Bodyguard. Shirlee McCoy

he didn’t want to hurt her.

      “Calm down,” he said, shifting his grip. “I’m Agent Ian Slade. With the FBI.’”

      “And that’s supposed to be comforting?” Esme ground out as she continued to tug against his hold.

      “More comforting than staying out in the middle of nowhere with your uncle still on the loose.”

      “He wouldn’t be loose if your team would focus on apprehending him rather than me.” She yanked hard, her boots slipping in the muck.

      She’d have gone down if he weren’t holding on to her.

      She didn’t seem to realize that there was no way she was going to escape. Ian was a well-trained federal officer, part of an elite group of agents. He was also a head taller than she was and seventy pounds heavier. Maybe more. Her bones were small, her wrist tiny, his hand circling it with ease.

      As battles went, this wasn’t a fair one, and he almost felt bad for restraining her.

      Almost.

      He knew what her family was capable of.

      Until she proved differently, he had to assume she was capable of the same. Even if he’d been one-hundred-percent certain that she wasn’t, he wouldn’t have let her go. Protecting her was his assignment. Keeping her alive until the case against her brother went to trial was what he’d agreed to do.

      Despite the fact that she was a Dupree.

      “Do you have any other weapons on you?” he asked, his fingers curved around her wrist. She’d stopped tugging. Maybe she’d finally realized she couldn’t get away.

      “If I did, I’d have used them already,” she spat.

      “On a federal officer?” he asked.

      “I didn’t realize you were a federal officer at first. If I had, I wouldn’t have pulled the knife.”

      “Good to know. Mind if I make sure you’re telling the truth about weapons?”

      “Yes. I do.”

      He could have forced the issue, but there wasn’t any point. She might try to run, but he didn’t think she’d attack him to do it. She had a clean record, no history of violence or trouble.

      “All right,” he said, releasing her.

      “Thanks.” She started walking to the canoe as if she thought he’d let her leave.

      “I’m not checking for a weapon, but I’m not letting you leave, either.”

      “It would be easier on both of us if you did.” She turned to face him, the darkening evening wrapping her in shadows. He couldn’t see her expression through the gloom, but he could see the pale oval of her face, the tension in her shoulders.

      “That would defeat the purpose of me and King spending the last three days hanging around Long Pine Key Campground waiting for you to show up.”

      “I didn’t ask you to come looking for me. As a matter of fact, I would have preferred that you didn’t, Agent Slade,” she responded.

      “Ian. We’ll be spending a lot of time together. We might as well be on a first-name basis.”

      “I’m not going back into witness protection.”

      “That’s fine. We’ll work something else out.”

      “I guess I should have been more clear. I’m not going back into any kind of federal protection. I’ve been on my own for a few months now, and I’ve been doing just fine.”

      “Until your uncle tracked you down,” he pointed out, and she stiffened.

      “I was tracked down long before I came to Florida,” she responded. “Or have you forgotten that poor woman who was murdered because she was in the same state you’d hidden me in?”

      He hadn’t forgotten.

      None of the members of the team had.

      Information about Esme’s location had been leaked to the Dupree crime family, and a woman who’d looked a lot like her had been killed. “I’m sorry that happened. More than I can express, but I’m not part of the witness protection unit. I work for the FBI Tactical K-9 Unit.”

      “It doesn’t matter who you work for. I’m not spending any more time with you.”

      “I wish that was how things worked, but it isn’t. You agreed to testify against your brother.”

      “And I plan to.”

      “That will be really difficult to do if you’re dead.”

      “If I’d stayed in Wyoming, I probably would be. Then we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

      She had a point. A good one. Esme was the sole witness to a murder her brother had committed. Her brother, Reginald, and Angus would do anything to keep her from testifying.

      “We had a security breach,” he explained, snagging her backpack from the bottom of the canoe. “It won’t happen again.”

      “It won’t happen again because I’m not going back into protective custody.”

      “I’m afraid you are.”

      She narrowed her eyes at him. “Have you ever been wrong before?”

      “More than I’d like to be.”

      “Good,” she retorted. “Then you won’t be upset that you’re wrong this time.” She whirled around and would have walked away, but King blocked her path, pressing in close to her legs.

      She shot a look in Ian’s direction, her eyes still flashing with anger. “Call off your dog.”

      “Release,” he said, and King pranced back to his side.

      “Thanks.” She probably would have walked away, but he held up her pack.

      “Forgetting something?”

      She reached for it and King growled.

      “He doesn’t like people taking things from me.”

      “I don’t like people touching my things,” she responded, her focus on King. She looked scared. He didn’t blame her. At home, King was goofy and friendly, funny and entertaining. On the job, he was intimidating, his tan face and dark muzzle giving him a wolflike appearance.

      “Sorry. I’ve got to check the contents before we move out.”

      “I think I made it clear that—”

      “You plan on going it alone. You’ve made it very clear. Unfortunately, my job is to get you to trial safely. I can’t do that if we’re not together.”

      “We’re at cross purposes, then, and I don’t see us finding common ground.” She stepped back, and he thought she might be looking for an escape route. One that King wouldn’t be able to follow.

      “The common ground is this—we both want to keep you alive. How about you let me do what I’m trained to do?”

      “Which is?”

      “Protecting people like you.”

      King growled, the sound low and mean.

      Esme froze, but Ian could have told her the growl wasn’t directed at her. It was a warning. One that sent adrenaline shooting through Ian’s bloodstream. He grabbed Esme’s wrist, dragging her close.

      “What—” she began, but Ian held up his hand, silencing her so that he could listen. The evening had gone eerily quiet, King’s rumbling growl the only sound.

      He pulled Esme to the thick brush that surrounded the campsite, motioning for her to drop down into the cover it offered. She slipped into the summer-soft leaves silently, folding herself down so that even he could barely