Bodyguard Lockdown(9)

Aaron sat down behind his desk and lifted his leg up on a nearby stool.

“I don’t have much to offer except maybe some lukewarm coffee.” He nodded to a potbellied stove in the corner. On its burner sat a blackened teakettle. “You are welcome to it and whatever else I have at hand.”

He gestured to the small wooden table nearby. Some sweetened bread, fruit and cheese filled two plates.

Sandra’s stomach growled. She sat in one of the straight-back chairs and sliced a thick piece of the bread, then offered it to Booker.

He shook his head.

“Maybe the doctor would like a change of clothes and somewhere to wash up?” Aaron commented.

“I might.” Sandra took a bite of the bread, enjoying the traditional spicy sweetness, even as her eyes remained on the two men. “After I hear how you two know each other.”

“Aaron worked at the drilling site for a while,” Booker admitted.

“Until I hurt my leg in a rigging accident,” Aaron commented. “And realized I preferred desert living to drilling. So I got into supply and demand. Booker and I exchange favors from time to time.”

“A necessary relationship. But not always a trusting one,” Booker quipped.

Aaron leaned back in his chair, a small smile on his lips, one that didn’t quite reach the black of his eyes. “Almost like the two of you, I suspect.”

“I doubt it,” Sandra scoffed, then remembered the shared kiss in the car. She stood, suddenly needing time alone to think things through. She’d let them hash out the car situation. “Would you have any clean clothes I could add to his tab of favors?”

“Of course,” Aaron replied, a grin on his face. “Any friend of Booker’s...”





Chapter Five



Aaron found a change of clothes for both Sandra and Booker.

The men stepped outside the mercantile to give her privacy. Without warning, Booker shoved Aaron back against the wall and gripped his throat.

“I want to know how you found out about Trygg’s plan to kidnap the doc.”

“I hear things,” Aaron gasped, but he didn’t move. “It goes with my occupation. A friend of a friend of a friend. Someone overhearing a conversation. Sometimes, even as pillow talk.”

Booker’s grip tightened. “Who told you?”

“One of the mercenaries who took her.”

“Why tell me?”

“You think I’d stand by while Trygg kills innocents?” Aaron snapped back. “Killing women and children is not my style. And that goes for your woman. I didn’t lie when I said she’s got a lot of support from the locals around here. She helped a lot of people, McKnight. Most who’d given up hope for a better life. Any kind of life.”

Booker studied his face, then slowly released his grip and stepped back. “She isn’t my woman.”

“Sure, she isn’t. And this isn’t a windpipe you almost crushed.” Aaron rubbed his throat for a moment. “Number-one rule. Don’t make it personal.”



“Like you haven’t?” He glanced around. “Seems to me, the doc isn’t the only one providing shelter and food around here.”

Aaron reached into his shirt pocket, withdrew a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He flipped the lighter open, held the cigarette to the flame, then snapped it shut.

“I met Trygg once in Leavenworth while doing my time, right after he’d been incarcerated,” Aaron acknowledged, then took a long drag on the cigarette. “Trygg isn’t a sane man. And those following him are fanatically loyal.”

“Sometimes it’s loyalty.” Booker turned on his heel and headed for the well in the middle of the settlement. “And sometimes it just takes putting the right amount of money in the right hands.”

Aaron fell into step beside him, blew out a stream of smoke. “Like I said, you are too close to the situation. It has become too personal, my friend.”

“I’m not your friend,” Booker answered, his words clipped. He hung a clean shirt—an army issued khaki T-shirt—over the well wall and pulled up the bucket from the water.

“And it was never anything but personal.”

“You know what I think?” Booker pulled his shirt off and dropped it to the ground. “Maybe you need to find a hobby.”

“Or maybe I should fall in love with a woman,” Aaron argued, then grinned. Booker hesitated for a split second, enough for Aaron to know his insinuation hit its mark.

“She’s a means to an end.” Booker splashed the cool water on his face, scratched the whiskers that scraped against his palm. “I had little choice.”

Booker splashed more water on his chest and armpits.

“I don’t blame you. She’s smart. Beautiful. And rich.”

Booker grabbed his clean shirt, dried off with it, then put it on. “You keep going and you’ll have two limps to deal with, Sabra.”

“Love makes things complicated, doesn’t it?” Aaron mused, staring at the tip of his cigarette.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You are in love with the woman who might be responsible for your wife, Emily’s, death.”

Booker faced Aaron, his hands fisted. “How the hell did you get ahold of that information?”

“All it takes is putting the right amount of money in the right hands.” Aaron repeated Booker’s earlier words, his features sharpening. “She doesn’t know, does she?”

“No.” Booker’s eyes narrowed. “And if she finds out—”

“Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. Over the last few months, I’ve grown found of Dr. Haddad and what she’s done for the desert people. Enough that I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news.”

“Booker!”

Sandra stepped from the doorway. The sun caught her hair, deepened the black until it shimmered. With quick fingers, she twisted her hair up and secured it in a loose bun. Then wrapped a white linen scarf around her head and neck for protection.

“Men’s clothing never looked so good on a woman, has it?” Aaron said.

The light cotton pants and shirt were man-sized. A small man, Booker realized, noting that the clothes fit snug over the hips, and stretched across her derriere.

He clenched his jaw, just for a moment, remembering how his fingers cupped the round curves earlier in the car. His body tightened with need—and frustration.

She made her way to the nearest horse trough. Once there, she adjusted the medical bag back farther on her shoulder, leaned over and washed her hands.

“Doctor Sandra!” Suddenly, a group of children ran toward her. Their mothers followed. Within moments, Sandra was surrounded by many of the villagers. Some hugging her, others showing her an injury or talking rapidly in an attempt to explain—what, Booker didn’t know.

It appeared most just wanted to wish her a warm welcome. Sandra hugged the women, then knelt down and hugged the smaller children. The boys and girls too old to hug, she would tug on a lock of hair beneath a scarf or pat them on the head.

“I told you, she is loved by these people whom Taer and its king have forgotten.”

“Do you think he has really forgotten? Or just remembers differently?” Booker asked. He had to admit, he’d never seen Sandra so happy.

It seemed to him that when she could not find her place among her own family, she found another out in the desert.

Sandra broke away from the crowd and waved to Booker. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I want to use the outhouse.”



“No,” Aaron shouted before Booker gave his approval.

“Why?” Booker asked, then watched Sandra start toward them instead.

“I’ve got two prisoners locked in there. I was just getting ready to question them when you pulled in.”

* * *

BOOKER SWUNG AROUND, angry. “Prisoners?”

“Two men arrived about an hour ago. They offered quite a lot of money for the capture of Doctor Haddad. And even more for your dead body.”

“How much money?”

“A few million,” Aaron answered, then laughed. “I almost considered claiming the reward when I saw you in the car. But after that kiss...well, I do consider myself a romantic at heart, McKnight.”

Booker grunted. “Sometimes I wonder which side you’re on.”

“Right now?” Aaron’s mouth twitched. “Her side.”

Booker followed the other man’s gaze until his own settled on the doc as she approached.

“Then for right now, we’re on the same side.”

Sandra walked up. “Did I miss something?” She eyed the two men.

“Sabra has two prisoners locked up in the outhouse,” Booker said. “They might work for Trygg.”