Battle of the Bulge Page 6

  “Final warning, Abi,” he growls. “I don’t need this drama or your guilt trips.”

  “Uh, hello. I speak the truth. Sorry if it offends you because you’re so used to having your ass kissed.”

  His hateful expression softens. “Are you really about to be homeless?”

  “What do you care, Mitch?”

  “Don’t say that,” he mutters softly, a hint of shame in his tone.

  “Say what?” I stand and face him.

  “Abi love, is everything all right?” Leland appears at my side. It’s a guy thing, but his stance—slightly overlapping my body and wedging himself a few inches between me and Mitch—signals that I belong to him and Mitch should shake a tail.

  “Yeah.” I nod. “I’m fine. The host of this really cool event was introducing himself. But I just told Mr. Hofer here that I already donated everything I can. I’m tapped out.”

  Leland takes my hand. “Then I’m certain our humble host won’t mind if I steal you away to the dance floor so he can solicit money elsewhere.”

  I lean toward Mitch and whisper, “Off you go, pooker. Go do your thing and let us do ours.” I saunter away with my hawt AF date. I’m going to have to thank Sam for this gift of a partner.

  Leland and I take our place in the center of the dance floor, which is at the far end of the room next to the floor-to-ceiling French-style windows overlooking the terrace. Outside, several groups of guests are mingling and puffing on cigarettes under a large trellis covered with twinkling lights. I take note once again of how easy it would be to sneak in here from the hotel’s gardens. Checking the grounds was the first thing I did when I arrived.

  I slide my hand into Leland’s and gaze into his warm, dark eyes. It’s no exaggeration when I say that every female eye in the room is on either him or Mitch. For the record, the two are tied in the looks department. Solid tens. But I have to deduct five points for Mitch’s personality and lack of character.

  “So,” I whisper, swaying in time to Leland’s six-foot frame, “how long have you worked for Sam?”

  Leland’s smile looks forced all of a sudden, like he doesn’t know what to say, so he’s opting to charm my brain into a muddled state. It might be working.

  No, no, no. Stay focused, little bird. I’m here to work. I need to start taking a mental inventory of everyone in the room. I know Phil is lurking somewhere and will be expecting me to take a break in the ladies’ room. I have to text him my location assessment. Specifically, I need to flag anyone suspicious.

  Oh, like that woman. She’s standing against the wall, staring hungrily at Mitch across the room. She looks like she wants to bang him and then maybe dice him up and bake him in a pie. She also appears to be completely alone.

  I make a mental note: Y, F, 40, purple dress, 5.

  Phil will know I’m raising a yellow flag (Y) for a suspicious-looking female (F) in her forties (40), last seen at the southeast corner of the room—the five-o’clock position (5).

  Leland slowly turns to me, and I look at him expectantly. He still hasn’t answered my question. Nor is he doing a visual sweep of the room.

  Huh. That’s strange. Maybe he’s done his already? He did just turn me so he could see the rest of the room.

  “So…how long?” I ask again.

  “Sorry, dove?”

  “Sam. You. How long have you been working for him?” I repeat.

  Again, he holds that smile like a shield. “Well, you know…long enough. And yourself?”

  He doesn’t want to tell me. Maybe he’s new and doesn’t want to come off as weak or lesser in my eyes?

  “I just started today, actually,” I say.

  “Oh. Really? So this must be very exciting for you, playing bodyguard to such a big celebrity. Any updates on the people who are after Mr. Hofer? I hear they’ll stop at nothing, so I’m guessing it’s going to be high alert for some time.”

  Wait a sec. Why would Leland say that? If he’s on Sam’s team, then he knows the specifics are classified.

  Why? Sam won’t say.

  So if Leland knows that, then why ask me? Sam would tell us if he had any additional information to share.

  My phone vibrates in my sparkly little purse. “One sec. I have to catch this.” I dig the thing out and glance at the screen.

  Sam: Ronald is outside waiting. Where R U? He can’t get into the party.

  Ronald. Ronald is my date for tonight? I’ve never met the man, but if he’s outside waiting for me, then who the hell is this guy?

