Accidental Bodyguard. Sharon Hartley
to be exactly the type of woman he was normally all over.
He extended his arm to shake her hand. “I’m Jackson Richards, Security Director. Aren’t you Louise Clark?”
Her expression cleared, and Ms. Clark clasped his hand with both of hers as if she was drowning and he was her lifeline. “Yes, yes. I’m Louise Clark.”
She offered a killer smile which transformed her face from pretty into stunning, which explained Mr. Santaluce’s interest. Jack felt an unexpected stab of envy.
“Please forgive me, Mr. Richards,” Ms. Clark continued. “I’m embarrassed by the trouble, but my demon car chose this awkward moment to quit working.”
“No trouble at all, ma’am. Mr. Santaluce requested we make certain you get settled in your new home.”
“Oh, that was kind of him,” Ms. Clark said.
Kind of him? Jack reevaluated the scenario before him. His gaze swept over the rattletrap vehicle, noting a backseat heaped with plastic bags from a local grocery. Apparently Ms. Clark wasn’t planning on expensive dinners out with her lover. Hell, maybe she was a gourmet cook and that was what had attracted the man. A looker and a cooker? If so, a far better reason for jealousy.
“Will a jump start help?” Jack asked. “I’ve called our maintenance department for an assist.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. This is the first time it hasn’t started. Usually it won’t stop running.”
“Maybe it’s time for a new car.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice. Maybe when I win the lottery.”
Jack forced a smile. “Yes, ma’am.” Damn, but Santaluce was one cheap sugar daddy. You’d think he’d want her driving a flashier vehicle onto his ritzy winter home.
The huge maintenance pickup truck approached, and Ms. Clark slid behind the wheel of her car. Jack retrieved jumper cables from the truck and hooked its battery to the clunker’s.
“Give it a try,” he yelled over the truck’s powerful engine.
The old car shook and rumbled to life. Jack let its battery run off the truck’s for a minute or two to allow a better charge, then disconnected the cables, handed them to the maintenance man and returned to speak to Ms. Clark.
“Thank you,” she said meaningfully. “Thank you so much.”
“No problem, ma’am. I recommend you get that battery checked out. It’s possible you need a new one.”
“But now that I’m here, I won’t need my car,” she said.
“I suppose not.” Jack nodded, but her words made no sense. Was the woman planning to never leave Collins Island? Considering the amount of food in her backseat—and no telling how much more in her trunk—maybe so.
Maybe Santaluce planned to keep her in the bedroom. Or maybe he’d had lured her here with promises of a shiny silver Porsche.
“Follow me,” Jack said, “I’ll lead you to your new home.”
On the short drive to the east end of the island, Jack considered Louise Clark, her rattletrap vehicle—which fortunately kept chugging along behind him—her mounds of groceries and the questionable business of one Rodolfo Santaluce.
The more Jack thought about Ms. Clark, the more his bullshit alarm sounded loud and clear. Something didn’t add up. Maybe Lola had assessed the relationship between Santaluce and Ms. Clark all wrong. Maybe the pretty young woman was indeed a paying tenant.
Jack stopped in front of Santaluce’s tall, arched, wrought-iron gate topped with the name, Villa Alma, in block letters, and Ms. Clark pulled next to him. Why would she drive that battered jalopy if she could afford the rent this spectacular villa would command? She wouldn’t. Yeah, she was moving in to the pool house, but he’d seen the so-called cabanas in these villas. A small family would have room to spare.
Clutching a slip of paper, Ms. Clark exited her car, punched a code into the alarm pad and the gate swung open. She turned and offered him another one of her brilliant smiles.
“Thanks so much for your help, Mr. Richards.”
“Let me help you carry in those groceries,” he offered.
Her smile faded, replaced by wariness. In fact, she looked afraid of him. Why was that?
“No, thanks,” she said. “I can manage.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind.”
“Absolutely. I’ve been enough trouble already.” She waved a graceful hand, the one holding the code, which had been scribbled on some sort of preprinted memo pad with a letterhead. He could make out the word Hospital in large letters, but nothing more.
“I’m certain you have more important duties,” she continued.
Jack shrugged, disappointed. Important duties? This place practically runs itself.
His main function was to assess all possible security threats. Was Ms. Clark a threat to the security of Collins Island? Maybe. Something was off about her.
He definitely needed to learn more.
She looked at him with raised eyebrows, obviously expecting—no, wanting—him to drive away.
He didn’t want to go, but waved and motored west into the sinking sun, back toward the security office.
Lola had been right on about one thing. His day had been boring as plain white toast before Ms. Clark’s arrival, but now things were getting interesting. He had a project.
Of course, he should keep a watchful eye on Collins Island’s newest resident—which shouldn’t be too hard since Ms. Clark was easy on the eyes.
And it was, after all, his job.
* * *
CLAUDIA UNLOADED HER car and hid it in a garage at the rear of Mr. Santaluce’s estate. She quickly filled the refrigerator—empty but for three lonely Coronas—with perishable fruits, vegetables and dairy items. She’d run out of fresh produce before the trial date in four weeks, but that couldn’t be helped. She’d divide her meat into single portions and stuff the freezer later—after she’d locked herself in. At least she wouldn’t starve.
She left the Glock on the counter within easy reach while she worked. She’d keep her weapon close at hand, always loaded and ready to fire. She’d taken a course and knew how to shoot. She could usually hit the target, if nowhere near the bull’s-eye.
Closing the refrigerator for the last time, she took a deep breath.
Dear Mr. Santaluce had provided detailed instructions on the alarm system, but first she needed to confirm all openings were locked or otherwise secure.
She grabbed the gun and exited the cabana through the front door into twilight. A shiver caused her to hug her arms. Claudia inhaled deeply to calm herself, noting the cool, salty ocean breeze. Because of the wall, she didn’t have a view of the tantalizingly close Atlantic Ocean.
But no one had a view of her, either.
Maybe she could go out occasionally—late at night—and take a peek at the waves. Maybe not.
Claudia walked the villa’s grounds looking for any weakness, a location where someone could breach the eight-foot concrete wall. The activity helped settle her, reminded her of patrolling the pediatric unit on the night shift when her patients, poor sick kids, were all sleeping. She missed her job. How long would it be before she could go back to work?
She discovered there was only one gate, the one she’d driven through, and that it had an electronic lock and an alarm. Carlos’s henchmen would have to ram a truck through, making a ton of noise, definitely attracting the attention of that eagle-eyed security director. She doubted he missed anything.
She