The Bodyguard (31)

And it would backfire.

I’d say, “Robby just showed up here for no reason and inserted himself into the assignment.”

And Glenn would say, “That’s a great idea.”

I’d frown. “What is?”

“Putting Robby on this assignment.”

“No, I—”

“I’m still deciding between the two of you for London, you know,” Glenn would say.

Of course I knew.

“Anyway, he’s the best we’ve got for video surveillance. And you know I never want to miss a chance to torture anyone.”

“Haven’t you tortured me enough?”

A wink from Glenn. “I meant him.”

Was Glenn clueless? A sadist?

Little bit of both, maybe.

Either way, he added Robby to the team—and gave me the credit.

But that night, as Jack fished around in my purse for my keys and then hit the unlock button, I didn’t see any of that coming yet. I didn’t see much, really—other than what was right in front of me: Jack guiding me to the passenger side, opening the door, sitting me down, and leaning across me to buckle me in.

He smelled like cinnamon.

Again: not something I’d normally let a client do.

But so little about this assignment was normal.

When Jack walked around to the driver’s side, got in, and started the car, I didn’t stop him.

As we pulled away from his house, I mustered a weak, “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking you home.”

“But how will you get back?”

“I’ll borrow your car,” he said, “and come back to get you in the morning.”

Jack Stapleton was offering to pick me up in the morning? “That seems like a lot of work.”

“What else do I have to do these days?”

“Your profile says you are a late sleeper. Like noon-to-afternoon late.”

“I can set an alarm.” Then a pause. “Was that guy your boyfriend?”

“Was that guy your boyfriend?”

Ugh. I was too haywire to do it right.

Jack frowned and tried again. “You weren’t dating that guy, were you?”

“I’m not going to talk about this with you.”

“Why not?”

I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes. “Because I don’t talk about my life with clients.”

Even just telling a client that I didn’t talk about my life with clients was more than I’d ever told a client.

Another tactical error, for sure—but I was too numb to care.

“Just tell me that guy is not your boyfriend.”

“That guy is not my boyfriend,” I repeated mechanically. And then I don’t know if it was just some meaningless sparking in my short-circuiting brain, or a new comprehension that following the rules didn’t seem to get you anywhere, or a hunch that maybe nothing really mattered, after all … but two seconds later, I added, “Anymore.”





Ten


I MADE MY acting debut with Jack’s family the next day at the hospital.

By accident.

But first, we had to sneak him in.

His mother had a VIP room where Jack could wait during her surgery, so the day should have been easy.

The plan was to get him to the room unnoticed—early, by six that morning—so he could see his mom before they wheeled her out. Then he’d wait there until the surgery was over, while Doghouse and I monitored the hospital halls and the rest of the team snuck out to the Stapletons’ ranch to install a few secret security cameras. Things on our end were simple. All Jack had to do was stay in that room.

“You can’t leave the room,” I explained on the drive over.

“At all?”

“Just stay in the room. It’s not hard.”

“Isn’t that a little much?” Jack asked.

“If you’d read the handout—” I started.

“I’m not a handouts guy.”

“This is a high-threat situation,” I went on. “There are multiple opportunities for you to be seen, recognized, photographed—”

“I get it.”

“Once you’re seen here, everything gets harder. So just do what you’re told.”

“Got it,” Jack said. Then he added, “You should know I’m already good at this, though.”

I looked over.

He said, “I bet the oil guys you usually protect aren’t used to hiding. But I’ve been making myself invisible for years.”

“That can’t be easy,” I said. “Being you.”

“There are tricks. Baseball caps are surprisingly effective. Glasses seem to break up people’s pattern-matching. Not making eye contact helps, too. If you don’t look at people, they tend not to look at you. Though the big thing is to just keep moving. Just keep going. As soon as you break stride, they see you.”

“You do know more than my average oil executive,” I said, letting my voice sound impressed.

“See? And I didn’t even read the handout.”

I glanced over at him. He was doing it all: the baseball cap, and the glasses, plus a gray button-down. But even trying to look as unremarkable as possible, he still just … glowed.