Accidental Bodyguard. Sharon Hartley

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      A noise from the kitchen made her whirl and raise the Glock—but she relaxed her stance, realizing it was just the motor of the huge Thermidor refrigerator switching on in the eerie silence. She’d hadn’t yet learned the rhythms and sounds of her new home. She’d probably lie awake all night listening, wondering if anyone lurked outside her protective wall.

      Claudia wandered into the living room and collapsed on the plush sofa, placing the gun on a table beside her.

      No one could know where she was. She loved her family, but they were all a bunch of gossips—especially her two sisters—and she might as well put an ad announcing her location in the Miami Herald. For sure there’d be a flurry of traceable emails and texts, and hints of Collins Island would probably even leak to Facebook. Everyone dreamed of living on this ritzy isle. Julie, her eldest sister, would insist on a visit.

      Of course that could never happen. Carlos’s very own domestic terrorist group—at least that was what the US Attorney called them—the Warriors for Self Rule, might even be watching her family in hopes they’d lead them to her. She prayed that wasn’t true, but she wouldn’t put it past Carlos. His terrorist friends had killed Moochie to warn her. She wouldn’t underestimate them again.

      The next month would be the most difficult in her life, but it was her own fault for allowing lust to overcome common sense and the advice of the people who loved her. No, she had to go through this alone. She’d find a way to make contact eventually, but the less her family knew, the safer it was for everyone.

      And she couldn’t get sick. She didn’t dare go to a doctor, hospital or even a clinic and use her insurance.

      Carlos’s Warriors had expert hackers among the faithful.

      * * *

      THREE DAYS LATER, Jack still wondered about the enigmatic Louise Clark who’d disappeared behind the walls of Villa Alma and hadn’t emerged once. He knew that for a fact because he’d reviewed the surveillance camera on the front gate. Not even a solitary walk on the beach.

      What was she doing in there? Writing a book?

      He didn’t have access to the feed from any security cameras inside the compound. If they were even turned on.

      He’d expected Santaluce to arrive on the island by now. So far that hadn’t occurred, although Santaluce’s assistant phoned to confirm Ms. Clark had moved in. When Jack had inquired about the arrival of the villa’s owner, he’d been informed that information was on a need-to-know basis, as if Santaluce was part of some covert op.

      No question something funky was going on, and as the security director he needed to know what.

      So where had Ms. Clark lived before arriving on Collins Island?

      Jack booted up the computer. Every visitor had to provide proof of identity to board the ferry, and the guard always scanned that ID into a database. Curious about what he’d find, he clicked the file for the date of her arrival. When her driver’s license appeared on the screen, he zoomed in.

      The address was in the southwest part of Miami-Dade County, a settled, middle-class area, full of homes that held their value even through the recession. So why the junker car?

      He placed the address into a search engine, and discovered it didn’t exist. He confirmed the digits to be sure he hadn’t made a mistake. He ran the address through Miami-Dade County’s database and got the same results.

      The address on her driver’s license was fake.

      Was the license itself?

      Jack studied the image. If it was a phony, it was a damn good one. Made by people who knew what they were doing. He needed the license itself to confirm its authenticity.

      Well, well, well. Jack leaned back in his chair, considering. His instincts had been right on, as usual. Ms. Clark wasn’t what she seemed. Did her appearance on Collins Island have something to do with Mr. Santaluce’s “questionable” business?

      Was she cooking meth behind the walls of Villa Alma? Or doing something else equally dangerous?

      He entered her name into a search engine and hundreds of results materialized. But Clark was as common as Smith. He narrowed the options to Florida, waded through them, but didn’t find the Louise Clark living in Santaluce’s cabana. So that likely wasn’t her real name, which explained the woman’s confusion when he’d first addressed her.

      He called Lola in the Alliance office.

      “Yeah, Jack?” she answered in her throaty voice.

      “I’m going to email you a driver’s license. Run the image through our facial-recognition program and see if you get a hit.”

      “Something going on?”

      “Maybe. I don’t know yet.” He hit the send button.

      “I know you’re bored, Jack, but don’t go looking under rocks for trouble.”

      “Noted.”

      After a pause, Lola said, “I’ve got it. Louise Clark. Isn’t this the new tenant?”

      “Right, but she doesn’t exist. Neither does the address.”

      “So Santaluce has her under wraps. What’s she done?”

      “Nothing, but my radar is lit up.”

      “Ouch. Never a good sign,” Lola said, her tone now serious. “I’ll let you know what I find.”

      Jack scrolled through the security feed until he got to the camera on the front of Villa Alma and froze the image. No sign of the new tenant. What was going on behind that imposing gate? He decided to pay a little visit and see what response he got from the lovely Louise.

      When he arrived at Villa Alma, he exited the golf cart and rang the delivery bell, staring up into the security camera. After a few moments he heard a breathy “Yes?” on the intercom.

      “Ms. Clark?” he inquired.

      “Yes.”

      “It’s Jackson Richards, Security Director.”

      “Yes, Mr. Richards?” she responded, politely impatient.

      “Just a courtesy call to see if everything is all right.”

      “Everything is fine, Mr. Richards. Is there some problem?”

      “None of my staff has seen you since your arrival, and we wanted to make certain you were okay in there.”

      After a pause she said, “Thank you for checking, Mr. Richards, but please don’t concern yourself with me. You probably won’t see me around much.”

      Thinking it awkward to have a conversation with a camera, Jack said, “I wanted to let you know there’s a weekly happy hour on Friday night in the clubhouse for all residents.”

      “Thank you, but I’m here for some rest.”

      “Happy СКАЧАТЬ