Bodyguard Lockdown(8)

And he remembered the last time he’d seen Sandra exhausted.

Trygg’s trial.

Weeks of waiting. Days of testimony. Her humiliation over her gullibility. Her guilt over the deaths.

Still, Sandra sat in the courtroom, chin out, back rigid, her brown eyes wide but leveled. She bared her soul to condemn Trygg’s.

When Cain MacAlister insisted she enter witness protection, she refused. But Booker wasn’t surprised. Being a doctor meant everything to her. She wouldn’t walk away from it or her family for any reason.

“How far are we out?” Her eyes slowly opened, heavy with sleep.

“Less than twenty miles.”

She scooted upright and stretched her shoulders. Her hair tumbled in soft waves around her shoulders. With a careless hand, she pushed it back.

“And then?”

“I take you back to the palace,” Booker stated. “Jarek has guards that have been loyal to him through the years. I’ll make sure he assigns several to you.”

“And my family?”

“If we need to.”

“Trygg wants my formula, Booker,” Sandra said almost sadly. “He wants CIRCADIAN. And he won’t let anyone stop him from getting it.”

“I thought the government destroyed everything related to project CIRCADIAN. Including the formula and research notes.”

“I took four cylinders of the serum before I turned in Trygg.” Sandra sighed. She rubbed the knot of tension from the back of her neck, felt a spot of dried blood at the hairline. From her skirmish at the airport, she was sure. “I hid them in the mountain near Tourlay for safekeeping.”

For a moment Booker said nothing, but the muscle on his jaw worked overtime. “This is the real reason you left me, isn’t it? To protect your serum.”

Sandra stiffened against the sting of his words. “That’s not true.”

“Think about it,” Booker replied. “I’ve always said I trusted you. But you decided that once your secret was out, I really wouldn’t trust you. And I’d be the one to walk away. So you walked first.”

Something in his words hit a chord deep within her. Was he right? Was it her defense mechanism against Booker?

She shook her head, pushing the thought away. “I was protecting my research.”

“You were protecting a biochemical weapon.”

“It isn’t a weapon,” she argued. “I took the serum because my research wasn’t completed. I hadn’t found the solution to advance a subject’s healing.”

“You can’t bring my men back, Doc.”

“But I might have been able to save others, if I’d been able to complete my research,” she stated. “I couldn’t tell you any of this, Booker, not without involving you further.”

When he raised an eyebrow, she crossed her arms. “It’s the truth, damn it.”

“Well, I’m involved now.” Booker’s jaw tightened. “Trygg released one cylinder on my men. What would he do with four?”

“Two is enough to take out a small country.”

“Like Taer.”

“Yes.”

“Given the opportunity, you think Trygg will destroy your country for revenge?”

“You know he will.”

“Yes,” Booker admitted, then swore. “Trygg is strictly about the bottom line, but it’s driven by ego. Everything he does moves him closer to one end.”

“The Super Soldier,” Sandra acknowledged.

“With an army like that, he can win any war. Does he know about the four cylinders?”

“I didn’t think so. But now I’m not so sure,” she admitted. “That’s why we need to get them.”

“And destroy them,” Booker added.

“Yes,” she agreed, for the moment. She needed time to really think that step through before deciding.

Booker parked the car in front of a small hutted mercantile. His eyes scanned the perimeter, focused on the people moving about.

Women mostly, some watching their children play. Others napping with the smaller ones under makeshift lean-tos.

He took out his pistol, checked the clip. “I want you to stay in the car, Doc. Until I’m sure it’s safe.”

“No,” Sandra answered, more worried about the anger set in his granite features than her own safety. Booker might have spent most of his career walking into hostile situations, but she refused to believe these people were hostile.

“I’ve traveled here on my own.” She shoved the door open. The air was thin and brittle with the heat. It sucked what little moisture she had from her pores. “These people are mostly women and children. They have nothing to do with Trygg.”

“More friends of yours?”

“Look, McKnight. I’m tired, I’m hungry and I have a full bladder,” she said defensively. They’d driven all morning, only taking a break to relieve themselves. “You do not want to mess with me right now.”

He caught her hand before she stepped out of the car. Sandra’s chest tightened. His fingers interlocked with hers, squeezing gently.

She’d forgotten how it felt, the intimacy, the simple slide of skin on skin. Without thinking, she gripped his hand back.

“This is not a game, Doc,” Booker reminded her.

Maybe it was the low and even tone of his voice, the touch of his fingers, the fact he tilted her chin up until their eyes locked.



The familiarity of all three.

“Considering what I’ve been living with these past six years, I’m more aware of that than you might think,” Sandra pointed out softly.

“You’re not the only one who has been living with it,” Booker murmured, but his fingers tightened on hers to soften the reminder.

Sadness swept over her. “I know.” She breathed out the words. “And I am sorry.”



Something broke loose inside her, something she’d held back for almost a year.

“You protect. I heal, Booker.” She touched a finger to the lock of hair on his forehead. Then brushed it back, testing his limits. “Let me try to do my job.”

When he didn’t move, she leaned in, then up until their lips almost touched. “Maybe I’ll heal us both in the process,” she whispered.

With a groan, he pulled her to him. His mouth covered hers, just as she wanted, just as she remembered.

Desire tumbled free, caught between them, pushed and pulled by longing, need...months of loneliness.

He took, she gave, until the air thickened, the edges of reality blurred.

She’d missed him. Missed this. His arms tightened, drawing her into his lap as if he missed her, too.

Suddenly, Booker broke away, his gun raised behind her back, pointed at the window. “That’s a good way to get shot, Sabra.”

Sandra jerked around, her heart in overdrive, until realization hit.

Booker hadn’t missed her. He’d been protecting her.

Her heart jerked, just a bit.

She shouldn’t have been surprised. Or disappointed.

But she was. On both counts.

A man stood outside the car, his own gun slowly lowering.

“So is kissing a woman in the middle of nowhere.” He stepped back, his gait hindered by a severe limp.

Sandra noted the light brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, the cold black eyes that scanned the horizon behind them, before they rested back on Booker.

“You look like hell, McKnight,” the man commented when they stepped out of the car.



Sandra leaned back through the door, and grabbed her medical bag.

“Aaron Sabra,” Booker cut in. “Doctor Sandra Haddad.”

“Mr. Sabra.”

He noticed she didn’t offer her hand and smiled. “Aaron works, Doc.”

“Doctor Haddad,” Booker corrected. Sandra raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Aaron paused, then nodded once. But his smile widened. “This way, Doctor Haddad.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you properly,” Aaron said when Sandra and Booker joined him. They walked toward the far side of the village. “You’ve quite a reputation in this part of the country, Doctor.”

Surprised, she glanced up at him. “Reputation?”

“Delivering medical supplies, clothes and food to some of the smaller villages. Of course, you’re using the Al Asheera, who are my competitors. For the supplies that aren’t quite available through more legitimate distributors, I mean.”

She ignored Booker’s scowl. “You deal in the black market?”

“Among other things,” Aaron mused. He led them into a nearby building. The only one, Sandra noted, that had four solid walls and an actual roof.

“It isn’t much, but it’s home.”

It was a sparsely furnished room, no more than ten feet square. A battered desk and chair at one end, a cot at the other. A table and three more chairs in the middle.