Trusting the Bodyguard. Kimberly Meter Van
“I have money and a car. I just need directions.”
“Marissa…stop being stubborn. You need supplies. I will get them for you. End of story.”
“Is this how it’s going to be?” she demanded. “You giving orders like some drill sergeant? I didn’t come here so you could boss me around. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself—”
“If that were the case you wouldn’t have broken into my house with nothing more than the clothes on your back and the piss and vinegar in your blood,” he cut in, ignoring the flash of wounded pride that followed. He couldn’t afford to be moved by that beautiful face. It was bad enough that she had haunted his dreams and made him a miserable bastard during the day for the past three years. He sure as hell didn’t need to let her get further under his skin. He grabbed his keys and pointed a finger at her. “Don’t leave. I’ll be back in an hour.” He wasn’t surprised when she didn’t take kindly to his instruction.
“I don’t appreciate being told what to do and when to do it. I’m not a child, nor your wife. I can come and go as I see fit.”
True. But he wasn’t going to see her get killed over this mess she’d gotten herself into. That was the last thing he needed on his conscience. He hardened his voice to drive the point home. “You’re on the run with a kid that doesn’t belong to you. All it will take is one phone call and your pretty little ass will be sitting in prison and that baby will return to her father.”
Her eyes watered. “You would do that to me?” her whispered voice cut at him. “You would turn me in?”
“Yes.”
He’d crushed her. He could see it in her face. He looked away so he wouldn’t have to see it anymore. “It’s not going to come to that. You’ll stay because I’m the only one you can trust, Rissa,” he said, his nickname for her flowing from his mouth too naturally for comfort. “Just stay put, will you?” he bit out before slamming the door behind him.
He used the drive to town to place a few phone calls. He needed background information on this Ruben guy. With any luck the man had a record and an active warrant but even as he thought it, he knew his luck wouldn’t be that good. Guys like Ruben slid in and out of bad situations on the power of their own slime and often came out the other side smelling like a rose and looking none the worse for their experience.
“I need a favor,” he said, adjusting his Bluetooth device for a better position in his ear.
“Aren’t you supposed to be resting or something like that?” Rico Harley said drily. “Heard Doc didn’t give you the green light. Tough break. The downtime must be killing you.”
Rico, a fellow special ops agent who was recruited by the FBI at the same time as Archer, was the kind of man who was wicked smart and just a little on the damaged side. Made him perfect for the kind of assignments they were given. Archer also knew that Rico wouldn’t mind doing a little background for him. Rico liked to break the rules even more so than Archer.
“I need you to run a name.”
“Dating again?” Rico returned indolently.
“Cut the crap. This is serious.”
“What’s the name?” Rico said, all business.
“Ruben Ortiz, rumor has it he runs Oaktown Boyz. Name ring any bells?”
“East Side Oakland Oaktown Boyz?”
“The very same.”
“That’s some sick shit. What you into?”
He hesitated then relented. Rico was solid. “Not me. A friend.”
Rico’s bark of laughter made him growl. “Now I know you’re lying. You ain’t got friends.”
“Just run the damn name, funny boy.”
“Why can’t you do it? You’ve got clearance.”
“Not right now I don’t. If word gets out I was anywhere near the building Doc won’t ever clear me. That sick SOB is just loving the fact that I’m out of commission.”
“You might be right. For a doc, he’s a sadistic asshole, ain’t he?”
Rico’s easy laughter cracked a reluctant grin from Archer. “So can you do me this favor? Or should I ask Jeremiah?”
“Good luck with that. Jeremiah went out on assignment last week.”
Jeremiah was already out on assignment? Jealousy at his former team member getting the all-clear before him coupled with anger at himself for making such a stupid mistake drained the levity from his voice. “Fine. Call my cell when you get the info.”
Rico didn’t ask further questions, just agreed and the conversation was over. Men in general didn’t chew the fat on the phone, but men in their profession found superfluous time spent on anything that could be traced was a liability.
Yeah, they were all that paranoid. Made them good at their jobs. Archer ignored the little voice in his head that was quick to point out that he was no longer the best, but the slaughtered body of Kandy Kane, aka Cynthia Harvey, was hard to forget. He was forced to wonder if the glory days were over. The thought, a chilling one, made him edgy and twitchy. Fact was, he loved his job the way some guys loved their wives. And his wife had just kicked him out of bed. That sucked hard. Deal with it, Brant. Just deal with it, he told himself sourly. He had a kid needing diapers and a former fiancée to keep safe. No sense in crying over what couldn’t be fixed at the moment. Yeah…right.
CHAPTER THREE
MARISSA RAN A BRUSH through Jenna’s thick hair, gently finger-combing the sweet baby curls that clung to her little head and hummed a mindless tune for the child’s benefit. There was little else she could do at the moment but keep her safe and entertained until Archer returned with supplies.
She rolled her neck to relieve the tension bunching her shoulders up around her ears and groaned when a soft pop sounded. She was not the kind of person to sit idly, and doing just that was eating at her ability to hold on to her sanity. It was difficult to comprehend just how radically her life had changed within the space of two days. On the surface she missed the comfort of her routine—her early-morning run, a nonfat latte with whip cream and a quiet lunch spent under the trees in the park near the lab—but deep down there was a knot of grief that pulsed like an angry wound.
God, how she had loved her older sister but she wasn’t going to lie…Mercedes had driven her crazy with her impetuous and often self-absorbed actions. And now…her life was unrecognizable because of Mercedes.
When Mercedes had told her she was pregnant, the air had left Marissa’s lungs. Her sister’s elated expression had given her no similar feeling. Inside, she’d felt a terrible sense of foreboding. Not for the child itself, for all children were gifts from God, but she’d known Ruben was the father and he made her skin crawl.
Jenna grinned and then squealed with delight when she latched on to the television remote. Marissa smiled, her heart squeezing tightly with love for her niece in spite of the circumstances. Jenna looked so much like Mercedes that Marissa liked to pretend that Ruben had not fathered her at all. There was little evidence of his tainted blood in her angelic face and that was a blessing. In her opinion, Ruben was not an attractive man and it would’ve been a cruel joke to curse a daughter with his mug. The fact that she looked so strikingly similar to Mercedes and likewise, herself, had been a point in her favor when she’d made the decision to take her. People would not question that Jenna was her daughter if they moved somewhere where no one knew them.
But to put that plan into play, she’d have to leave everything behind, possibly even travel outside of California to safely pull that off. She sighed unhappily and fell back against the plush sofa, succumbing to a moment of self-pity for the mess she was in.
On impulse, she grabbed her cell phone from her purse. There were seven missed calls