The Bodyguard & Ms Jones. Susan Mallery

The shape of his face was different, as well. He must look like his father. Mike glanced around the room again and wondered if Mr. Jones lived elsewhere.

      The boy shoved his hands into his shorts pockets. “Can I see the bullet wound?”

      Until that moment, Mike had been able to ignore the pulsing pain radiating from his thigh. The memories crashed in on him. The ambush on the rooftop garden terrace, the madness in the assassin’s eyes, the sudden slowing of time as Mike had shoved his client to the ground and pulled out the Beretta he carried with him. The assassin’s first round had missed, the second had caught Mike in the thigh. Mike had shot the assassin, and had then been attacked by the man’s assistant. In the struggle, Mike had gone off the side of the building. He’d taken the assistant with him. The client escaped unharmed, the bill was paid and Mike was left to move on. Only this time it had been to a hospital instead of another job.

      He shook his head to clear it and only succeeded in blurring his vision. The kid was still staring at him expectantly. What did he want? Oh, yeah. To see the bullet wound. “Not right now, sport.”

      The boy’s mouth twisted with disgust. “My name’s Jonathan. I just want to look.”

      Allison entered, carefully carrying a glass of water in both hands. Her pale eyebrows drew together in concentration. When he took the glass from her, she smiled proudly. “I didn’t spill any.”

      “Thanks.”

      He tried to sit up again, but he didn’t have a prayer. The spirit might be willing, but his body was still whimpering and broken. He tilted his head forward and drank the water down in four long swallows.

      The liquid was cool and about the best-tasting drink he’d had in weeks. When he was done, he sighed and offered the glass back to Allison. Now both kids were staring at him, their mouths open, their eyes big.

      “You drink fast,” Allison said.

      “I guess,” he said, feeling vaguely uncomfortable.

      “You ever kill anybody?” Jonathan asked.

      Allison grabbed her doll and took a step back. Mike set the empty glass on the nightstand and looked at the boy. “No. My job is to protect people. I’m hired to keep my client safe.”

      “But someone shot you.”

      “It happens.”

      “Was it a bad man?” Allison asked. Her voice was soft and concerned. She continued to keep her distance.

      “Yes, he was bad,” Mike told her. “He’s in jail now. He can’t hurt anyone again.” For some reason, he wanted to reassure the little girl. He didn’t like seeing the fear in her eyes. He tried smiling at her. His lips felt dry and his face was tight. Still, it must have worked, because the wary expression faded and she approached the bed again.

      “Shelby thinks you’re nice,” she said shyly.

      “Who’s Shelby?” He glanced around searching for yet another kid.

      Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Allison, don’t be such a baby. Stop talking about Shelby. She’s not real.”

      The girl tightened her grip on her doll. She ignored her brother and leaned closer to Mike. “Shelby’s my bestest friend in the world. She doesn’t like Jonathan and won’t let him see her.”

      Mike didn’t know what to make of this. He was saved from having to answer by the sound of a car pulling up the driveway.

      “Mommy’s home, Mommy’s home.” Both kids went flying from the room. Their feet thundered on the wooden floor.

      “Stop pushing,” Allison ordered.

      “Then get out of my way.”

      “Mo-om, Jonathan’s pushing.”

      “Am not. Quit being such a baby.”

      “I’m not a baby.”

      “Are, too! Allie’s a baby. Allie’s a—”

      The voices were abruptly cut off when the back door opened. For the next few minutes, there were only low murmurs, then Mike heard the woman approaching.

      She walked into the room and smiled at him. “I’m afraid to ask if you woke up on your own, or if the children are responsible.”

      “I think it’s a little of both.”

      She bent over the nightstand and pulled open the top drawer. After pulling out a thermometer, she shook it down and placed it under his tongue. She expertly took his pulse, then leaned close and studied his eyes. While she looked at him, he looked at her.

      She was as he remembered her. Today she wore a headband to keep her hair off her face, but the color was still light brown and it fell almost to her shoulders. Her eyes were smoky green and the corners of her mouth tilted up. A red T-shirt clung to her breasts. White shorts hugged her hips and exposed long, tanned legs. She didn’t look like any nurse he’d ever had, but he wasn’t about to complain.

      “Your eyes are clear,” she said. She touched his forehead, then his cheek with the back of her hand. “You feel cool, too.” She removed the thermometer and studied it. “Normal. Finally. So, Mike, how do you feel?”

      “Not bad for a guy who fell off a building.”

      “You’ve been asleep for three days. According to your doctor, that’s exactly what you needed.” There was a shuffling at the door. She glanced over her shoulder. “Jonathan, Allison, your ride for swim team will be here in about fifteen minutes. Go get ready.”

      He heard footsteps on the stairs and the sound of childish voices. “They don’t do anything quietly, do they?”

      “Not if there’s a way to do it loudly.” She perched on the edge of the bed. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to have you awake. I’ve been worried.” Her skin was smooth and slightly tanned. When she smiled, there were faint lines around her eyes. He guessed she was close to thirty.

      “Are you a nurse?” he asked.

      She laughed. The sweet sound caught him off guard, and he felt himself smiling. It was the second time in less than fifteen minutes. Before now, he probably hadn’t smiled twice the entire year.

      “Hardly. I teach math at the middle school.”

      “Excuse me for asking, but if you’re not a nurse, what the hell are you doing looking after me in your house? This is your house, isn’t it?”

      She leaned back against the footboard. After drawing one knee up toward her chest, she clasped her hands around her calf. “I’m friends with your sister Grace. She lives next door.” She tilted her head. He recognized it as the same move Allison had made. “Grace has lived here four years. If you’re her only brother, how come we’ve never seen you here before?”

      “I don’t have much time to see family.” Grace was always inviting him. And she made him feel that she really wanted to see him. But Mike could never bring himself to visit. He’d always been a loner. It was easier, and in his profession, safer. “You still haven’t explained why you didn’t just dump me in the hospital.”

      “I owe her. My kids get out of school about an hour and a half before I get home. Grace looks after them. She won’t let me pay her. I can only buy her so many lunches. When her husband found out he would be spending the summer in Hong Kong, she wanted to go with him. Then you got in touch with her. She didn’t know what to do. Going to Hong Kong was the opportunity of a lifetime, but you needed a place to recuperate. That’s where I came in. I said I would look after you until you were back on your feet.”

      “Just like that?”

      “Of course. She’s my friend.” She seemed surprised by the question, as if opening her house to a sick stranger was commonplace.

      “What does Mr. Jones think about this?”

      Her