Christmas Stalking. Margaret Daley

      One of the reasons she liked being a bodyguard was that she could blend into the background. Most of her clients didn’t engage her in casual conversation. But Winnie had been different, and it seemed to run in the family. She kept a lock on her past—a past she didn’t want to take out and reexamine. No point in going over it.

      “If you must know, the short version of my life so far is—”

      “That’s okay—”

      “I grew up in Chicago,” she interrupted, “in a part of town where I had to learn to take care of myself and stick up for my brother, too. People weren’t kind to him. He had a mental disability and talked ‘funny.’ Their word, not mine. When I could get out of the neighborhood, I did.” She sipped her tea, gripping the mug tighter to keep her hands steady.

      “Where’s your brother?”

      “Dead.” The word hung in the air between them for a long moment while Ellie relived the moment when Toby had slipped away from congestive heart failure.

      “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up something painful.”

      “What did you mean to do, then?”

      “To make sure Winnie was in good hands.”

      She stared into his light, gray-blue eyes. “She’s in good hands. When I do a job, I do it one hundred percent.”

      Another long silence stretched between them as she felt the probe of his gaze, seeking, reading between the lines.

      “Did I pass?” She raised her cup and drank, relishing the warm, soothing tea.

      “This wasn’t a test.”

      “You could have fooled me.” After she scooted back her chair, the scraping sound filling the kitchen, she pushed to her feet. “While I would love to continue this interrogation—I mean conversation—I’m tired and plan to go to bed. Good night.”

      She left the kitchen. Out in the hallway she paused, a hand braced on the wall as images of her twin brother washed through her mind—running from the neighborhood bullies, falling and scraping his palms and shins, crying because he didn’t understand why they didn’t like him. But the worst picture was of Toby on the floor of their small, dirty apartment, taking his last breath. He looked straight at her. She held him while they waited for the ambulance. A light brightened his eyes, and a peace she’d never seen fell over his face. Then he went limp as the sirens came down the street. She’d been thirteen.

      Tears crowded her eyes. She squeezed them closed. This was why she never dwelled in the past. She did not shed tears—hadn’t since she was thirteen.

      She slowly crossed to the front door and checked to make sure it was locked and the antiquated security system was on. After Colt went to bed, she would make a more thorough check of the house before she slept. Until then she would prowl her bedroom, hating the situation she’d been placed in. This secrecy handicapped her doing her job.

      * * *

      Standing in the dark, Colt stared out his bedroom window at the yard in front of the house; the outdoor lights illuminated the circular drive. Usually by this time of year there was a lot of snow on the ground, but not so far this winter. Most Christmases as a child, he remembered it being white. This year he’d be in the middle of the Pacific Ocean with blue water as far as he could see. One morning at the beginning of the week, a day after he’d talked to Winnie, a strong urge had overcome him. He needed to see his grandmother if only for a short time. He couldn’t shake the feeling all that day. By nighttime he’d made a reservation to fly back to Colorado.

      He glanced at his bed. He needed to sleep. Wanted to sleep. But he couldn’t. Winnie’s new assistant plagued his thoughts. Something didn’t fit. First, although she and Winnie seemed to get along great, Ellie wasn’t his grandmother’s usual type of assistant. Christy had fit the mold well for three years. Accommodating. Almost meek. A follower, not a leader.

      But Ellie certainly wasn’t meek. He rubbed his ear, recalling her defensive tactic last night. And accommodating? Hardly. He had thought for a minute that she was going to tackle him for her gun. But mostly she wasn’t a follower. Although she’d done everything his grandmother had requested of her today, her mannerisms and actions spoke of a woman in command. A woman who wouldn’t admit to a vulnerability.

      A couple of hours ago, though, he’d seen a crack in her defenses when she’d talked about her childhood, her brother. That was what he couldn’t get out of his mind. The glimpse of pain in her eyes he suspected she didn’t realize she’d shown. Or maybe she did and couldn’t control it because the hurt went so deep.

      Staring at the play of light and dark surrounding the front of the house, Colt plowed his fingers through his hair. His skin felt as if he was swimming through a swarm of jellyfish, their tentacles grazing across his arms and legs, their touch sending pain through him.

      Something wasn’t right. He couldn’t shake that feeling, just as he couldn’t deny the need to come see Winnie a few days ago.

      One of the German shepherds that guarded the property pranced across the drive and disappeared into the dark. Squinting, Colt tried to follow the dog’s trek. Something white flashed out of the corner of his eye, so briefly he wasn’t sure he’d seen anything. He shoved away from the window and headed for the door. He wasn’t sure why. It was probably nothing. One of the guard dogs had white fur.

      Still. He wanted to check.

      * * *

      A sound in the foyer caught Ellie’s attention. She’d just checked that part of the house. Was Winnie up? Colt? She crept down the hallway toward the front entrance, pulling her gun from the holster under her large sweatshirt. She found Colt crossing the foyer to the exit.

      Relieved it was only him, she stuck the borrowed gun back into its holster and entered the entry hall. “Is something wrong?”

      With his hand reaching for the doorknob, Colt jerked and pivoted toward her. “What are you doing down here? I thought you went to bed.”

      “And I thought you did, too.”

      “I did. Couldn’t sleep.”

      “So you’re going for a walk dressed like that? Won’t you get cold?” She gestured at his sweatpants, T-shirt and bare feet.

      He peered down. “I thought I saw something outside.” Taking a few steps toward her, he took in her similar attire except for her bulky sweatshirt to cover her weapon and her tennis shoes, in case she had to give chase. “I’m sure it was nothing now that I think about it. Probably one of the dogs. If anyone had been outside, they would be barking.”

      Unless they were taken out, she thought, recalling her words to Colt earlier. “Dogs aren’t invulnerable.”

      He paused. “True. I’d better check on it.”

      “I can. I’m dressed for it.”

      “Yeah, I noticed your tennis shoes.”

      She started toward the front door. “I don’t have slippers, and I’m not accustomed to the cold.”

      “But you’re from Chicago,” Colt said as she passed him.

      “We are seven thousand feet up the side of a mountain in December, and, besides, I’ve never been accustomed to the cold, even being from Chicago.” Glancing at the alarm system, she noticed he’d turned it off. She grasped the handle and opened the door. As she stepped out onto the front deck, Colt followed her. “I’ve got this.” Leave it to a pro. The urge to say those words was strong, but she bit them back.

      “You’re kidding. I’m not letting you come out here alone. What if someone is here? Who do you take me for?”

      “Someone who only has pants and a T-shirt on and no shoes, not even socks. That’s who.” She ground her teeth together, wanting to draw her gun as she checked the area out. But he was probably right