying their surroundings. “I don’t think that’s necessary. Nobody seems to be watching.”

They rounded the pool and reached the terrace attached to the main house. It was circled with stone columns and potted palms and was set up for dining, with elegantly carved teak chairs and tables.

“Let’s settle down here for a second.” Reese pulled a chair out for her. “See any of Cavanaugh’s men?”

She scanned the area. “No.”

“Good. Me, neither.” He nodded toward the French doors upstairs, which opened onto the balcony. Sheer white curtains moved in and out in the breeze. “Point of entry?”

She glanced to the downstairs entrance and the camera above it. There was nothing above the upstairs door. They probably figured anyone trying to get up there would be recorded by the downstairs system anyway.

Reese reached over the table and took her hand, rubbed his thumb over it before he stood. She got to her feet and let him pull her against him.

“So, what’s the plan?” she asked into his neck.

“We’re going to make out behind that column.” He turned her a little then was moving that way already.

Even knowing he didn’t really mean it, her blood sped to a rush. She swallowed and tried to act nonchalant, knowing that she could fool the cameras, but she wasn’t fooling him.

He began by rubbing his lips along the side of her cheek. She stopped in her tracks from the shock of sensation and realized that was just what he wanted. He nudged her against the column gently, keeping his gaze on hers, making sure he wasn’t pushing her panic button. And she couldn’t be scared knowing just how much energy he spent on making sure she was comfortable.

He looked up then stood still for a second, seeming to be plotting something.

“The column and this potted palm are keeping us from view of the camera,” she said.

“Right. You’re going to climb me to get up to the balcony.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. She didn’t mind the breaking-and-entering part. Climbing Reese Moretti was another matter. A couple of seconds passed before she could say, “Okay.”

“Be careful,” he said and put his hands on her waist, then he was lifting her.

The wraparound skirt opened conveniently, giving her plenty of room to maneuver with her legs, using her feet for support on Reese’s shoulders. Then her hands closed around the railing and she pulled. He pushed his palms under her soles and helped her up.

“Okay,” she whispered and crept to the French doors for a look before returning to him. “Nobody’s here.”

He stood by the column, his hands braced on each side. His shoulders were wide enough so the camera would see those. As long as he stayed that way, anyone watching on the security monitor would think he had her in front of him, pinned.

“I’ll be right back.” She crossed the balcony again and went in low, finding herself in what looked to be a spare bedroom for the mansion.

She gave it a quick check and took a few pictures with her camera ring before moving on. She poked her head out the door. If someone saw her, she could pretend she had snuck into the mansion to seek out Cavanaugh. With Cavanaugh’s interest in a wide variety of women, her presence wouldn’t require any further explanation for his staff.

But the hallway was empty. She stepped outside.

There were motion sensors in the corner of the ceiling, but they had figured the system wouldn’t be turned on until the fun for the day ended and the guests were settled into their bungalows for the night. Since the room she’d breached was at the end of the hallway, she had only one way to go: forward. Two doors stood on her right, one on her left. She cracked each as she passed by. One was a home gym, one a bathroom, another a cleaning closet.

The hallway came out to an open area with cathedral ceilings and a view to a sprawling living room below that she remembered from her earlier visit. She stayed near the wall so she wouldn’t be seen if someone walked in downstairs.

She put her hand on the next door and tried to push it open. She couldn’t. This is it. The place wouldn’t be locked if Cavanaugh wasn’t hiding something here. She pulled out the micro tool kit that had been hidden in the ostentatious, shell-covered barrette in her hair.

The door had two locks, one built into the doorknob and one at about eye level. Trickier than what she had been used to when she had lived on the streets and had, at times, been forced to break the law for food. Or while in foster care, when she’d had to break out of the various rooms, basements, attics and toolsheds she’d been locked inside. The fancy tool kit felt foreign, too, although she had been practicing.

She was fairly certain she’d gotten the top lock open, but she wasn’t getting anywhere with the one on the bottom. Something was clicking. She had to be on the right track. Then it hit her. Both pegs had to be turned at the same time.

And then she was in, careful to open the door only a few inches should there be motion sensors inside. She put her eye to the crack.

The room was windowless, pitch-dark other than the light filtering through the small opening of the door. She could make out a desk with a computer, filing cabinets against the walls, a couple of fax machines and a giant shredder. A red laser light cut through the darkness less than an inch from the door’s edge.

She could see only half the room like this, but to open the door enough to stick her head inside would set off the alarm. It was a miracle she hadn’t set if off already.

She took a small step back just as the sound of feet drumming on stairs hit her ears.

Chapter Three

Even with her heart doing backflips in her throat, she had enough presence of mind to lock the door behind her exactly as she had found it. Then she took off down the hallway. She didn’t make it to the end room.