  I look at Leland and try not to show my panic. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. This guy isn’t part of our team! This guy is here to kill Mitch?

  A tiny part of my sad horny heart dies with a twitch. Why! Why? He’s so hot. No joke. I freaking hate it in movies when the crazy-good-looking hero turns out to be the bad guy. Such a waste.

  I quickly get into character like the trainer told me. “Remember, Abi, when there’s a threat, your job isn’t to step in, play the hero, or get involved. Leave that to the lead bodyguards with years of experience. You become a fly on the wall. You stay in character: act dumb, oblivious, whatever feels appropriate for the setting that makes you invisible to any persons of interest.”

  How am I supposed to do that? Leland already knows I’m working for Sam. How? Great question. But I can’t waste my time with it right now. I’ve got to tell Phil that I’m with R, M, 30, tux, 6. Red flag, male, in his thirties, wearing a tux, at six o’clock.

  “Leland? Leland Merrick. That you?” A tall woman about my age, with long dark hair and wide green eyes, comes up to us. Her grin is downright hostile. “What are you doing here?”

  Leland’s plastic smile turns passive-aggressive, too. They both look like vicious pit bulls with a grinning problem.

  “Gisselle, what a surprise,” he says blandly. “Aren’t you supposed to be halfway around the world by now?”

  “Ha! You think I’d trust any information you feed me? Fat chance.” She grabs his arm, but looks at me. “I’m so sorry. I need to speak with him for a moment.”

  “Errr…no problem. I need to hit the loo anyway.”

  She drags him off to the side of the room, eliciting a few judgmental stares from other guests. I watch them from behind a group of people near the restrooms. The two are whisper-fighting—finger shaking, red faces, and lots and lots of whispering.

  Ohmygod. I bet they’re rival hit men. They both want to kill Mitch. What else could it be? I head into the bathroom and call Phil. It’s too urgent for a text.

  “This’d better be good,” Phil’s deep voice snarls through the phone.

  “M and F. Twenty, thirty, red. Red! Tux and little black dress. Sexy. At six. Or five. Wait. Make that three. They just moved.”

  “Abi, slow down. I can’t understand you.”

  “Um. Okay.” I start hyperventilating. “This really good-looking guy came up to me outside, and I thought he was sent by Sam to be my date, but he’s not. My date is still outside waiting for me. But this guy, he knows I work for Sam. He was asking all kinds of questions about who’s after the client. Then this woman came up to us, and I think she’s here to kill Mitch, too.”

  “Can you describe them?” Phil asks.

  “Well, he’s hot. Really, really hot—”

  “Abi! Physicals.”

  “Oh. Sorry. Um, six or six one. Dark hair. Wearing a tux. He looks like he’s about thirty. He’s standing to the side of the dance floor, arguing with a pretty brunette in a black—”

  “I see them. Go get Mitch. Quietly and calmly take him outside to the limo.”

  “Me?” My heart rate goes from panicked to imminent meltdown.

  “Yes.”

  “But I’m just an ow—”

  “Now!” he roars.

  “Okay. Okay.” The call ends, and I feel my head getting lighter. Oh no. I think I’m having a panic attack. I used to get them when I was in my early teens, just about the time I hit puberty. Boys started staring, and I would become overwhelmed
with embarrassment, not knowing how to react or what to do. Being shy sucked hard. But it’s been years since I’ve had a full-blown panic attack.

  Suck it up, girl! You have to get Mitch. If I fail, he might die.

  The door to the restroom swings open, almost crashing into me.

  “Oh. Sorry, dear,” says an older woman in a blue dress with black dolphins printed all over it. She takes one look at me, and her smile drops. “Dear, are you all right? I own cotton balls with more color.”

  I press my hands to my chest. “I. Can’t. Breathe.”

  She grips me by the elbow to steady me. “I’ll call for an ambulance.”

  “No.” I shake my head, gasping for air. “Just give me a second.”

