Bodyguard Under Fire. Elle James

a moment for Chuck to digest her meaning. When it hit him that she had been breastfeeding Charlie, his face heated.

      PJ folded a cloth over his shoulder and held Charlie out. “Here, you can burp her while I fix something to eat.” Once he’d taken the baby, she performed an about-face and hurried toward the kitchenette in the corner. “I hope you like spaghetti. It’s cheap and easy to fix.”

      “I didn’t expect you to cook for me.”

      She shrugged. “It’s just as easy to cook spaghetti for two as for one person.”

      Chuck still held Charlie out at arm’s length. “How do I burp her?”

      PJ chuckled. “Lay her over your shoulder and pat her back. She’ll do the rest.”

      No sooner had Chuck laid her over his shoulder than Charlie burped.

      “See?” PJ turned with a wooden spoon in her hand. “Easy.”

      “All I did was put her on my shoulder.”

      “Sometimes that’s all it takes.” She waved the spoon. “Pat her back anyway. She probably has another one in there.”

      In awe and a little afraid of the tiny bundle of baby, Chuck patted her back gently, afraid he’d break her little body with his big hand.

      “Oh, come on, she won’t break. Give her a firm pat.”

      Chuck patted her back again, this time a little harder. Nothing happened.

      “Don’t stop. She likes it.”

      As he patted her back, Chuck paced across the small room and back, sure he was doing it wrong. Finally Charlie burped again and cooed.

      The sound made Chuck’s heart skip several beats. “Is that normal?”

      “That’s her way of saying thank you. I told you, she likes it.”

      Chuck glanced at PJ standing with her back to him. She seemed to be thinner than he remembered. “How was it?”

      “What?”

      “Your pregnancy, the delivery? I want to know.”

      “I did fine. I guess my body is built for bearing children. No health issues and a natural delivery.”

      He wanted to know more, but he clamped down on his tongue to keep from asking too many personal questions. “I would have been there...”

      “I know you would have. If you could have.”

      “Why didn’t you tell me?” He tipped Charlie into the crook of his arm and stared down into her little face.

      “You weren’t here. You wouldn’t have been here even had you known.” Her hand stopped stirring the sauce, and she stood for a long moment, unmoving. “Your focus needed to be on staying alive. What was the point in telling you?”

      His anger stirred again. “The point is, I’m Charlie’s father.”

      “And if there had been complications, what could you have done from Afghanistan?”

      Chuck sighed. “Nothing.”

      A long silence stretched between them.

      “I won’t try to keep you from seeing Charlie,” PJ said.

      Chuck stared up at PJ. She’d lied by omission about Charlie. Would she lie about trying to keep him from seeing his daughter? What about the visit to the attorney? Was she only trying to set an agreement in place, or was she preparing to cut him out of Charlie’s life?

      At this point, Hank didn’t want her to know Chuck had been hired as her bodyguard, not as a handyman as he’d told PJ.

      PJ glanced at him and sighed. Then she held her hand up, spoon and all. “I swear on my mothers’ graves I won’t keep you from Charlie. There. Are you satisfied?”

      Chuck nodded. He liked the strong, determined woman she’d grown into in the year he’d been away, and found himself even more attracted to her than before. “Okay. I trust you.” He might trust her about visitation with Charlie, but he wasn’t as sure about where they stood, or if he trusted her with his heart. Was attraction enough?

      “Trust or not, it’s the truth.” She turned back to the stove. “You about ready for dinner?”

      Chuck gazed down at the baby sleeping in his arms. He didn’t want to let go of her even to eat supper. “I guess.”

      PJ chuckled. “Does my cooking reputation precede me? I’m not Cara Jo, but I can—”

      Footsteps pounded on the staircase and then in the hallway outside PJ’s apartment door.

      PJ turned to Chuck. “Give me Charlie.” She held out her hands for the baby.

      Chuck handed her over and motioned for her to get behind him. “Go into the bedroom and close the door.”

      PJ did as she was told, her eyes wide, her face pale. As she closed the bedroom door, someone pounded on the door to the apartment.

      “Help! Please, help!” a female voice called out, followed by loud sobs.

      Chuck peered through the peephole and then yanked the door open.

      The young woman from the resort front desk fell against his chest, her face streaked with tears. “Please help him.”

      Chapter Five

      Chuck caught the woman and held her as she sobbed into his chest. “Help who?”

      “Danny, my boyfriend. He’s hurt.” She sniffed and pushed her hair out of her face. “He’s at the bottom of the stairs. I don’t know if he’s breathing.”

      Chuck shoved the woman into the apartment. “Stay here and call 9-1-1, and lock the door behind me.”

      The woman nodded, her hands shaking.

      PJ, still carrying Charlie, flung her bedroom door open. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

      “I don’t know. I’ll be right back.” Without waiting for her response, Chuck slipped past the distraught woman and lumbered down the stairs two at a time, jolting his bad leg with each step. He almost fell over the crumpled body at the bottom.

      The light over the stairs wasn’t working, but the glow from the security light in the rear parking lot shone enough on the inert form that Chuck could see a pool of blood.

      As he felt for a pulse, Chuck glanced around to ensure whoever had done this wasn’t waiting to do it again.

      After several long seconds, he could detect the weak beat of the young man’s heart. Rather than hurt him further, he carefully checked for injuries without moving him. The blood appeared to be coming from a wound to the forehead, which would explain why he was unconscious.

      Within minutes, sirens wailed from the direction of Wild Oak Canyon’s small hospital. A sheriff’s vehicle whipped into the parking lot before the ambulance, lights blazing.

      A man in uniform leaped out, gun drawn. “Step away from the body,” he called out.

      “I’m the one who had you called.” Chuck didn’t recognize the man from the previous night’s call.

      “Still, step away from the body until we secure the area.”

      Chuck held up his hands and stepped out into the parking lot. “He’s alive, seems to be breathing on his own, but he appears to have suffered a blow to the head.”

      The ambulance bumped over the rough pavement and came to a halt. Two emergency medical technicians jumped out. One opened a side panel and extracted a medical kit while the other unloaded a backboard.

      Cara Jo rounded the corner of the building, her eyes wide. When she spotted Chuck, she hurried to his side. “What the hell’s