Billionaire Bodyguard Page 15

  “You broke your vows, wife .”

  Oh, God . She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

  “I warned you not to do that.”

  A slip of air wheezed from her lungs. “Trevor.”

  Forcing herself to turn, she didn’t dare leave her back to him. He stood several yards away, dressed in black. The brim of his baseball cap cast the top half of his face in shadow, but nothing muted the razor-sharp glint in his dark eyes. Those malevolent orbs had haunted her through countless nightmares. He hadn’t changed.

  Strong jaw cleanly shaven, narrow chin, harsh cheekbones, even harsher eyes. No trace of a smile. It had always shocked her, once she learned the type of man he really was, that other women found him handsome. Then again, so had she, once. He might’ve been any intriguing guy a girl ran into at a bar. Five-foot-nine, cloaked in an edgy aura, hips slanted in an arrogant stance. He could outmuscle most guys in a room, and wore tight shirts to display it. But then, given time, the packaging fell away to reveal a mind fractured and demented by too much violence, too much blood, too much hate. A soulless need to dominate. And a heart cold enough to freeze hell.

  She shivered uncontrollably.

  “Did you expect me to stand here with open arms?” he snarled. “Beg for you?”

  “No,” she croaked.

  “You owe me.” He thumped his chest. “You’re the one who should be on your knees, praying I take you back.” He shook his head. “After all the chances I’ve given you.”

  Always, he turned it back on her. “I left you, Trevor.”

  “You weren’t thinking straight.”

  “I’ve had more clarity in the four years without you than the four we were together.”

  “Liar.” The hateful bark made her flinch. “I told you never to lie to me. That was always your worst flaw. You underestimate my training. I know when people speak the truth. I should’ve done to you what I do to those who double-cross me.”

  “I’m not crossing you. You’re the one who stalked me .” Anger tangled with terror inside.

  His eyes narrowed to knife-slits. “You are my wife. I have every right to you.”

  “Wrong.” The vehemence in her tone seemed to shock him. But these words had been building up for too long, a suppressed volcano ready to spew molten wrath. “I am not a paper doll you cut away until I fit your sick mold. I think for myself. I make my own choices. I don’t need you for anything.”

  She watched his rage build like a Jenga game, piece layering upon piece until the structure teetered at the edge of destruction. Once, she would’ve stumbled on her words, cowering before him, ready to do anything to subdue his rage. Now, she was a match for him, in every way except physically.

  “You’ve changed.” He cocked his head, as if recalculating a complex equation.

  “This is who I was meant to be, Trevor. I’m free of your screwed up ideal of what I’m supposed to do to make you happy. You have no claim to me. You never will.”

  His features contorted with disgust. “Is this some twisted game? You know I hate games, Allie.”

  “Don’t call me that. This is not a game. It’s my life. I don’t care what you think or believe. You can’t control me.”

  “No?” His hands flexed, knuckles cracking.

  Old instincts battered her defenses, begging her to curl up in a ball and plead for mercy. She refused.

  Her glance darted to the nearest security camera, barely within range. She backed toward the closest pool of fluorescent light. Would someone see them? Hundreds of cameras spanned the Stone Security building and exterior. Logan’s staff couldn’t monitor every single one every second. The bleak thought induced panic. Would anyone know she was in danger?

  Trevor laughed, a low raking sound. He advanced as she retreated. “You think your lover will save you?”

  “Yes, he would. But I don’t need him to. I can save myself.”

  “He’s not the man you need.”

  “He’s the man I want. That’s all that matters.”

  “I’ll remind you what matters.”

  Quick as a lightning strike, he was on her. His hand clutched her throat. She choked, spluttered. Maternal instinct raged through her flailing body. She fought him like a wildcat. Clawing, shrieking, desperate to protect and defend her baby.

  Then Trevor gripped the back of her neck, a move he’d used before from his Black Ops training. He inflicted pressure just right to send shooting pain down her spinal cord.

  “Stop,” she cried. “Trevor, stop!” She twitched, limp, in agony.

