The Bodyguard: Romance Short Story Read online

  She shook her head. It wasn’t a lie, because he should not know anything about her failed escape attempt. “Mr. Sinclair, I can’t force you to accept the job,” her father continued.

  A short nod was the only answer he received.

  “But I would like to ask you to try this with my daughter for at least three days. I am asking you for that one favor. If you decide, after three days, to accept the job as Abby’s bodyguard after all, I will give you a hefty bonus.”

  When he said those words, Abby knew that her father had made a mistake. A man like Jack Sinclair wasn’t for sale, even when he was standing in front of a high-ranking politician who was offering him a chance at a new beginning.

  Jack looked at Simon Beauchamp coldly. “Maybe we should just ask your daughter what she wants. What do you think, sir?” His tone was polite, but determined. Both pairs of eyes, one brown and one blue, stared at her.

  “I have already told you that I don’t need a sitter,” she answered firmly. “However, I must admit that the letters make me uneasy. Therefore, I would be more than thankful if you would accept my father’s proposition. Give me a chance.” Abigail heard how stiff and hurt her words sounded, and hoped with her whole heart that he could hear the message in her statement. The only thing she wanted was the chance to talk with him about the night of the assault.

  Just as she was about to give up hoping for an answer, Jack Sinclair spoke up. “Three days. Then we’ll see.” Ignoring her father’s triumphant smile, she held out her hand towards him one more time, and this time he took it.

  Chapter 2

  Two Birds with One Stone

  While Jack Sinclair was getting his belongings, so he could move in for three days, Abigail paced nervously back and forth in her room. Where should she start? She went through several scenarios in her head, but rejected each one of them as inadequate. She looked at her watch every half hour. When he still hadn’t returned after two hours, she sat down at her desk and opened her email account.

  Before that fatal night, Abigail had studied journalism and had received an internship at a newspaper. She had loved her job, maybe because she had gotten it due to her achievements alone, and not through her father’s influence. She had written an article about local events under her mother’s maiden name. When the situation had … worsened, and she hardly ever wanted to leave the house anymore, she had gotten a steady job with the newspaper. For a long time, her work as an advice columnist had been the only thing that had connected Abigail to the outside world. Her situation, as she called it – her psychologist had many proper names for her fear that she pushed out of her brain – made her sympathetic to other people’s concerns.

  Every time the chief editor forwarded an email to her that started with “Dear Abby,” she felt useful. A violent husband, a child who wanted to drop out of school, or whose parents refused to accept his Coming Out: these were all people whom she maybe, or maybe not, could help. She was well aware of the fact that she was able to, well, avoid her own problem this way. But what did it matter if she at least felt a little better doing it?

  She was answering an email from a furious young woman, whose ex-boyfriend had left her in order to find himself a monastery, when the doorbell rang. She shut her laptop quickly and practically flew down the stairs. When she was a few feet from the door, she braked, took a deep breath, and ran her fingers through her hair. One look in the coatroom mirror told her that her cheeks were very red and her eyes were a little too shiny. There was nothing she could do about it now, just like she couldn’t do anything about the pounding of her heart. She inhaled again and implored her hands to not tremble too much. Then she opened the door.

  Jack Sinclair stood in front of her, with a small travel bag in his hand. His only greeting was a curt nod. Abby’s heart was knocking in her chest and everything she had thought of earlier disappeared into thin air. They stood silent in the doorway, staring at each other. Then they both started to speak at the same time. “We need to talk,” Abby said.

  “Show me where I should put my things,” he said.

  Then, after a short pause: “We absolutely do not need to talk. You decided to let me pay for the whole mess, and that’s what I did. That’s it. There is nothing we need to talk about.”

  “Jack, please…,” in the face of his cold look, Abigail flinched. “Mr. Sinclair, please. There is not a day that goes by when I am not sorry that I deserted you back then. I would at least like to try to make it up to you.”

  “Well, your father has taken over that part. Is this stupid idea on your – I’m sorry. This fantastic idea of making it up to me, does it include me following you around, accompanying you when you go shopping, so Daddy’s sweetheart can feel better?”

  Abigail was speechless for a few seconds, and inside her, anger and shame were fighting for the upper hand. “No, this was definitely not my idea. I didn’t even know who you were before my father hired you. And if you are so against this whole thing, you could have declined the offer.”

  Jack Sinclair snorted and let all of his contempt show in his voice. “You bet, princess. First I go to jail because of you, because one of the four guys died on the way to the hospital, and nobody could, or wanted, to testify that it was self-defense. And now you’re trying to tell me that you didn’t see anything about the whole mess in the media. Very believable, I have to say.” His blue eyes were as cold as ice, as he carried on. There wasn’t the slightest spark of warmth in his voice. “As if I had had a choice. Do you think many doors would open for a former soldier, who had been trained to kill, and who killed a civilian in a brawl in a parking lot? And then,” his voice was dangerously low, “you give me that tear-jerk story with the stupid anonymous letters. You probably wrote them yourself to make yourself interesting. I don’t believe a single word you have said. And that is the last thing I have to say on the subject.” He stood in front of her, travel bag on the floor, his strong, tanned arms crossed in front of him.

