The Bride's Bodyguard. Beth Cornelison

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СКАЧАТЬ propping her arms on her knees, buried her face in her folded arms. Not knowing if Brent survived the attack or if her family was safe was maddening, terrifying. Fatigue, fear and confusion pounded inside her skull, but she refused to give in to the tears that threatened. She’d cried enough today.

       We’re going to assume Brent is alive.

      The time had come to take back the control she’d lost over her life that afternoon. While Jake was gone, she had to figure out what Brent had given her that the terrorists wanted. She had to make a plan of action for getting out of this predicament, and she had to start rebuilding her shattered life—a life without Brent Scofield.

      A mix of trepidation, guilt and relief for her decision spiraled through her, tangling around her heart. She didn’t love Brent. Never really had. And today proved she didn’t know him as well as she thought she had. Reason enough to reconsider her engagement. But as Jake pointed out, Brent had willingly put her in danger, set her up to be the target of terrorists. Terrorists, for crying out loud! Bitter anger blasted through her.

      Until she thought of the way Brent had leaped in front of a bullet for her.

      A leaden grief weighted her heart, made it hard to breathe. How could she ever sort this mess out?

      An image of Jake wavered behind her closed eyes, and an odd reassurance settled over her like a warm blanket. When all hell had broken loose at the church, he’d saved her. When she’d been paralyzed by fear, he’d taken action. When she’d had her emotional meltdown in the limo, he’d been there with a warm embrace—and spared her empty platitudes.

      Jake didn’t waste time indulging her wishful thinking or misleading her with what she wanted to hear. He respected her enough to give her the hard-boiled truth. He gave orders and expected results. And he’d proven himself more than capable of protecting her from the threat Trench Coat—as Jake had called the lead terrorist—posed her.

      Lifting her head to look around the empty house, Paige took a deep, centering breath. She owed Jake so much already. The least she could do before he returned was come up with something concrete they could work from. Organizing, analyzing and reasoning were what she did best. She’d been useless to Jake earlier because the unexpected, unexplainable chaos of this afternoon had left her completely out of her element.

      Now, with a determination to put some order back in her life, Paige began dissecting the events of the past several days, searching for some clue to what the bead could be. As she fell into her familiar patterns of problem solving and rational thinking, a soothing balm flowed through her. She’d be fine—as soon as she solved the riddles she’d been presented by this afternoon’s events.

      After two hours alone, frantically searching her memories for answers, Paige was no closer to a solution when Jake returned with a few supplies and a rental car.

      He set the new cell phones, a bag of fast food and other miscellany on the floor beside her and returned his gun to the waist of the new jeans he wore. His tux was nowhere in sight. “Any trouble while I was gone?”

      “No. Nothing.” Eager to hear from her family, Paige snatched up one of the phones. “Are these working? Have they been activated?”

      “Yeah. But keep your call brief.” He drilled her with a hard look that echoed the gravity in his tone. “And don’t tell anyone anything about where we are. Someone could be listening on the other end.”

      Paige shivered, despite the stuffy house, and dialed her father’s phone. After several rings, the call went to voice mail, and her stomach sank with disappointment and concern. What if her father had been hurt?

      “Hi, Dad. It’s Paige,” she told his voice mail. “I’m safe. Shaken by what happened today but unhurt. I love you, and—” her voice cracked, and she paused to clear the emotion from her throat “—I’ll call again when I can. Bye.” She disconnected and immediately dialed her sister Holly’s cell phone.

      Holly answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

      The stress and worry in her sister’s voice sent fresh waves of panic and anxiety rippling through Paige. “It’s me, Hol.”

      “Paige! Are you okay? Where are you? Oh, God, we’ve been so worried about you!”

      “I’m fine. I’m with Jake McCall. How…how is Brent? Is he—?”

      “He’s alive, but he’s critical.”

      Paige received the news with mixed feelings. Relief that he was alive, and grief for the severity of his condition. She clutched the phone like a lifeline to her family, and tears blossomed in her eyes.

      “He lost a lot of blood, Paige. He’s unresponsive, and I’m afraid it’s still touch and go whether he’ll make it through the night. We’re at St. Mary’s with him. How soon can you get here?”

      “I—I don’t think I can come.” She glanced up at Jake for confirmation.

      He shook his head. “Too dangerous.”

      She pulled the phone away from her mouth. “He’s dying. I need to be there!”

      “So you can die, too? Those men were willing to kill to get the bead. They saw me hustle you out of there, so I guarantee they know you have whatever it is they’re looking for. You’re their new target.”

      “Paige? Paige, are you sure you’re all right? What do you mean you’re not coming? Brent is your husband. He may not make it through the night.”

      “Technically, I don’t think he is my husband. We never signed the marriage license.” Paige frowned, hearing herself. Brent was dying, and she was arguing with Holly about the legality of her marriage? What was wrong with her?

      Holly was conspicuously quiet, and guilt rolled through Paige. But Holly had a storybook marriage with her husband, Matt, and her stepchildren. How could she understand Paige’s complicated feelings toward Brent? She didn’t even understand her mixed emotions.

      Paige raked the hair back from her face with her fingers and sighed. “What about everybody else? Are Mom and Dad all right? Matt and the kids?”

      “We’re all shaken but not physically hurt. I think Mr. Garcia was shot in the leg, and I heard something about Fran Coulter being taken to the hospital. Lots of folks were treated at the scene for minor injuries and shock.” Holly paused. “Mr. Diggle is dead, though.”

      “I know. I—”

      Jake circled his finger in the air, signaling her to wrap up her call.

      “Holly, I have to go. Tell everyone I love them. I’ll try to call again when I can.”

      “Wait! Where are you? When are you coming home?”

      “I don’t know when I’ll be home. Soon, I hope.” She rubbed her eyes when moisture blurred her vision. “Jake thinks I’m still in danger. He thinks those men are still after me. Brent said I have something they want. He told Jake to hide me, protect me until—”

      Jake yanked the phone from her. “She’ll call later. Don’t try to find us. Don’t call the police. I’ll keep her safe, but it’s important that we lay low for a while. Goodbye.”

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