“Bridgette, wait… Fuck.”
Sam shook his head as Bridgette kept walking, disappearing into another room. While he’d expected a certain level of animosity from her when he’d learned he’d been hired as her bodyguard—and that she wasn’t exactly fond of the idea—he hadn’t thought their relationship in high school had scarred her. Not like this.
He reran their interaction in his mind, doing his best to isolate anything that might point toward an answer. She’d been every inch the determined, confident woman he’d expected after learning she’d become a very successful prosecutor in one of Seattle’s toughest districts—right up until he’d hooked her arm when she’d tried to leave.
He’d noticed the way she’d shied away from him when he’d gotten close. How she’d glanced at wherever he’d touched her as if the contact, itself, scared her. Judging on the brief snippets of information she’d let slip, he’d bet his right nut that someone had hurt her since he’d last seen her. And not just her heart—he recognized the lingering effects of being physically abused. The only question was whether it had been an isolated incident or if she’d somehow gotten trapped in that kind of relationship.
He glanced at the hallway. She didn’t seem like the type to fall for token promises—ones she had to know weren’t worth the breath used to make them. So, he doubted she’d actually stay with a guy after any show of aggression. Still…
He slipped his cell from his pocket, stepping out onto the porch as he dialed the office, asking for Hank when his wife, Sadie, answered. The silence scratched at Sam’s control until a familiar voice sounded in his ear.
“Please don’t tell me she’s kicked your sorry ass out already, Midnight, because I think that’ll be a company record.”
“Great to talk to you, too. And, no, Bridgette hasn’t tossed me out.” He chuckled. “I mean, she tried, of course…hadn’t expected any less from her. But that’s not why I’m calling. I need your connections to gather some information for me.”
“I thought you had everything we could get about her current case?”
“I do. That’s not what I’m referring to. I need information on Bridgette. I’d like to know if she was involved in any…personal lawsuits or criminal cases since she left Livingston.”
Hank cleared his throat. “Did you say personal? As in her being the victim?”
Sam sighed. “Just…humor me. I have this gut feeling, and I’ve learned to always trust my instincts. But I also don’t think she’ll tell me. At least, not right away. And I’d like to know if there are any other threats out there, besides the people she’s put away, that might want to hurt her.”
“All right. I’ll see what my guys can dig up. It’ll take a few days, though.”
“Understood. I’ll do what I can on this end.”
“You do realize that it’s most likely connected directly to the case, right? The fact the threats started as soon as the court date was set can’t be a coincidence.”
“Agreed, it’s just… I’m missing a piece of the puzzle. Whether it’s got any bearing on who’s behind the threats isn’t clear. But she’s hiding something from me. And I can’t help but worry it’s going to rear up and bite my ass.”
“Can’t have that…not when I suspect you’re saving that it for someone else to bite.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re an ass?”
“Every day. I’ll call you when I have something to share.”
Sam slipped his phone back into his pocket then went inside. He really hoped he was wrong—that their history was coloring his perceptions. That he simply didn’t want to admit that he’d hurt her far worse than he’d ever imagined all those years ago. That he was the one who needed to atone. But he had a bad feeling his hunch was accurate.
Questions rattled around inside his head as he moved through each room, setting up the system he’d brought with him. When he’d learned that his assignment involved Bridgette—and that she could have anyone from gang members to paid professionals gunning for her—he’d come prepared. While he’d hoped she’d already have something in place, he wanted to be able to upgrade to a level he felt more comfortable with. Discovering she still used a set of dime-store push locks had nearly set him off. No wonder her father was scared. He wasn’t the only one.
Sam took a calming breath. Regardless of the lack of adequate countermeasures, Bridg had managed to dodge any life-threatening attempts—and he was pretty damn sure there had been at least one after her slip with the word “still” during their conversation. Now that her father had hired Sam—he’d personally see that her adorable ass stayed in one piece.
He pushed down the riotous strum of his pulse. She’d made it more than obvious she didn’t want to have anything to do with him. Hell, she’d wanted to boot him out. Playing the part of her protector was about as close as he was going to get. And the sooner he got any traitorous thoughts out of his head, the better.
Indecision weighed on his mind as he made his way down the hallway. It wasn’t as if he and Bridgette had been dating for years—had envisioned a life together. It had only been about eight months before everything had imploded and he’d walked—ran—away from her. From his life in Livingston. Not that he regretted joining the Army—making it through Ranger training. And, if things had turned out differently, he would have happily spent his life in the service.
But things hadn’t worked out, and Sam was faced with the cold reality that he needed to find a way to make civilian life his new goal. Joining Brotherhood Protectors had been a great first step. The work he’d performed over the past ten months had managed to ease some of the worry that he’d never find another way to matter like he had as a soldier. A way to help people. But that was only one part of his new life.
He couldn’t hide behind duty, anymore. Couldn’t spend every waking moment immersed in his job. Now that he’d gotten comfortable with living beyond his unit, he needed to make other aspects of his life an equal priority. Christ, he needed…someone.
