A Bodyguard for Christmas. Donna Young

the tree in the window. The silly, plastic North Poles littering the lawn.” Embarrassed, she climbed the porch stairs, grateful when Jordan said nothing.

      “Are you sure—”

      “They’re awake, Regina.”

      The storm had broken, leaving the sweet scent of new snow, along with the chill of more to come. Regina hugged herself tighter in Jordan’s leather jacket.

      Jordan wasn’t wearing more than his crew neck sweater and jeans, but the biting wind didn’t seem to bother him.

      He pushed the doorbell, then paused only a moment before he pounded on the door a few times for good measure.

      “Well, if they were sleeping, they’re up now,” Regina muttered.

      “I told you—”

      The porch light flipped on seconds before the door swung open.

      “Jordan.” Ian MacAlister took the couple in with a quick glance. “You do realize what time it is.”

      “I need your help, Ian.”

      Regina noted the naked chest, the unbuttoned jeans and bare feet before Jordan grabbed her hand and tugged her with him into the house.

      “You know damn well you have my help anytime you need it.” Ian shut the door behind them. No one would call Ian MacAlister ugly. Light brown hair, cropped military short, accented his broad features and laser blue eyes. “Next time, just give me a call when you’re on your way.”

      “We woke you up.” Regina glared at Jordan. “I’m sorry, Mr. MacAlister, but Jordan insisted on coming over tonight.”

      “You can stop glowering at me, Regina. We didn’t wake him up,” Jordan snapped. “They were probably—”

      “We were just getting comfortable,” Ian cut off Jordan. The fact that he’d been roused from his bed while making love to Lara wasn’t the point. And it wasn’t like his friend to be so blunt.

      “Sorry, Ian.” Jordan dragged a hand through his hair. “It’s been a long day.”

      If he didn’t know his friend better, Ian would have sworn Jordan was…frazzled.

      Ian covered his surprise with a dry cough. “It’s not me who’ll need the apology. You didn’t wake us, but you could have woken Clara. If that’s the case, you’ll have Lara to deal with.”

      Ian took in the soiled clothes, the freshly ripped hole in Jordan’s jeans. The oversized leather jacket on Regina.

      “You both smell like you’ve been cleaning chimneys.”

      “We have good reason.” The tight, military stance Jordan took spoke volumes. Whatever brought his friend here was anything but good.

      Jordan glanced around. “Where’s Lara?”

      Always cautious, Ian walked to the wall unit and punched in the system code. “Lara is in the baby’s room, checking on her. She’ll be down in a minute. Why?” He thought about calling Lara, but knew if he woke the baby, he’d pay hell for it later. Life or death, his daughter was teething and for the first time in almost a week, Lara had gotten her down at a reasonable hour.

      “I need your help. And hers. I have to locate an arms dealer in Labyrinth’s computer files.”

      At one time both men worked for Labyrinth, a black ops division of the government. A year earlier, before Ian had retired after marrying Lara.

      Jordan walked to the base of the circular staircase and looked up. “How long does it take to check a baby?”

      “Have one yourself and you’ll find out,” Ian commented, drawing a chuckle from the woman.

      Regina was mildly attractive in an unusual way. The soft cloud of brown hair, the small figure beneath the oversized coat. Light cardigan and slacks peaked out from the coat—their style shapeless on what he assumed was a petite figure.

      Then suddenly, her eyes met his. Big, solemn—almost sleepy—hazel eyes. Ian froze, startled. Bedroom eyes. He let out a long, silent whistle.

      Nothing mild about this woman at all, Ian corrected himself. She was beautiful.

      “Why not use your own security to access the files?” Ian asked, keeping his gaze on the woman, more for the enjoyment than curiosity. He’d find out who she was soon enough.

      She raised one delicate eyebrow. You think so?

      Ian laughed, knowing he hadn’t spoken the words out loud.

      Beautiful and clever.

      “Let’s just say I retired, prematurely,” Jordan said, joining them once again.

      “So your security’s been revoked,” Ian commented, breaking eye contact with the woman to question his friend. “By whom? Cain?”

      “He and I disagreed about Chris’s death,” Jordan remarked. “That’s part of the reason why I need the files. As an instructor, Lara still has access to the Labyrinth databases, right?”

      “Yes,” Ian replied slowly. “Everything except Cain’s personal files.”

      “I’ll need her to keep this quiet.”

      “From whom?”

      “President Mercer.”

      “You don’t want your investigation getting back to him,” Ian murmured, understanding. Lara was Jon Mercer’s daughter. “You know she won’t tell him if you ask her not to, Jordan. She loves you like a brother. But knowing what it might possibly do to her relationship with her father, are you willing to put her in that position?”

      “I wouldn’t ask her if it wasn’t a life-and-death matter.”

      “Does it have anything to do with the fact that you both look and smell like you’ve been to a fire?” Ian asked, rubbing the side of his nose.

      “Someone torched Regina’s place today. With her tied up in it.”

      “And you are Regina,” Ian stated, his mouth twitching.

      “Yes,” she said, inclining her head in a short salute. “Regina Menlow.”

      “So what does your attempted murder have to do with Chris Beck?”

      “I was his mistress.”

      “Bloody hell,” Jordan snapped, exasperated.

      “You were?” Ian ignored his friend.

      “Not really, but Jordan seems to think so. I figured I’d get it out there first. Doesn’t hurt so much when I say it.”

      “Honest, aren’t you?” And tough, he thought.

      “Painfully.”

      “Painful for whom?” Ian glanced at Jordan, saw the flash of male frustration—the kind that came from fighting the inevitable.

      Interesting.

      Regina’s lips curved in amusement. “Believe it or not, more often for me. Jordan just happens to be the exception right now.”

      “Are you quite done?”

      “Quite done.” Regina mimicked Jordan’s accent before turning to his friend.

      She held out her hand and shook Ian’s. “It’s a pleasure, Mr. MacAlister. Chris was quite a fan of your family’s whiskey. And of your family.”

      “Please, call me Ian. Chris was a favorite of ours, too,” Ian acknowledged warmly, liking the woman instantly. He had a habit—a rather accurate one actually—of summing up a person’s worth in a matter of seconds after meeting them. Ian decided on the spot that if Regina Menlow were gold, she’d be worth quite a small fortune on her integrity alone. “And I think the pleasure will be all mine, Regina.”