  “Give me one good reason.” Spit flew from his curled lips.

  “Baby,” she gasped. “Don’t hurt my baby.”

  “What?” he roared. He released her with a shove as if she’d infected him with an incurable disease. “What the hell did you say?”

  Wheezing, she stumbled back. “I’m pregnant.”

  If she had any hope of unearthing an ounce of compassion in Trevor, it dissolved in the next instant. His fist was the last thing she saw before her skull exploded. A sickening crunch was her arm shielding her abdomen as she hit the ground. She cried out in pain.

  The stench of oil-stained concrete made her sick. Black unconsciousness pulled her down like a tidal undertow she fought with all her might. Her lungs refused to take in air.

  “You stupid whore.” Trevor railed above her. “That baby should be mine.”

  The bang of a door echoed through the cement cavern. A gun cocked. A shot fired. Then car tires squealed. A white blur sped away. Burning rubber singed her nostrils. She dry-heaved.

  An unfamiliar face bent over her. “You’re okay, Allison.” The man picked her up and carried her toward the building. “Stay with me,” he instructed. “Breathe. Slow, easy. In and out. The worst is over.”

  “Who—?” She chocked on a fit of coughing.

  “I’m your bodyguard when Logan isn’t around. If anything happens to you, the boss will kill me,” he muttered. “But I know you’re strong. Everything’s fine now… You’re safe…”

  His soothing voice faded to muted tones. She stopped fighting and surrendered to the darkness.

  CHAPTER 10

  She had no idea how long she’d been out.

  Upon waking, Allison winced at the pain hammering in her skull. Her body ached. Her wrist was too heavy to move. Her cheek throbbed hotly, swollen.

  Steady beeps and the smell of antiseptic told her where she was. Harsh fluorescent lights singed her pupils as she forced her eyes open.

  The first thing she needed to know: Is the baby okay?

  Frantically, she traced the small swell of her abdomen. She struggled up to sitting, releasing a groan. A man in a dark suit stood in the hallway with his back to her, arms crossed, guarding the door.

  “Help,” she whimpered.

  He glanced over his shoulder. She recognized his face as the one that had hovered above her as he’d carried her away from danger. His eyes widened, seeing her awake, then he moved swiftly down the hall. He murmured in low tones. Logan rushed into the room. He was at her bed in three strides.

  Torment tightened his features. He brushed her hair back, half-sitting on the hospital bed. His thumb smoothed her unmarred cheek. “How do you feel?”

  “The baby.” She fisted her hand in his shirt. “Am I still…? Is everything—”

  “Okay. So far.” He kissed her forehead. “The nurse did an ultrasound. Dr. Murray came by to check on things. They said the baby is fine.”

  She collapsed against him. “Oh, thank God.”

  “My words exactly.” He gathered her in his arms. “You took the brunt of it, baby doll. You’ve suffered a sprained wrist and a concussion.”

  She stiffened. “Where is Trevor?”

  “Out of the state, if he has any self-preservation in him,” Logan growled.

  “I doubt it.” She started trembling. “No one stands in the way of what he wants.”

  “He’s never met me.” Logan’s muscles tensed, b
ut he checked his anger.

  She thanked him silently. She doubted she could tolerate another fit of rage.

  “I should’ve been there.” Angst coated his words. “I’m sorry, Allison.”

  She shook her head. “Trevor planned this, waiting for the right conditions. He knew I was parked far from intervention. He chose a time when no one was around. He caught me by surprise.” She made a frustrated sound. “I should’ve been prepared. I should’ve known he’d—”

  “Stop right there.” He cupped her face. “This is not your fault.”

  Tears threatened. “I know better than to let my guard down. I should’ve been more careful.”

  “Allison, if anyone’s to blame, it’s me.”

  The tortured look in his eyes made her heart throb with compassion. “No, Trevor’s the one who needs to accept responsibility.”

  “That’s likely,” he bit out. “God, I wish I’d been there. I would’ve flattened him.”

