The Bride's Bodyguard. Beth Cornelison

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      “Do you think we will…have to flee on foot, I mean?”

      He met her gaze in the rearview mirror. “I don’t know what we may be up against. But we need to be ready for anything, and we can’t call attention to ourselves. They’ll be looking for us. So we’ve got to go to ground until we either figure out what they want,” he said thinking aloud, “or know for certain they’re not hot on our asses anymore.”

      “We should just call the police and let them handle it.”

      “Can’t. Scofield said Homeland was compromised. I assume he means Homeland Security, which is exactly who the police will call if they think national security is at stake.” He shook his head. “For now, at least, we do this alone.”

      Jake spotted a vacant gas station and parked the limo behind it, out of sight of the road. Hauling himself out of the front seat, he clenched his teeth in pain as his bum knee, the reason the navy had kicked him out of the SEALs, throbbed a protest. Sprinting for the limo with an extra hundred or so pounds over his shoulder hadn’t been kind to his old injury. Refusing to let his pain get in the way of his duty, he tried not to limp as he retrieved a floral-print suitcase from the trunk.

      When he yanked open the back door of the limo, she gasped.

      “I assume this one’s yours.”

      Paige pressed a hand to her chest and sucked in several deep, restorative breaths that drew attention to the low neckline of her dress and the gentle swell of cleavage the dress had clearly been designed to maximize.

      A hot stab of lust jabbed him in the gills, and he gritted his teeth. Now was hardly the time to get distracted by Paige’s assets.

      “Yeah, that’s mine.” She reached for the luggage, and he batted her hand away before setting the suitcase flat on the seat.

      “Pick something practical that you don’t mind getting dirty. Something you can run in, even sleep in if necessary. That includes shoes. No high heels.”

      “What about you? Your tux doesn’t say blend in or ready for action to me.”

      “Well, a tux isn’t my first choice of attire for this debacle either. But since I’m a good six inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than Scofield, I doubt anything he had packed will fit me, so I’ll have to make do for now.”

      She glanced away and worried her bottom lip with her teeth.

      He cocked an eyebrow. “What’s that look for?”

      “I…need to call someone—my dad or my sister Holly—to see how Brent is. To see what happened after we left, to make sure everyone else is all right, to—” Her words caught on a sob, and her face crumpled. “Oh, God. Mr. Diggle was murdered! At my wedding! I—I can’t even stand to think of anyone else being hurt…or worse. And B-Brent—”

      She dissolved into tears, and Jake’s gut pitched. He could handle blood and bullets. But tears left him floundering like a plebe on his first day of training.

      Not that he couldn’t understand her concern. She had every right to be upset about her family’s safety, about her fiancé's condition. He rubbed his suddenly sweaty palms on his tux pants and slid onto the seat beside her. Taking her by the arm, he pulled her onto his lap and gave her back an awkward pat.

      There, there, sprang to mind, and he clenched his teeth, refusing to mutter any such asinine mumbo jumbo.

      But somehow shake it off or suck it up, soldier didn’t seem appropriate, either. Comforting Damsels In Distress 101 hadn’t been part of his SEALs training. And while he was as compassionate as the next guy, expressing his feelings and dealing with other people’s softer emotions were as foreign to him as some of the locales where he’d served before a wellplaced bullet left him with a career-ending knee injury.

      Paige’s fingers curled into his tux shirt, and she nestled her head in the curve of his throat, collapsing against him and indulging her crying jag. He plucked a few shards of the broken window from her hair, noticing the tiny cuts the shattered glass had caused on her neck and hands. His hands, too, for that matter.

      They were damn lucky broken glass was all that hit them. The driver hadn’t been as fortunate.

      The fragrant white flowers woven into her hair tickled his nose, and he turned his head so that his cheek rested against the top of her head. Tightening his hold on her, he savored the crush of her curves and soft skin against him. He stroked her back, her bare arms, the soft tumble of hair that escaped carefully placed bobby pins.

      When she trembled, he absorbed the tremor, feeling an answering quake reverberate at his core. Jake closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, clearing his mind, focusing on the problem at hand. What the hell was he supposed to do with Paige? Where would they go? Considering he’d been lusting after her since Scofield had introduced his bride earlier that week, how could he survive the next few days with his sanity intact?

      Adrenaline had his nerves jumping. But the press of her body against his spiked his blood pressure and had heat flashing over his skin. He’d barely had a chance to catch his breath since Trench Coat and his merry band of thugs had opened fire, and comforting Paige wasn’t helping him focus.

      As he fought down the desire that wound him tight, his thoughts jumped back to the scene at the church, and a shudder racked him. Jake had been part of a convoy in Iraq that was ambushed. The gun-and mortar fire had been deafening, the casualties high and the resulting chaos devastating to morale. But today’s attack, with so many civilian lives at stake, had shaken Jake far worse. Against such lopsided odds, Jake had felt overwhelmed…and useless. An unsettling sensation for a man trained by the navy to be among the most deadly, the most effective, the most skilled.

      When Paige’s tears subsided to sniffles, she backed from his embrace and sent him a chagrined glance. “I’m sorry. I just…it’s all so—”

      He shook his head and twitched his lips in an dismissive grin. “Forget it.” He rubbed the back of his neck and blew a deep breath from puffed cheeks. “I’ll…give you a minute to change and pull yourself together. Then we need to make tracks.”

      She nodded, and he climbed out of the backseat, scanning the surrounding area for anything suspicious, anything helpful. A moment later, she opened the back door and stepped out, wearing a pair of formfitting blue jeans and a New Orleans Saints T-shirt. Sports-team apparel had never looked so good. Paige had taken the rest of the bobby pins from her hair, and raven ringlets hung around her shoulders. Finger-combing her hair back from her face, she gave him a quick nod. “I’m ready.”

      Before they left, Jake searched the dead driver, found the man’s cell phone and dialed 911. He told the operator where to find the body, and when asked for his name, Jake set the phone on the front seat, line still open, and signaled for Paige to follow him.

      She hoisted her suitcase, which he immediately took from her, and as they started toward the road, she gave the bullet-riddled, ribbon-and-paint-decorated honeymoon getaway car one last sad look before falling in step next to him.

      For an instant, sympathy plucked at him. No one deserved to have their wedding day ruined, and Paige’s disappointment was palpable.

      Then the bigger picture reared its head, and he shook off the silly sentimental lapse.

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