The Bodyguard's Assignment. Amanda Stevens

P.D. has requested through the DPS that your organization handle the protection.” Kruger’s gaze stopped on Brady. “We have to assume the witness is refusing to cooperate. She made contact with the police early yesterday morning, but since then, she’s gone underground. No one has seen or heard from her in over twenty-four hours, but one thing’s certain. If we don’t find her before Kane does, she’s a dead woman. The Dallas P.D. are moving to arrest Kane, but without her statement or that tape, they’ll never make the charges stick.”

      “Are you sure she’s still alive?” Jake asked.

      “By all indications, she’s extremely resourceful. We have every reason to believe she’s alive and well, at least for the time being. But she can’t hide forever. Not with Calderone and Rialto backing Kane.”

      Brady hadn’t said a word for several minutes, but the bad feeling he’d experienced earlier had grown into a full-blown premonition. He knew what was coming.

      “Who is this reporter?” he asked quietly.

      “She works for a small paper called the Examiner. Her name is Grace Drummond.”

      Even after all these years, the mere mention of her name was like the twisting of a knife blade in Brady’s gut.

      “Her disappearance could have more to do with her desire to get a hot story than anything else,” he suggested, not bothering to disguise the bitterness he still felt toward Grace Drummond.

      “We’ve considered that, of course,” Kruger agreed. “But as I said, she did initially make contact with the police. When they arrived at her apartment, the place had been ransacked. We figure she panicked. She realized the tape is her only insurance policy against Kane. Once she gives it up, there’s nothing stopping him from killing her. Your job is to find her before Kane does and…convince her to accept your protection until she can testify against him.”

      There was no mistaking his emphasis on the word “convince.” The subtle implication was to use whatever means necessary to bring her in. That, at least, had possibilities, Brady thought perversely.

      “I’ll do it,” Jake volunteered.

      But Mitchell shook his head. “We need Brady on this one. The doctors have given him the okay to return to active duty, and he’s the protection expert. Besides, DPS thinks she’s still in the Dallas area, right?” When Kruger nodded, Mitchell said, “Brady, you know that city better than any of us. If anyone can find her, you can. Penny’s already made all the arrangements.” He stubbed out his cigar, signaling the conclusion of the meeting. The other agents rose to leave. Until further notice, they’d all resume their duties on the ranch.

      Kruger remained for a moment, speaking in low tones to Mitchell. They appeared to be arguing, and then Kruger grabbed up his folder, stuffed it into his briefcase, and with one final glance at Brady, stalked from the room.

      For a moment, Brady said nothing, then he got up and walked to the end of the conference table, planting his hands flat on the surface as he leaned toward Mitchell.

      “What were you and Kruger arguing about?”

      Mitchell shrugged. “That’s nothing for you to worry about. I don’t always see eye-to-eye with Austin,” he said. “You know that.”

      “Kruger doesn’t want me for this job, does he?”

      Mitchell glanced up at him. “It doesn’t matter what Kruger wants. I’m in charge of the Confidential.”

      “Have you ever considered that he may have a point?”

      “Meaning?”

      Brady straightened, taking pressure off his knee. “Have you forgotten what happened to the last woman you sent me out to protect?”

      Mitchell’s gaze narrowed on him. “I haven’t forgotten, but maybe it’s time you did.”

      “A woman died last year because of me,” Brady said grimly. “I’m not likely to forget it.”

      “That’s a load of crap and you know it.” Mitchell took out another cigar, but he didn’t light up. He pointed the end at Brady. “You put your life on the line to protect your witness. You almost died. No one could have done more.”

      “Are you sure about that? How do you know Rachel Hayes isn’t dead because of something I did or didn’t do?”

      “You think I haven’t been where you are?” Mitchell demanded. “I’ve been there plenty of times. I know what you’re going through, but it comes with the territory. You were a cop for a lot of years, Brady. You know as well as I do that bad things happen and good people die. We’re not God. We can’t save them all. But we do what we can.”

      He paused, wrapping his hands around the silver head of his cane. He pushed himself up until he stood eye level with Brady. “There’s a woman out there somewhere, running for her life. She’s the one who needs you now. She’s the one you should be thinking about. If you don’t do what you can to save her, then it’s going to be Grace Drummond’s death on your conscience. No matter what she did to you in the past, I don’t think you want that.”

      He was right about that. Brady didn’t want anything bad to happen to Grace, he just never wanted to see her again.

      But Mitchell was right about something else, too. Rachel’s death would haunt Brady for the rest of his life, but Grace’s death…

      Grace’s death on his conscience might very well destroy him.

      Chapter Two

      Through her dark glasses, Grace anxiously scoured the pedestrian traffic on Market Street. A cold front had moved in earlier, and she sat shivering in the lightweight denim jacket she’d hastily purchased yesterday, after she’d decided to go underground. Actually, it hadn’t been a decision so much as a necessity. She had to lay low if she wanted to stay alive. If she wanted to keep her mother alive.

      At the thought of Angeline, bitter tears stung Grace’s eyes, but she blinked them away. She couldn’t break down now. She had to stay focused, in control. She had to have a plan.

      If only there was someone she could call, someone she could turn to. Someone she could trust. But there wasn’t. After everything that had happened since two o’clock yesterday morning, when she’d narrowly escaped that burning warehouse, Grace knew she could rely on no one but herself. No one could save her mother but her.

      She suppressed another shiver as she tried to fight back her mounting despair. It was too cold to be seated outside, but she hadn’t wanted to be trapped inside the café. Out here, even with the coming darkness, she could at least watch the street.

      Picking up her cup of coffee, she cradled the warmth in her hands as she scanned her surroundings. A horse-drawn carriage ambled down the street, stirring bittersweet memories of the last time she and her mother had taken a carriage ride together. Angeline had been in the early stages of Alzheimer’s then, with only the occasional memory lapse to remind them that one day soon, there would be no such outings.

      Grace’s mother had always loved coming to Dallas’s West End, perusing the shops and dining in the converted warehouses. As Grace sat watching the street she and her mother had strolled together so many times in the past, a sense of desperation stole over her. Where are you? she cried silently. What have they done to you?

      Yesterday morning, just hours after Grace had fled the warehouse, she’d gone home from a meeting with Burt Gordon, her boss at the Examiner, to find that her apartment had been sacked. As she’d stood gazing at the wreckage of her personal belongings, her cellular phone had rung. When Grace answered, a male voice on the other end said, “Grace Drummond?”

      Something about the way he spoke her name made her blood go cold. “Yes?”

      “You have something I want.”

      “Who is this?”