The Bodyguard Read online

  She worried her bottom lip with her teeth and clutched her cramping belly. Richard’s extra lesson had almost ruined everything, making it physically impossible for her to do her Wednesday chores. But this morning it was Richard who insisted that she couldn’t be lazy two days in a row. He’d ordered her to get out of bed to take care of the errands she’d skipped yesterday. Her eagerness to do his bidding had pleased him. What he didn’t realize was that he’d given her a gift by ordering her to go.

  After breakfast she’d stood at the door and waved goodbye to her husband for the last time while Charles pulled the Rolls-Royce around the circular driveway. Richard closely watched her through the rolled-down window in the backseat. His suspicious gaze had her clutching the doorway, worried she’d done something to give away her plans. But the car hadn’t stopped, and Richard continued down the road toward his office.

  Careful not to do anything that might trigger a call from the household staff to her husband, she’d stuck to her usual weekly itinerary of going to the dry cleaner’s and then to the lawyer’s office. The difference this time was that instead of dropping off her clothes with Richard’s at the cleaner’s, she’d only dropped off Richard’s. She kept the small bag of her clothes and toiletries she’d carefully packed to begin her new life. Using the dry-cleaning trip as her excuse, she’d been able to carry her bag out of the house without tipping off the security guards that something was different.

  After the cleaner’s, she drove to the lawyer’s office to deliver the accordion of tax receipts and documents to Leslie and to supposedly collect any papers Richard needed to review or sign. Of course, this week, there would be no return trip to give him anything. She wasn’t going back.

  Since he could have ordered any number of people to perform both chores every week, Caroline assumed her errands were some kind of test. So she’d always been careful to go straight to the cleaner’s, then straight to the lawyer, then straight home.

  The clock in the dashboard had her hands tightening on the steering wheel. Leslie had warned her not to make any stops. She didn’t have time to sit on the side of the highway, no matter how much she hurt. In exactly twelve minutes, the security detail would notify her husband she wasn’t home. Richard would call Leslie and ask when Caroline had left. Once he realized she hadn’t gone straight home, he’d leave the office and go searching for her.

  She lifted a shaky hand to her brow. Dear Lord, what was she doing? What had made her think she could escape? She debated turning around and racing back home. But even if she managed not to get pulled over for speeding, she’d never make it in time. How would she explain being late?

  If she told the truth, that she’d been sick and had pulled over, he probably wouldn’t believe her. But even if he did, he’d accuse her of complaining again. It was her fault that she felt bad, and she shouldn’t make him worry or have to come check on her just because she couldn’t accept the consequences of her actions. He’d feel compelled to “instruct” her again.

  She clenched her teeth. She was already one huge mass of bruises. Everything hurt. Endure another lesson? No, she couldn’t, she just couldn’t.

  Protection. She needed protection. But who could protect her? She had no friends, no family—not in Savannah, anyway. And her parents wouldn’t exactly be pleased to find out she’d left her wealthy husband. They’d be worried the monthly checks Richard sent them would stop.

  Who else, then? Leslie was the only person she ever dared to speak to outside the house, unless she was with her husband at some function. And since her duty at those functions was to cling to his arm like a decoration and not leave his side, she never had the opportunity to foster any friendships.

  But she couldn’t ask Leslie to outright defy Richard by harboring her. Leslie’s law practice depended on Ashton Enterprises’ lucrative account. Jeopardizing Leslie’s income wasn’t fair, especially after everything the lawyer had already done to help her. No, she’d started down this path. She had to see it through. So, what, then? What could she do?

  The idea of going to the police flitted through her mind but was quickly discarded. She’d seen the shows on TV. The cops couldn’t do much until after a crime was committed, except maybe tell her to get a restraining order. And what was the use of a flimsy piece of paper against a man as rich and powerful as Richard Ashton III?

  Not that a judge would believe her and give her a restraining order in the first place. Society worshipped and adored Richard. To them, he was a generous humanitarian who donated millions every year to charity and supported the campaigns of just about everyone holding office in Savannah right now, including the sheriff of Chatham County. No, going to the police wasn’t an option.

  Then how could she protect herself? Richard’s idea of protection was a twenty-four-hour guard at the house. Maybe that was what she needed: her own guard, someone who would be loyal to her and only her.

  She drew her hand across her damp brow and used her car’s voice-command center to search the phone book for “bodyguards in Savannah, Georgia.” She selected the first company that popped up in the search results and set the GPS to direct her there.

  * * *

  IF HER ROYAL HIGHNESS—Kate Middleton—had materialized in the offices of Dawson’s Personal Security Services, it would have surprised Luke Dawson far less than the woman who’d just stepped through his door: Caroline Ashton—beautiful, platinum blonde, wife of billionaire businessman Richard Ashton III.

  Luke couldn’t say what designers had made her tasteful silky tan skirt and matching blazer, or the tiny, shimmering handbag hanging off her shoulder. But he did know her clothes were expensive—and totally out of place in the cramped, dusty office that normally catered to hookers looking for protection from their pimps, or small-business owners needing protection when they got behind with their bookies.