  “I know.” She curved her hand around his strong bicep, wishing he could hold her forever. But if they had any hope of catching Trevor, they needed to act fast. “What about the police? Do they have any leads?”

  “Not yet.” He released an agitated sigh. “There’s an officer in the hall, waiting to take your statement. Are you up for it? Because I can tell him to come back later—”

  “I’ll talk to him.”

  “You sure?” The concern in his expression touched her.

  She nodded.

  Logan paced, fists clenched, as she recounted to Officer Pratt the traumatic reunion with Trevor. When she finished, the officer flipped his notebook shut. He looked like he’d swallowed a razor. “Guy’s a freaking piece of work.”

  Stepping forward, Logan looked ashen but resolute. “If he comes near her again, will I be held responsible for my actions?”

  The officer arched an eyebrow. “I’ll pretend you didn’t ask that, so your self-defense plea will hold up better in court.”

  “Logan,” she chided.

  “What?”

  “Don’t. Please. If Trevor comes back, let the police handle it.”

  Logan’s jaw tightened. “No one lays a hand on my woman and walks away.”

  “Trevor’s probably thinking the same thing,” Allison murmured.

  Logan’s nostrils flared. “If that bastard so much as—”

  The officer cleared his throat noisily. “I’ll head back to the station and plug your info into our system. We have plenty to hold him on, until the FBI gets here. They’ll make sure he goes away for a long time.”

  “Not long enough,” Logan muttered. “We’d all be better off if the schmuck was d—”

  The officer coughed an interruption. “I’ll get in touch the second we know something.”

  “Thanks, Pratt.” Logan spoke to the man familiarly.

  “Save it until we have him behind bars.”

  “If you need me to call in any favors—”

  “Take care of your girl, Stone. We’ll handle the rest.” He pointed a stern finger at Logan’s chest. “And don’t go all commando on me, either.”

  Logan’s eyes flashed.

  “I mean it, Stone.”

  After a moment of internal debate, Logan gave a tight nod.

  Allison didn’t quite believe him. He and Trevor were too similar in makeup to let someone else do the dirty work. She hoped the police got to Trevor first, or he might not be the one behind bars when this was through.

  *

  The first two days after the attack, Allison slept. Logan took off work and monitored her vigilantly. He woke her up at intervals for liquid hydration. Unused to being cared for like this, she was grateful for his kindness.

  The third and fourth day, he insisted she stay in bed. He expressed concern about symptoms of her concussion and the baby’s health. He checked her temperature, shined a flashlight into her pupils, pressed ice packs to her cheek, quizzed her constantly about how she felt, and engaged her in deep discussions to ensure her memory was still sharp. Not to mention the frequent foot massages and back rubs. He pampered her like crazy.

  During one of his divine massages, she sighed softly. “Forget security. You missed your calling as a masseuse.”

  He grinned. “Just wait until you get my bill.”

  The weekend drifted by in a lazy, gentle blur. Unfortunately, they received no word from the police regarding Trevor.

  Concern festered inside her like a leaky wound.

  Monday, the week after her incident, Logan still stayed home. Very uncharacteristic. He thrived in an environment of constant stimulus and action. The lack of forward-focus drove him into irritable funks. She urged him to go to the office for a few hours. While his attentiveness was sweet at first, the longer they were cooped up in the house together, the more his attention became smothering. He treated her like an invalid, incapable of feeding herself properly, doing right by her body and the baby. She could barely go to the bathroom without supervision.

  They both suffered from a serious case of cabin fever. Outside snow piled up and temperatures plummeted. He made those his excuses for not leaving her side. She often caught him in unguarded moments, when he wasn’t on the phone for work, pacing with pent-up frustration.

  By Tuesday afternoon, she needed to do something. She clicked off the television, bored to pieces. Despite his thousands of channels there was nothing worth watching.

  She went to the kitchen, snacked a little, and wandered into the foyer. Her gaze lingered longingly on the front door. Fresh air might do wonders. She was beginning to feel restless, trapped. She didn’t dare let those feelings build. She didn’t want her anxiety and claustrophobia to mount a misplaced attack on Logan after he’d been so good to her.

