The Baby's Bodyguard. Alice Sharpe

night together had she anticipated their relationship might continue? The truth? Yes. There was something about Jack Starling—there had been then, there was now. But things had changed and now there was too much at stake to get involved. “I’m sorry,” she said, withdrawing her hand. “It’s impossible.”

      “I’m sorry, too,” he murmured.

      Together, they walked back up the dune. The parking lot had cleared out while she was gone and now Hannah’s car was the only one at the back. She’d been away from it less than thirty minutes. The perishables should be okay. Well, maybe not the ice cream …

      The explosion wasn’t the kind that shook the earth, but was so unexpected, it sent Hannah toppling back against Jack. He immediately swiveled her around as if to shield her from danger, the bodyguard in him coming to the forefront, his strong, warm body pressed against hers.

      She looked over his shoulder at the black cloud of smoke enveloping her car.

Chapter Two

      At police request, Jack presented his identity, holding his breath it would pass scrutiny. The last name on it was Carlin instead of Starling. It had stood up earlier in the month when he used it, and he assumed it would hold up again. The cops made notes and handed the false driver’s license back and then proceeded to ignore him.

      Hannah had walked away from him to make a call, and now she tucked her cell phone into her handbag as she returned. She’d seemed desperate to make this call after the explosion. He didn’t know if it was because she thought she knew who was behind the bomb or because she was concerned a loved one would hear the news and start to worry.

      There was so much he didn’t know about her.

      Twenty feet farther along, firemen and police were finishing their investigation. The afternoon was giving way to evening, the breeze of earlier in the day getting serious enough to thrash Hannah’s straight, shoulder-length hair around her neck. She turned her face into the wind to clear a few glistening strands of red-gold from her mouth and eyes.

      She struck him as more contained, less vulnerable and stronger than the last time they’d met. Just as attractive, yes. Just as interesting with a spark of naughty in her clear green eyes. He liked the way her nose tilted up a little at the end, he liked the few freckles scattered across her cheeks.

      After seeing and talking to her again it was hard to believe she’d been in on something as nasty as what happened in Tierra Montañosa. He had the gut feeling she was telling the truth, but he had just as strong a feeling she was hiding something he needed to know.

      “What did you mean when you accused me of watching you?” Jack asked.

      “It’s not important,” she said, and then looked over his shoulder as something else caught her attention. He turned to find that one of the police officers had detached himself from the others and was walking toward them. With a hasty glance back at Jack, Hannah quickly moved to meet the officer and lowered her head as they spoke. Jack recognized her attempts to keep her conversations private. He’d operated the same way for most of his life.

      He swallowed his impatience with her and closed his eyes, searching for the Zen-like spot inside himself he’d learned to access during his months of captivity. For an admitted control freak, there was nothing more humbling than being at the total mercy of merciless men. He’d found the only way to survive with his brain still working was to adapt.

      He relaxed tense muscles in his neck and shoulders as the cool ocean breeze blew in his hair and whipped his shirt around his torso. He concentrated on the caw of gulls, the distant sound of waves. The crowd noise receded. He was standing alone, an invisible shaft of energy running through his skull and out the soles of his feet, connecting him to the center of the earth. He was free.

      No wire cages. No chains around his neck. No starvation, no guns jabbed into his gut for no reason. No yelling, no threats, no terror.

      Part of him yearned to accept that it had all happened the way Hannah said, to get on his bike and go find the rest of his life and never look back. But it wasn’t a big part and he knew in his heart it would never happen. He was who he was today because of what had happened to him yesterday. That’s the way it worked.

      He opened his eyes to find Hannah staring at him. She wore a salmon-colored sweater that somehow matched her lips though he hadn’t noticed any lipstick. Until that second he hadn’t realized he’d even looked at her lips, but of course he had. If he wanted to torture himself, he could relive the taste of those lips; it wouldn’t be the first time. If he wanted to check himself into a mental ward, he could work his memory down each delicious curve and dip of her body.

      He’d done that a time or two, as well.

      Hannah nodded at something the officer said, and walked toward Jack again, her breasts bouncing gently under her sweater. He suddenly burned with an unexpected need for her.

      “I’m getting a ride back to my house, Jack. Officer Latimer asked if you need a lift somewhere.”

      He glanced toward the other end of the lot and his Harley. Thanks to Ella and Simon, he had it back. “No, thanks.”

      “Okay. Well, I just want to say goodbye. I’m so glad you’re okay. Take care of yourself and try to let the past go. You deserve to be happy now.” She put her hands on his shoulders and stood on tiptoe to plant a brief kiss on his left cheek. Her cloud of hair smelled like fresh air.

      He caught her hands before she could fly away. “Why won’t you tell me what you meant about being watched?”

      “Because it was just my imagination,” she said as he reluctantly released her.

      “Did you tell the police about it?”

      “Yes,” she said, but she looked down as she said it, her hand rising to brush at her cheek. He didn’t believe her. Why wouldn’t she tell the police something like that?

      “Someone blew up your car, cariño,” he said softly. “Maybe you should take it seriously.”

      “The police assure me the bomb wasn’t meant to hurt me. There’s been a rash of these things around town,” she added, meeting his gaze once again. “They think it was a small bomb on a timer attached to the muffler. Even if I’d been driving the car, I wouldn’t have been hurt. The car will need to go to the shop, but they can probably make it good as new. End of story.”

      “Not the end.”

      Her hand landed on his arm and she squeezed gently. “Yes. The end. I’m sorry for what you’ve been through, but maybe it’s best this way. Good luck finding what you’re looking for. I have to go. Officer Latimer is waving. Goodbye, Jack.”

      “Wait,” he said, but she cast him an apologetic smile before walking briskly to the police car. He watched the vehicle leave the parking lot.

      He stood there a moment as the tow truck and the fire truck left, as the few remaining bystanders wandered back to their own lives. Three things occurred to him. One: Hannah was afraid. He knew what fear looked like, what it smelled like, how it sounded. He didn’t think she was afraid of him. So, what was she frightened of?

      Two: She did not want him to know where she lived. Why?

      Three: She seemed to think that by not inviting him, he would stay away.

      THE HOUSE SHE NOW SHARED with her grandmother was less than a mile from the ocean, tucked into a small neighborhood on a wooded street. As always, coming home calmed something deep in Hannah’s soul. Especially tonight when she felt as though she’d dodged a bullet named Jack.

      Hannah’s grandmother, Mimi Marks, was a comfortable woman of seventy-three who wore her long gray hair in braids, was partial to denim overalls and big plastic clog-like shoes in bright colors. Back in the day, she’d helped her husband build this little house. On Friday nights, it was