  Obviously, she was lost.

  He glanced at the only other person in the room, his office manager, Mitch Brody, sitting a few feet away. Mitch shrugged, indicating he didn’t know what was going on, either.

  Luke waited for their guest to say something, but she simply stood in front of his desk as if she was waiting for permission to speak—probably some quirk of the superrich. He shoved his chair back and offered his hand to shake.

  “I’m Luke Dawson. And that’s Mitch Brody. What can Dawson’s Personal Security Services do for you, Mrs. Ashton?”

  Her blue eyes widened, providing a stark contrast to her pale complexion. Was she surprised he knew her name? Didn’t she realize everyone in Savannah knew who the Ashtons were? The “perfect couple” was plastered on the front pages of the local gossip rags at least once a week, and their annual Christmas party was the event of the social season, rivaling the acclaim of the infamous parties held by Jim Williams back in his heyday. Or at least, that was what Luke had heard. His name would certainly never appear on the Ashtons’ Christmas party’s prestigious guest list.

  She swayed slightly, as if caught in a daydream, before stretching her manicured hand out to shake his.

  His hand practically swallowed hers, and he felt a shudder go through her. What the hell? She pulled her hand back, but not before he noticed something flash in her eyes, something he’d seen too many times in his line of work not to recognize it.

  Fear.

  Was it possible she was here on purpose, and that she needed help? That seemed so unlikely as to sound ludicrous, but Luke’s internal radar sounded a warning. Rather than show her to the door as he’d been tempted to do the moment she’d walked in, he rounded his desk and picked up a stack of folders from the one guest chair he owned.

  He frowned at the lint on the dark green fabric. Normally he wouldn’t give it a second thought, but Caroline Ashton was far too sophisticated to sit on a dirty chair.

  “Give me a minute and I’ll find something to cover the seat.”

 
; “No, no, please. Don’t go to any trouble on my behalf. This is fine.”

  She sat before he could stop her.

  He raised a brow in surprise and leaned back against the edge of the desk, his legs stretched out in front of him as he waited for her to explain why she was here. But again, she seemed perfectly content not to say anything. She simply looked up at him with a polite, blank look. He wondered again at the foibles of the wealthy.

  “Mrs. Ashton, how can we help you today?”

  “I n-need t-to...” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment as if she was in pain. “I need to hire a bodyguard.”

  Her nervousness had him studying her more closely. “I figured you came in here by accident and needed directions.”

  Her thick lashes dipped down to her lap, as if keeping eye contact was too difficult.

  “I’m not lost. I need protection.”

  Her words, and the desperate quality of her voice, had those alarms ringing in his head like church bells on Sunday. Still, he didn’t want to offend her if he’d misunderstood—because surely a billionaire’s wife didn’t really need Luke’s protection.

  “Mrs. Ashton, it’s no secret that your husband has a contract with Stellar Security, one of the best security firms in Georgia, one of my biggest competitors.” He glanced at Mitch, who’d gone stone-faced as soon as Luke mentioned Mitch’s former employer. Mitch hated Stellar Security, but since he’d never explained why, Luke could only go by his own personal dealings with the other firm.

  “I wish I could tell you my company could do better,” he continued, “but honestly, I don’t have the resources the other firm has. I have five bodyguards, besides myself. Stellar has dozens. If someone’s bothering you, I can call your husband’s security guys and talk to them for you.”

  She shook her head, her eyes widening. “No, don’t call them. They’re the last people I would trust.”

  He frowned. “Why wouldn’t you trust them? They work for you.”

  For the first time since coming into the office, she seemed to really focus on him. The blank look evaporated, replaced by a look of startling clarity and intelligence, as if she’d been playing a role earlier and she’d decided to drop all pretenses.

  “No. They don’t work for me. They work for my husband.”

  Few people surprised Luke Dawson anymore, but Caroline Ashton had just given him a sucker punch. Was it possible she was afraid of her husband? If something...bad...was going on between them, Luke would have expected rumors in those gossip magazines. At the very least, he’d expect to hear something in the bars when he and his security friends bantered about their clients and the crazy things they sometimes did. But he’d never heard a whisper of anything bad about the Ashton couple. Not one.

  He had heard the exact opposite, that Richard Ashton III was practically a saint, in spite of his wife being a bit...needy, to put it kindly. She was said to be nervous, high-strung, but her husband was the epitome of tenderness whenever they were seen together. He was always at her side, seeing to her every whim.

  Luke studied her face. Her skin tone was even, her makeup accenting her natural beauty, not thick like women wore when trying to cover bruises. Long sleeves covered her arms—no clues there. But her legs, at least what he could see beneath her modest, below-the-knee skirt, were long and sleek, without the hint of a bump or a bruise. There was nothing about her appearance that made him think she had valid reasons to fear her husband.

  With everything he’d heard about the Ashtons, he should believe she’d come here, like so many women before her, planning a divorce and hoping to use the “abuse excuse” to take her husband for everything he was worth. That would make sense, except for one thing.