  “Are you certain? I think I should—”

  “No.” I bend over. “But can you please…” Pant, pant, pant. “Go outside and tell Mr. Hofer he needs to get to the limo? Tell him…” Pant, pant, pant. “Abi said it’s urgent, and I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “If you insist, but are you sure you’ll be all right, sweetie?” she asks.

  “Yep. Hunky-dory. I just need a moment to catch my breath. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “No need. I can entertain the Bulge just fine.” She pushes me down into a chair next to the full-length mirror in the primping area. “You just rest and come along when you can.”

  “Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.” Of course, she’s giddy as hell at the idea of spending time with Mitch.

  She leaves the restroom, and I throw myself back in the chair, letting my arms flop to my sides and doing my best to make space in my tight lungs. It’s all in your head. It’s all in your head. It’s all in your…

  A splotch of mud on the beige tile floor catches my eye. It’s fresh and in the exact spot where that woman was just standing.

  Mud.

  The garden.

  Oh no!

  I spring to my feet and dash out of the restroom into the crowded ballroom. Across the ocean of guests, I spot Mitch’s tall frame as he bends his head to listen to the old woman.

  Sneaky little nana!

  “Excuse me! Excuse me!” I push my way through the mob of partygoers, leaving behind a trail of offended people. I literally feel like I’m about to black out from lack of oxygen, and I have to get to him quickly.

  “Mitch!” I manage to scream. “She’s…she’s…” I grab the back of the woman’s dress as I go down “…a killer.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Mitch

  “Abi? Abi! Are you all right?” I pat her soft cheek, hoping to hell she’s not going into some sort of damned cardiac arrest. “Abi, wake the bloody hell up.”

  “She’s out cold,” says Phil, the guy in charge of the team I’m paying to watch my ass. “Just make sure she keeps breathing until the ambulance gets here.”

  This guy is giving me orders? I’m the damned client. I’m paying for his bloody time. And how the fuck did he let this happen? That old goat almost put a bush knife in my chest.

  I want to stand and pummel Phil, but that can wait. I need to make sure Abi is all right. Despite what she thinks, I do care about her.

  “What the hell happened?” Sam charges through the crowd, looking more pissed off than I feel.

  “Abi stopped that woman from carving me up like a ham,” I growl and glance at the lady, who looks as sweet as any grandma. Igor, second in command, has her hands in zip ties.

  “Let me go, you hooligan!” she yells. “Help! Somebody help! I’m being assaulted!”

  Phil, Igor, and the event security warn everyone to stand back.

  “I’m just an old woman. A fan. They’re hurting me,” she cries.

  No one is buying it. Mostly because like me, everyone saw the crazy bat pull a fucking hunting blade from the front of her dress.

  Now that’s a cleavage purse. How the hell did she get it in there? It was half the length of her damned body. All I can say is that I’m relieved no one was hurt.

  I glance down at Abi’s face. She looks like a sexy angel—pink lips resting in a soft pucker, rosy cheeks, and an oval face that give her the appearance of innocence. It’s what drew me to her the night we met—a face that tells you she’s sweet and good and all the things a guy like me needs.

  Right. That last part is bullshit. I might find Abi attractive, but I want nothing to do with her, which is the reason I kicked her out the morning after my party. Thank bloody God I didn’t fuck her. That would make me the asshole she claims me to be. A man in my situation cannot afford to drag anyone into this mess, let alone a nice girl like Abi. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking messing around with her in the first place, and I sure as fuck don’t know what Sam was thinking hiring her.

  Still crouching beside Abi, I snarl up at Sam, “Mate, I told you this would be a goddamned mistake. Now look at her!”

  “Abi had the highest score of any person to ever pass that training,” Sam argues. “And she saved your life.” The look on his face says it all: How about being grateful, you ass? You’re alive. Thanks to her.

  “We’re done here, mate. Bloody fucking done,” I snarl at him. “I won’t be having women getting mowed down to save me.”

  Sam bends down at my side and speaks quietly into my ear. “This was your idea, Mitch. Remember? Instead of witness protection, you wanted to carry on like nothing’s happened. But it has. So let Phil and his team do their job. Let Abi do hers. And put your fucking ego aside.”