  The color had drained from Abigail’s face. Jack Sinclair had hurt one of the attackers so badly that he had died. Because of her, he now had a record. The time he had spent in jail must have been absolute hell. She started shaking all over, but her head was remarkably clear. She reached for her car keys that were on the table next to the front door, dropped them and picked them back up. “Let’s go,” she said and heard how weak her voice sounded. “We’ll go straight to the police and clear this up. I had no idea what happened back then. You have to believe me. But,” she inhaled deeply, “I will make it up to you.”

  A flash of curiosity flew over his face and disappeared again.

  “Sure, of course they will believe you when you, my employer’s daughter, show up and speak up for me. As I said – let’s forget the whole thing.” He pushed her to the side. “If you will please show me to my room…”

  Abby had no choice. Instead of taking him to the former gardener’s house, she led him to the guest room, which was on the first floor, just like her own bedroom. The room was not particularly large, but it had a window with a view of the garden, and was comfortably furnished. Jack threw his bag on the bed and didn’t give his surroundings another look. “What are your plans for the day? Where may I accompany you to?”

  “Damn it, stop doing that!” Abby spat out. I am not a little dog who needs to be taken for a walk, so please speak to me normally. I have an anxiety disorder, but am not feeble minded.”

  He pulled his lips into a short smile before looking at her in earnest for the first time. It wasn’t the same look with which he had encircled her back then after the assault, just like he had with his arms, but Abigail thought she detected a trace of warmth in it. No sympathy, she thought, and was relieved. She was sick and tired of the pitying looks and supposed encouraging remarks from the few people who knew about her anxiety disorder.

  “Tell me more about the letters. Did you really know nothing about them?”

  Abby shook her head so vehemently, that a few strands of hai
r came loose from the tight knot. Annoyed, she reached back and pulled out the hairband, and her red hair fell down to her shoulders. “I heard about them for the first time when my father pulled them out of that drawer. He thinks he needs to keep everything from me, just because I am afraid to go outside.”

  “And? Isn’t that the right thing to do?” Jack Sinclair went down the steps next to her. He looked like he had to work hard to keep his long legs from taking two steps at a time. Abby went ahead into her father’s office. Thank God he would be out until tonight, on party business, so she could talk with Jack without being disturbed.

  “No,” she answered coolly, and stopped to wait for Jack. He acted so calm, as if he had all the time in the world, and some of the peace that he radiated started to rub off on her. “Quite the opposite. My father just makes my anxiety worse with how he acts, but even my psychologist was not able to explain this to him.” She smiled when she remembered the conversation between the two men. Her father would never take a man seriously who looked like an absentminded professor. “I don’t know whom the letters are from, and I have no explanation.” She took a deep breath. “My first thought was that you were behind it.” She looked at him openly. “When I heard that your release from jail coincided with the arrival of the first letter, I couldn’t help but come to that conclusion.” She shrugged apologetically, and brushed against his arm in doing so. He really was very tall. She noticed it now, especially, because they were standing right next to each other.

  Was that an appreciative grin on his face? “You are not dumb,” he remarked. Although Abigail was annoyed with his patronizing tone, she couldn’t help but feel a spark of happiness.

  She liked him, she thought. Not just the man who had helped her, but the changed Jack Sinclair. He was more rough around the edges, and seemed more watchful, but she could feel the same intensity underneath the surface that she had back then.

  “Not dumb, huh?” She put on a fake pouty face. “I am going to assume that you are not the author of those letters. That might prove to be naïve, but I prefer to listen to my gut.”

  “Can you think of anyone who might have a grudge against you?”

  Abigail had gotten the copies out and looked through them quickly. She told him no and stared at the single letters that joined together to form a hate-filled sentence. The acrid malice in the writing seemed to be taken away by his presence, his nearness. Maybe her father had been right after all, and she needed someone who made her feel safe, at least for a little while. Was Jack Sinclair that someone? Abigail looked at him. He moved like a man who knew how strong he was, and he radiated a power that went beyond just the physical. Indeed, she felt almost drawn to him. Even while she was absorbing that knowledge with astonishment, she realized that it had been that way from the moment he first took her in his arms. And the feeling had been with her ever since.

  She felt Jack’s searching look on her face. She blushed, and with considerable effort, returned to the present. “I have absolutely no idea who could be behind this. It must be someone who has something against my father and thinks he can get to him through me.” Her voice sounded husky. She cleared her throat.

  “What makes me suspicious is that the person who wrote these letters waited until I had been let out of the slammer. In my eyes, that means that someone has it out for me and you, and thinks he can kill two birds with one stone.” Jack ran his hand over his chin.

  Even though his tone was neutral, Abigail could feel pain and anger behind it.

  Without making a conscious decision, she took a step towards him and put her hand on his chest. His heartbeat was regular and strong, very different than her own, which usually fluttered like a bird trapped in a cage. Abigail could feel his muscles move as he stepped towards her, as well, without breaking contact. Suddenly, his hand was on her cheek, tender and hot, and his thumb brushed over her lower lip, exploring. Abigail could feel the callouses on his palms. The rough tip of his thumb made her every nerve burn, and in a split second, the fire had spread to her entire body.