  The fear in her eyes is real. He’d bet his autographed Tom Glavine baseball on it.

  Still, just in case he was wrong, he proceeded as he would with any other client, probing for the facts.

  “Let me guess. You’re getting a divorce, and you want a bodyguard until the divorce is final.”

  Her eyes widened again. “I haven’t filed yet, but that’s my intention, yes. I’ve rented a house outside of town. I’m on my way there now. I just need someone to stay with me until things are...settled.”

  That admission sent a flash of disappointment through him. Maybe he was wrong about the fear in her eyes. Maybe she was just like those other women, the ones who would tarnish their husbands’ reputations with ugly lies so they could profit financially when their relationships went south.

  “You need a bodyguard right now?”

  “Yes.”

  He straightened away from the desk. Regardless of the kind of person she was, he couldn’t afford to turn away a paying client. He had too many unpaying ones to allow that luxury and keep his business afloat.

  As for going on assignment right now, that wasn’t a problem. He kept a go-bag packed at all times with his clothes and extra ammunition. Since Luke needed to keep his hands free while guarding a client, Mitch would load the bag into the car while Luke escorted the client outside. Standard operating procedure, and so routine he didn’t even need to remind Mitch, who had already jumped out of his chair and grabbed the go-bag. He stood waiting beside Luke’s desk with the strap over his shoulder.

  “We can leave right after you sign a contract and pay a retainer fee,” Luke said. “Do you want to take your car or mine?”

  Her cheeks flushed a light pink. “Mr. Dawson, I mean no disrespect, but you’re a bit...small. Is there someone else you could assign to help me?”

  He stared at her in stunned amazement. Mitch shook his head, obviously as confused as Luke was.

  Luke crossed his arms over his chest. “Mrs. Ashton, in all my thirty years, no one else has ever called me small. I’m six foot three and weigh two hundred twenty pounds. I’m not bragging when I say most of that is muscle. It’s just a fact, a necessity of my occupation. I was a champion boxer in high school and college. I’m extensively trained in self-defense. I carry a concealed weapon, am a crack shot and I know just about everything there is to know about guarding people. I assure you, I’m more than capable of protecting you.”

  She politely cleared her throat, not looking all that impressed with his speech. “Have you ever met my husband?”

  “Not in person, no. But I’ve seen pictures of him.” He leaned back against the desk again and braced his hands on the edge while he waited for her explanation.

  “Richard is a very...large, strong, determined man. He can be...dangerous. He’s extremely... If he were to... I just...” She let out a deep sigh. “I need to know that you would be safe if...when...he comes looking for me.”

  This time, there could be no doubt that the fear in her voice, in her expression, was real. It was palpable, a living, breathing thing, constricting around her, ready to choke her into submission.

  She twisted her fingers together. The diamond ring glittering on her left hand sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights. The center stone had to be four carats, easy. It could have paid the rent on Luke’s office and his house for a full year, with money left over.

  But that wasn’t why he decided he had to convince her to hire him.

  He had to convince her to hire him because whether the threat against her was real or imagined, she believed it was real. But even more important than that, he’d never met any clients before who were more concerned about their bodyguard’s welfare than their own. A person like that deserved his protection, because he was one of the best. And regardless of who she was, she deserved something he sensed she hadn’t had in a long time: someone who would look after her, someone to take her seriously, someone who would be her ally.

  He waited until her haunted gaze lifted to his before answering.

  “Mrs. Ashton, your husband may be a tad taller than me, possibly even brawnier. But fighting isn’t all ab
out size. It’s about training, experience, strategy. I don’t have the slightest doubt I can handle him in a fight...if it comes to that. The best strategy is to avoid a fight if at all possible. But if you hire me, I’ll guard you with my life. I will do everything I can to keep you safe. And I’ll make sure your husband never gets anywhere near you again. That’s a promise. And I never, ever break a promise.”

  Unshed tears brightened her eyes, inexplicably making Luke want to pull her close and hold her until the fear subsided and the shadows in her eyes disappeared.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice shaking with obvious relief, her throat working as if she was struggling not to cry. “Thank you so much.”

  Chapter Three

  Caroline sat in her car in the circular driveway of the blue-and-white one-story cottage. She’d lived in a mansion for over five years. Before that, she’d lived with her parents about three hours from Savannah in the same house since the day she was born. But this plain, simple structure already felt like the home she’d never really had.

  Because she wouldn’t be sharing it with Richard.

  A tap on her car window made her start. But it wasn’t her husband’s angry visage glaring at her through the glass. It was the concerned face of Luke Dawson, who’d hopped out of the car as soon as she’d parked. She’d apparently zoned out, lost in her memories, and her fears, and forgot about him. She pressed the button and lowered the window.

  “Mrs. Ashton, we need to get inside. You’re sitting out in the open here.”

  “Of course. I’m sorry. Should I pop the trunk for our luggage?”

  “No...I’ll get our bags after you’re safely inside the house.”