  The sound of heavy weights clanking filtered up from the basement. He worked out for hours to take the edge off. She had no such luxury. He barely let her lift a finger.

  Going to the hall closet, she donned her coat and ventured outside. The crisp air singed her nostrils and filled her lungs.

  Invigorating . She went down the steps and stood marveling at the winter wonderland.

  The bare trees were stark and beautiful against the blue sky. They cast purple shadows across sheets of crusted snow that glittered with blinding intensity. Squirrels scampered busily harvesting their underground reserves. A cardinal flew past and perched on a nearby branch, its scarlet feathers a delightful contrast to the wintry landscape. She inhaled deep and sighed with contentment.

  Until the front door burst open.

  Squirrels scattered and birds took flight. She turned to find Logan glowering. His hair and clothes were damp from exertion, muscles glistening and powerful. “What the hell are you doing?”

  She blinked. “Getting some fresh air.”

  “You shouldn’t be out here.”

  “Why? It’s beautiful.” She smiled.

  He stared at her stonily. “Inside. Now.”

  She rolled her eyes. “What, is an icicle going to get me?”

  He didn’t share her amusement. “You’ll catch a cold or slip on the ice. Or worse.”

  The or worse held weight. “Logan, your security system encompasses your entire property. Deadly icicles or deranged deer or Trevor won’t get within shouting distance.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “Then what is?”

  “You need to be where I can find you. Don’t go outside again.”

  Things declined from there. He became obsessed with her every move. He had an opinion about everything. How much or little she ate. If she sat in the wrong position. If she didn’t sleep well enough through the night. If she stayed on her feet too long.

  “Geez, Logan. Give it a rest. I’m not that fragile,” she told him Wednesday morning. “You can even leave the house. I’ll survive.”

  “I’m not leaving your side. I don’t trust anyone to keep you safe except me.”

  “Trust me when I say, if you give me one more order I’m going to lo
se it.”

  “You could’ve lost your life,” he snapped. “Or the baby. I’m not taking chances.”

  “So your solution is to make us both prisoners in your fortress?”

  “If that’s what it takes.”

  “We can’t keep going on like this,” she lamented. “I need my space.”

  He spread his arms. “I have ten-thousand square feet of space. What more do you want?”

  “To get out. I don’t do well in confined situations.”

  “I don’t like this anymore than you.”

  “Then do something to change it.”

  “Like what?” he roared.

  “Leave me be for one day!”

  “Fine.” He stormed off. He disappeared into his study, returning phone calls the rest of the night.

  Feeling bad about their argument, she decided to make him breakfast Thursday morning. She brewed coffee and cracked eggs into a skillet. Bacon sizzled. Potatoes browned. She smiled when he padded barefoot into the kitchen wearing a navy robe.

  He scrubbed his eyes. “What’s all this?”

  “You said last week I’d get the bill for your massage services.” She winked. “I thought I’d work it off in trade.”

  He poured a cup of coffee, looked at the stove and frowned. “You shouldn’t have started the eggs yet. Hash browns take the longest. The eggs will be cold, the bacon charred by the time the potatoes are done.”

  She jabbed the bacon with her spatula. “I’m still working on my timing.”

  “You have to think things through, Allison. You’re a smart girl. I expected you to figure out breakfast one-oh-one by now.”

  “You know what? Forget it.” She grabbed the pans and emptied them into the disposal. “Sorry I’m such a disappointment.” She threw the cook wear in the sink.

  He paused, his coffee cup halfway to his lips. “What’s your problem?”

  “Nothing.”

  One of them needed to get out of the house. Preferably both of them. She was sick of his constant harping, her faults their sole topic of conversation.

  She called Devon. “I need you.”

  “Uh-oh. What happened?”

  “I have to get out of here. Logan is driving me crazy. He gives me orders like a damn drill sergeant and I’m sick of it!”