  Despite Sam being the only guy I trust, I am this close to putting my fist through his teeth. I chose not to be a giant pussy and hide for the rest of my life. It’s why I pay him.

  Except, it’s not only your life at risk, is it? I glance down at Abi, whose warm brown eyes are beginning to flutter open. I should feel pleased that she’s all right, but it only clears the path for my anger. If I had wanted her in harm’s way, I would have fucked her and kept on doing it. Maybe I would have had a go at a real relationship. But I didn’t.

  I stand and face Sam. We’re the same height, but he has more of a bulky build. I’m hard lean muscle. Except for a very small spot just below my navel—a leftover from my pudgy teen years. My trainer says no one sees it, but I do. It’s a reminder that no matter how far I’ve come, I’m not perfect.

  “We’ll talk about this later.” I leave before Abi witnesses me being pissed off. She can’t know I give a damn. I want her as far away as possible. Her and everyone else who’s not as deadly and ruthless as the people who want to kill me.

  Abi

  When I come to, Sam is standing over me, arguing with Mitch about something. It all sounds like garble. But the kicking and screaming coming from Granny Murder Pants is loud and clear.

  I sit up and squeeze the sides of my head, willing the room to stop spinning.

  “Take it easy, Abi. You fell pretty hard,” says Sam, crouching beside me as Mitch marches away.

  No “Thank you for saving my life”? No “Hey, I’m so glad you were here”? Why the hell does Mitch hate me so much that he can’t even show a modicum of gratitude? Oh. Wait. I know. He’s pissed because a woman just saved him. His giant ego can’t handle it.

  “You did good.” Sam pushes some loose hair from my face, inspecting the mark.

  “He doesn’t seem to think so,” I mutter, glancing at the exit.

  Sam lets out a grumble. “Mitch is grateful. He’s just not used to being saved by a woman.”

  “Jackass.”

  “Well, take it from another jackass, Mitch will come around. And when he does, he’ll be thanking his lucky stars for you.”

  I opt to rub my pounding forehead rather than argue.

  “By the way,” Sam asks, “how did you know that woman was going to try to kill him?”

  “Mud. She had mud on her shoes from the garden.”

  He stares for a moment and then gets it. “Well done.”

  “What about that man Leland? Did you catch him, too?” I ask.

  “I’m sorry to say
he won’t be hauled off to jail tonight. He’s actually a reporter and the biggest pain in my ass ever to walk the planet.”

  “A reporter?”

  Sam nods. “And he has a way of digging up little facts, piecing together a hunch, and then tricking people into confirming or denying his assumptions.”

  Oh… So when he asked me those questions, he had been fishing. “And that woman, the brunette?”

  “Gisselle, a rival of his. They both caught a whiff of Mitch’s story and have been sniffing around ever since.” Sam shakes his head. “Of course, they couldn’t care less about how dangerous the situation is or that digging around might get someone killed. They care more about scooping each other than a person’s life.”

  I’m so stupid. I should have known. “I thought he was my date, sent by you.”

  “Did he give you the grape-gum code?”

  Oh crap. I forgot. “No. I’m so sorry.”

  “Did you say anything?” Sam asks.

  “I don’t know…” I wince from the spanking I’m getting inside my head.

  “Sorry. Sorry. Let’s just get you to the doctor and then we can talk about all that.”

  “I’m fine,” I say, extending my hand. “Just help me up.”

  “Abi…” Sam protests.

  “Really. There’s nothing wrong. Just got a little excited is all. I hyperventilated.”

  I can tell by Sam’s flat lips that he doesn’t believe me. Luckily, the police arrive to take Grandma Guillotine to jail, which stops the conversation right there.

  “I’ll call you later,” Sam says to me and then looks at Phil. “Can you take Abi home?”

  “What about the new night-watch team I’m supposed to train?” Phil asks.

  Sam rubs his forehead like he’s had a rough night. I know he’s managing multiple events and teams. His plate is full, and Mitch’s protection is probably sucking up more of his time than he’d planned.

  I raise my hand. “I’ll Uber. Don’t worry.”