As Sam turned back, she could see the tops of the heads of the men who were coming up. The cleaning closet seemed her only option. She practically hurled herself inside.

The space was dark and tight, smelling like bleach and citrus-scented cleaning solution. She stayed still, not daring to make any noise. The door didn’t block much. She could hear everything the two men were saying.

“Saw the blonde? Man, she’s stacked. Wouldn’t mind if she tripped and fell on top of me.”

“What’s stopping you from tripping and falling on top of her?” The other one laughed.

“Her husband is here.”

“I bet Philippe had her already.”

“So what?” The first guy sounded annoyed. “He’s the boss. He always gets what he wants.”

Dissent in the ranks? She stored the information for later. They never knew what could come in handy down the road.

A door opened and closed, then she could no longer hear the men. How long should she wait? Would they stay wherever they’d gone, or would they be coming back in a few seconds? She was prepared to act like an Oscar winner if she was caught, but it would have been much better for her and the mission if she made her way out of the mansion unseen.

Sam emerged from her hiding place with caution. The hallway was empty. She made her way to the back bedroom as fast as she could.

She pushed the door open and whispered, “Philippe,” to play out her role of hussy-in-search-of-illicit-pleasure, but nobody was in there. Looked like the men had gone to the gym. She let out the breath she’d been holding, then she was through the room and out on the balcony, lowering herself into Reese’s waiting arms.

“Everything okay?” He didn’t look pleased at having had to stay behind.

“Found his office. I’ll have to get back in there again.”

“He’s right. Enough is enough.” A stranger’s voice came from around the corner. The next second, one of Philippe’s men, Roberto, rounded the building, talking on his cell.

She pressed against Reese and lifted her mouth to his, keeping her eyes open only enough to see the guy slow in her peripheral vision.

Reese didn’t miss a beat. He let his lips linger. She was getting familiar with the feel of them, not exactly at ease but not scared stiff, either. He got hold of her hand and moved forward, pulling her behind him. They went only as far as the nearest hammock, where he fell back into the comfort of the ropes and pulled her on top of him.

Oh.

She held on as they swayed, feeling awkward, the urge to flee coming on.

He must have felt her body stiffen because he went completely still. “So this stepfather of yours, he’s still alive?” he whispered, his voice low and tight.

What did it matter? “No.” Her lawyer had told her that. Since she’d been underage at the time of her arrest, the court had attempted to reach her mother and the man she was still married to on paper. Her stepfather was gone. Her mother couldn’t bother to come to her arraignment or her trial, even though a parent who pledged to resume supervision could have eased her sentence.

A few silent moments passed, then he ran a calming hand down the back of her arm, adjusting his body to balance them, to make her more comfortable. “Is Cavanaugh’s goon still here?” The way they were positioned, he couldn’t see for himself.

She looked from the corner of her eye. “Standing and staring.”

“Might as well relax. We could be here for a while.”

He linked his arms behind her waist. Oddly, it didn’t make her freeze in terror. She was getting used to him, to his touch, to his scent, beginning to accept the idea he meant no harm. That she was able to relax around him, something she hadn’t been able to say about another man for nearly a decade, took her by surprise each and every time.

He was different from any guy she had ever known. She didn’t want to think about that, wasn’t ready to consider the implications.

“I didn’t get far,” she whispered, needing to return her thoughts to the job. She’d mapped a single hallway—didn’t even get to search the office, nor go downstairs to those doors Cavanaugh hadn’t shown her earlier.

“Yeah, but you hit pay dirt. I’m guessing we’ll find some interesting things in Philippe’s desk when we get the chance. We know where it is now. We know what’s in the room, the layout.”

“I saw two guys who were up there to use Cavanaugh’s private gym. Can’t remember seeing them before, but we probably haven’t seen all his goons yet. They seem to be working in shifts.”

“Glad they didn’t see you.” His hot breath tickled her ear, so she shifted position, setting the hammock swinging again. Shoes crunched gravel underfoot. Roberto was moving on.

He seemed to be an important member of Cavanaugh’s security team. He was always visible, always watching, making his rounds. He seemed to take himself as seriously as if he were part of the Secret Service.

Sam lifted her head and looked around. “Should I try to get back in now?”

“Not tonight.” Reese sat with her. “It might look too suspicious if we got caught loitering this close to the house twice in the same night. We have the whole week to get what we want. Let’s not blow anything the first day.”

She slipped out of the hammock and he came after her, looped his arms around her waist. She made herself relax against him and held the pose, allowing him time to check for any danger.

None of Cavanaugh’s men were in sight.

“Let’s go down to the beach,” he said as he broke away and took her hand. “We’ll see what we can find out about Philippe from his friends.”