Her Bodyguard. Mallory Kane

And the baggy work pants? Yes.”

      “Did he go anywhere else?”

      “I don’t know. What’s wrong?”

      Angela thought better of telling Billy what had happened. He could be dramatic. She didn’t want to cause a panic among the other residents of her building.

      “Nothing,” she lied. “I needed him to look at my kitchen light.”

      Alfie whined and pulled on his leash, jerking Billy’s arm. “Oops. Gotta go. Alfie’s got to have his afternoon constitutional.”

      “See you later.” She liked having Billy as a neighbor. He was funny and sweet, and he made great jambalaya. But right now she wished he was eight inches taller and forty pounds heavier. Although she’d never admit it to anyone, she could use a knight in shining armor.

      Oh please. Get over yourself. She no more needed a knight—shining armor or not—than she needed a second head. Either one of them would be too high-maintenance. All she needed was something to distract her from this damn paranoia. As soon as she was done with finals, she was going shopping for a deadbolt and a pair of opaque curtains.

      And then it would be time for a trip to Chicago, to see her brother, Brad, his wife and her two adorable nieces. The thought of seeing the girls made her feel better immediately. She headed on toward her apartment, glancing back for one more glimpse of the man in the blue cap, but she didn’t see him anywhere.

      Before she got her attention turned back to where she was walking, her foot caught and she nearly went head over heels. She steadied herself by grabbing the back of the wrought-iron chair that she’d tripped over.

      The man sitting in it reached one hand for his mug and the other to help steady her. “Whoa there.”

      Without letting go of her arm, he stood. “You okay? Sorry my chair got in your way.” He laughed. “I hate it when it does that.”

      “Oh, no.”

      “Crap,” he said at the same time.

      It was Lucas Delancey. She glared at him. “You again. Your apartment is around here,” she said accusingly.

      “It’s in the area, but you gotta admit, this place has the best café au lait on this side of the Quarter.” He cocked his right eyebrow. “Can I buy you a cup?”

      “No!” She heard the harsh panic in her voice. She took a deep slow breath and tried again. “No, thank you,” she said evenly. “If I run into you one more time I’m going to be convinced I have another stalker.”

      “You’ve got a stalker?” His gaze turned sharp as an emerald.

      She winced. “No, I didn’t mean that. It was—” She shook her head. “It was a joke.”

      He stared at her. “I don’t think so, Ange.”

      There was that nickname again. The single syllable sent nostalgia surging through her. He’d always called her Ange, when he wasn’t calling her Brat.

      “Well, you don’t know, do you?” she retorted, making a show of looking at her watch. “I’ve got to go.”

      He caught her by her wrist. “Who is he?”

      “Nobody you know. Anyhow, I was joking.”

      “You’ve got my phone number. Call me if you need me.”

      She looked down at his hand. It was big and well shaped, with long, strong fingers. It looked like a hand that could wield a mean sword. Like a knight in—

      Stop it! she commanded herself and jerked away from his grasp. Lucas Delancey was a lot of things. Maybe to the people of his precinct in Dallas he was a knight in shining armor, but in her experience, he’d be better cast as the Artful Dodger.

      Still, the idea of having someone like him on her side was tempting. It would be so easy to tell him about the odd occurrences of the past week or so. Her certainty that someone was going into her apartment when she wasn’t home. Her sense that someone was watching her, following her.

      But seeing him twice in two days flung her back in time. To when she was sixteen and knew she’d die if she never got to kiss him. Her insides turned upside down at the memory of her hesitant naïve kiss and his bold, sensual response.

      She’d never been kissed like that since.

      “Ange?”

      She blinked and realized she was staring at his mouth. What had he said?

       Call me if you need me.

      “I won’t need you,” she said coldly and headed in the direction of her apartment.

      Behind her, he spoke. “Don’t be so sure about that, Ange.”

      She stalked away, praying he wasn’t watching her. The idea of him checking out her butt was horribly embarrassing. After a dozen steps or so, she stopped and glanced back over her shoulder.

      He was nowhere in sight.

      Irritated with herself for looking back, she whirled—and ran into someone else.

      “Hey, Angie. Careful.”

      “Oh, no,” she muttered. Not Doug, too. She’d thought she’d finally convinced him she wasn’t interested in dating him. Apparently this was destined to be her week from hell. Exams, intruders, high school flames and creepy ex-boyfriends. What else could happen?

      Doug’s arm snaked around her shoulders. “Steady. Are you okay?”

      She pulled away from him as smoothly as she could, not quite able to suppress a shudder. “I’m fine, Doug. What are you doing here?”

      “I had a delivery to make in this neighborhood, so I thought I’d run upstairs and see if you were okay. I’ve been worried. You haven’t answered your phone in the last several days.”

      Angela cringed inwardly. No, she hadn’t, on purpose.

      “I’m glad you’re okay. You’re certainly looking good.”

      “Thanks. I’m kind of in a hurry.”

      “Who was that guy you were talking to?” Doug’s words were casual, but his pale blue eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her.

      “An old friend from high school.” She started to walk away but he caught her arm.

      “Have dinner with me. I miss you.”

      She stepped away, tugging her arm away from his grasp. “I’m sorry, Doug, but no. You need to stop calling me. I’m in the middle of final exams and—”

      “After exams then.”

      “No, that’s not what I meant—”

      But he was walking away.

      Angela practically ran the rest of the way to her apartment. She locked the door behind her.

      “Finally!” she sighed. What a bizarre day. At least it was over now and she was back in her apartment.

       Safe.

      She tossed her things onto the couch.

      And froze.

      There, on the corner back cushion, was a smudge. A tiny smudge—hardly noticeable, even on the pale beige fabric. But it hadn’t been there last night or this morning.

      Dread settled beneath her breastbone and tears prickled behind her eyes. “No,” she muttered. “Not safe.”

      She frowned. Could it have been Doug? He had no reason to be in this neighborhood, except to check on her. He’d said he had a delivery in the area, but his office supply store was out in Metairie. She doubted he had many clients down here in the French Quarter.

      Before she could decide whether to call