He hadn’t been lying to Bridgette. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been with a woman and had it be more than a way to blow off steam. A mutual ride that ended with the rising sun. It hadn’t seemed to matter before, but as he’d walked around Bridgette’s house, it had been impossible not to imagine two generations of her family living their lives inside those four walls. Watching children grow and move on. Passing on their legacy. And it had made Sam realize he really had nothing to show for his thirty years. A few medals. More scars than he cared to admit to. A laundry list of regrets. But nothing—concrete.
You’re slipping, Sammy. Getting soft.
Sam mentally flipped off the voice in his head. The one that hadn’t quite come to terms with leaving his old life behind. Getting shoved out, actually. The part of him that still heard Gray whispering in the night, or saw reflections of the man in the shadows on the wall. Knowing his buddy wouldn’t get a chance to make a life still burned hot in Sam’s gut. Still ate at his soul until he wondered if living was really his punishment for letting Gray down. For failing.
The steady thrum of music pulled Sam out of his thoughts as he stopped outside Bridgette’s office. A series of dull thuds sounded beyond the door, and he opened it, only to stop and stare. She was punching the bag he’d noticed hanging in one corner earlier when he’d installed the detector, the hollow echo of each hit bouncing off the walls. She seemed completely focused on the rhythmic strikes, not even glancing at him as he entered, moving to stand a few feet behind her.
Her increased breath panted through the room, her movements making him smile. She’d obviously been taking lessons for a few years, and Sam didn’t doubt she could knock the average guy on his ass if need be. Not that he’d admit that to her—give her an excuse to try and kick him out the door, again.
Bridgette kneed the bag, lining up another strike when she must have felt his presence. She spun, landing a hook to his ribs before he’d managed to duck. The hit sent a jolt of pain through his torso, the old injury flaring to life. He blocked her second punch, shouting her name as he backed away.
She stopped, chest heaving, sweat dripping off her jaw as her eyes widened. She immediately pulled back, dropping her hands as her mouth gaped open. “Shit, Sam. I’m so sorry. I got so caught up in the workout, I forgot you were here, and then, you startled me, and I just…reacted. Are you okay?”
He rubbed his side, trying not to focus on the raised scar that passed beneath his fingers, even through his sweater. “You do pack quite the punch for someone your size, but…I’ve been hit by guys twice mine, so, yeah. I’m fine. You might want to try and twist your hips a bit more as you extend your arm next time. It’ll make those strikes even more effective.”
“Thanks. I’ll remember that. Are you finished with the alarm?”
Sam held up his phone. “All set. The code is zero, two, one, four.”
Bridgette nodded, mouthing the numbers a few times before pausing. “Wait, that’s Valentine’s day.”
“It’s usually easier to remember codes if they have some kind of personal meaning.”
She arched her brow. “Call me crazy, but I didn’t picture a bunch of Army Rangers celebrating Valentine’s Day with roses and chocolate.”
“Think farther back.”
“Farther? No.”
He smiled.
“Are you telling me that the date of our six-month anniversary has personal meaning to you?”
“As I recall, it had a pretty spectacular ending. The first of many over the next few months. And you always were a hard benchmark to meet, darling. Though, I’m a bit surprised you remembered. I would have thought you’d purged every last memory of us out of that pretty head of yours.”
She tsked him. “You know, for some highly trained super soldier, who parachutes from thirty-thousand feet and infiltrates enemy territory as if it was a walk in the park, you know nothing about women.”
“Is that so?”
“I’d just turned eighteen. You were my first serious boyfriend. I lost my virginity to you—that very night, as you implied. Of course I remember everything—every date, every kiss, every other time we…” She cleared her throat then gave him a sweet smile. “It’s a girl thing.”
His stomach tensed as desire hit him hard. While he might not have spent every waking moment fantasizing about her or their time together—agonizing over how it had all fallen apart—he’d thought about her often—more than had probably been wise. A fact he’d managed to ignore, until now.
Uncertainty weighed down his shoulders. He didn’t like feeling this way—being out of control. Especially, where she was concerned. He had a job, and it wasn’t shoving her against the wall and making her scream out a release.
He drew himself up, hoping to lighten the mood. “Like never dressing for the weather and always stealing the guy’s jacket? That kind of girl thing?”
“I only ever did that once. And I’ll have you know that I haven’t asked for another guy’s jacket since.” She wiped at the sweat beading her forehead. “And, for the record, when women borrow men’s clothes, it’s not just about being cold.”
“Really? Then, why?”
“Usually, because it’s big and comfy and it smells like the guy. It’s kind of like being hugged, I guess. It makes us feel safe. At least, that’s my experience.”
Sam edged closer. “Your experience? From the one time you wore my jacket?”
“You used to lend me your sweaters, too. But, yes, from that one time. I don’t need fifty other references to know why I liked wearing your stuff.”
He moved with her when she went to dart past him. “So, why haven’t you borrowed other boyfriend’s jackets?”
Her smile fell as some of the color drained from her face. She fumbled with the sparring gloves on her hands, shrugging as she pulled them off. “Never needed to. I own a phone. I can check the weather, now.”
Fuck. If Sam needed more proof that someone had hurt her, it was staring back at him.