  Abigail looked into his face. She saw the same flames she was feeling inside her mirrored in his eyes. And then the impossible happened.

  Jack kissed her. And she kissed him.

  No, it was more than that. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and his hands were on her behind, pulling her against his hips. He tasted so good! And his kiss... it was everything you could ever want from a kiss. Passionate, tender and arousing. His tongue brushed her lips and sent a wave of lust through her body. Her kiss wasn’t leaving him cold, either. Abigail could feel his erection through the fabric.

  And then it was over. He let her go, stepped back and stared at her as if she had let him down, just like in the parking lot.

  Tears welled up in her eyes, and she started to say something, a meaningless apology or an attempt to explain it to him. Jack waved his hand impatiently and she shut her mouth again.

  His eyes flashed at her and suddenly, the anger had returned. Abigail spoke up quickly, before he could say something that would hurt her. “I am sorry. Please forget what just happened.”

  Jack gave her an unreadable look, but shrugged. In a matter of seconds, he had returned to his usual aloofness.

  “What can we do to find the author of the letters? Wait for the next dispatch?” The contrast between the heat inside her and her cold words was almost painful.

  “I would prefer to handle it differently. For almost five years, I did nothing but wait.” Thinking, he paced back and forth in the office. “There has to be another way.” Jack stopped and ran his hand through his short hair. She remembered it being longer, but the short length probably had something to do with his stay in jail. Everything inside Abigail churned. Her guilt seemed like it was collecting in her throat and made itself known in the form of bile.

  “We need to clear one thing up,” Jack interrupted her thoughts. “Tell me honestly: Why didn’t you come forward when I needed you?”

  Abigail sank into one of the hard visitor’s chairs that stood in front of the massive desk. “That is a complicated story. You want to talk about it, after all?” A wave of shaking snuck into her voice.

  “It has nothing to do with want,” Jack fended her off, frowning. “But since I am fairly certain that both of us are the target, and I do not feel the need, at all, to go back to jail, we need to work together. Make a plan, if you want.” His blue eyes rested on her face, as if he were trying to look behind the mask that she was wearing, once again. Abby sighed, tired.

  “My mother had recently passed away,” she began and gulped. All of it hurt so very much. “I felt like I had to get out of this gilded cage. My father buried himself in his work, and for him, I was nothing more than my mother’s replacement. No, not in the way you think,” she exclaimed with a firm voice. “My father never touched me. He just needed someone who could accompany him to official events. At some point… I felt like I was suffocating. I just had to get out. On that evening, I was at the Golden Tiger Inn, as you know.” Abigail closed her eyes, and continued. “My ex was there and was passing a joint around. I had been drinking. Finally, I gave in and took a few drags. Then I just wanted to go home.” The dismay on his face would have been funny, if the situation hadn’t been so tense. “Yes, I know smoking a joint is not a trivial offense. Sadness and loneliness are no excuse. When the guy attacked me in the parking lot and you saved me, at first, I thought everything would be fine. But I called the police, like you told me. Then those guys showed up, and I panicked.” Now the tears were running down her face for real. “The police would have taken me with them to the station, and would have surely tested me for drugs. Can you imagine, Jack, what that would have meant for my dad?” She wiped away the tears with her hand without worrying about her make-up. Calling him by his first name seemed completely normal now. Formal titles had no place when she was telling him things she had never told anyone before and had been carrying around inside her for five years.

  “I just to
ok off. I thought the police would arrive soon, and nothing would happen to you. I stayed home for the next few days and hid. I didn’t want to hear or see anything. And at some point… the panic attacks started, and after that, I couldn’t leave the house anymore. I really had no idea that you were in serious trouble and needed me.”

  Jack was sitting in the other chair across from her. During her confession, he had looked at the floor, weaving his hands in a complicated knot until his knuckles were white. His face was as pale as hers must have been, and he looked as if he had seen a ghost. “What would you have done if you had known, Abby?” he asked, calling her by her first name now, too. His bright eyes found hers, and held her gaze. “Would you have gone to the police?”

  Abigail swallowed. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I hope I would have. Back then, I was not someone who ran away from her problems. Today,” her voice was so soft that Jack had to lean forward to understand her, “things are a little different.”

  The silence between them hung in the air.

  Then Jack stood up and held out his hand to her.

  Abigail, who felt as plump and heavy as a bag of cement, felt him pull her up. “Then let’s figure out a way to put a stop to the bastard’s game. It’s time for us to kill two birds with one stone.”

  Chapter 3

  Blood, Sweat and Tears

  The next three days were some of the hardest Abigail had ever experienced. Jack forced her gently, but insistently, to go outside with him. There were definitely moments when she almost hated him. Only almost, because even though he put a lot of pressure on her, he was surprisingly gentle. When Abigail got dizzy when faced with the masses of people in the shopping mall, and she thought her chest would explode, he reached for her hand. They sat down on a bench, and he started analyzing all of the people walking by for her. His insight was surprising, and after a half hour at the most, her pulse had calmed to the point that they could walk on.