He shifted enough to let her walk past, following her out. “I thought it wasn’t just about being cold?”
Her pace increased as she headed for the stairs. “Is there anything else you need to tell me? About the alarm? Is it going to go off at night if I decide to get up and work, or get thirsty?”
He sighed. Obviously, her previous relationships were off limits where he was concerned. “It’ll be fine. But it will sound if you leave without disarming it.” He smiled when she stopped on the first step and glanced back at him over her shoulder. “And I’ll get notified whenever you do that. Just so you know.”
A hint of a smile lifted her lips. “So, I’m a prisoner, now.”
“Prisoner is such a harsh term, Counselor. I prefer to think of it as temporary isolation.”
“Men. I’m going to shower then maybe get some dinner. I assume you’re locked in here with me?” She shook her head at his nod. “I’ll make up some wraps after. You can cook tomorrow.”
“Bridgette.”
She paused, again, a few stairs up. “Yes?”
He climbed up until his face was even with hers. “You know you can tell me anything, right? That I won’t judge you or criticize your past decisions?”
“Just like you didn’t criticize my lack of a bodyguard, earlier?”
He groaned. Fuck. “Fair, even if I was doing it to make a point. Regardless… Let me rephrase my statement, then. I promise I won’t judge anything else you say to me.”
The muscle in her jaw flexed as she seemed to force air in and out through her nose. She broke eye contact, furrowing her brow before finally looking at him. “Is that your subtle way of asking me if I’m hiding something?”
“We both know you are. I just wanted you to know that I’m not the same guy I was at eighteen. Not that I’m trying to make excuses for being an utter prick to you back then, but…” He lifted one hand and brushed some stray wisps of hair out of her face, cursing under his breath when she flinched slightly before quickly recovering. “If there’s something I should know—someone else who might want to hurt you. Get back at you for something that’s not related to this case—to any case—you can tell me. We’ve all got regrets and unfortunate decisions in our past.”
“Unfortunate decisions? That’s one way of putting it. I would have called it an epic fuck-up, but…”
“But…”
“But nothing. I’m sure this is just one of Stevens’ men trying to scare me.”
He sighed. “I have all the non-sensitive files on Alexander Stevens and his drug cartel. But Hank didn’t have time to gather any background information on your previous cases. I’ll need a list of all the people you’ve helped get convicted since you started at the US Attorney’s office.”
“Since I started? I’ve been involved in nearly thirty cases.”
“And we’ll have to go through each one. Rank the offenders according to how much we think they’d like to see you dead. While Stevens is the logical choice, I’ve discovered it’s better if I don’t make assumptions. Less likely something will crop up I’m not prepared for.”
“Killing me won’t stop the case from going to trial. You know that, right? They’ll just give it to someone else. Which is why this has got to be posturing.”
“I hope you’re right. But it’s my job to make sure we’re prepared in case it isn’t.”
“Can I have a shower, first?”
He smiled. “I’d insist that you do.”
“Ass.”
“I’ll go over the photos you just got. See if I can use them to trace back to the photographer. I don’t suppose you kept a record of your previous threats?”
She pursed her lips, looking as if she was deciding how to answer, before releasing a weary breath. “There’s a key in the left drawer of my desk. It opens the locked cabinet beneath the window. There’s a folder with anything anyone has ever sent me that was…disturbing. Though, I might not have all the photographs here. But I can call the office and have them sent over.”
“An entire folder? I know you said you’d been getting threats the past couple of years, but… How many times, exactly, have you been threatened to this extent?”
She paused, again, and he had an eerie suspicion that she was resisting saying the word never. That this time was so much worse than the threats she’d received before. But he knew she’d never admit to that. At least, not yet.
Bridgette sighed. “You’ll just get angry if I tell you that.”
“Five?” He narrowed his eyes when she simply stared back at him. “Ten? Christ, it’s more than ten?”
“See? Angry.”
“Of course, I’m angry, Bridg. You act as if it’s no big deal.” He held up his hand. “And, I swear, if you tell me one more time that it’s part of your job…”
“Sam.”
“Your job is to see justice is served. Not to have people trying to kill you.”
Her smile reached all the way to her eyes, this time, as she returned the favor and brushed a lock of hair out of his face. “How about we focus on the fact that nothing happened those…twelve other times.”
“Twelve? Seriously?”
“I’m fine. And, this time…I have you. So…” She pulled back her hand, staring at him with an odd expression before climbing up another step. “Go have a look. I’ll join you when I’m done.”
“Bridgette.”
She chuckled as she glanced at him one more time. “Getting pretty chilly here.”
“I meant what I said before. You can tell me anything.”
Her chin quivered for a moment before she waved him off. “I’m cold. And I stink, so…I’ll be down in a bit.”
He watched her round the landing then continue to the top, disappearing down the hallway. He stared at his hand, the lingering soft brush of her hair still tingling his skin. This was far more than he’d bargained on. How had he thought any residual feelings for her had withered and died? That he’d be able to be around her every minute of every day for the next few weeks and not want to do so much more than simply keep her safe? He just wasn’t sure if it was temporary lust or something more.