Bodyguard Page 9

  “I’m sorry my family is doing this,” Esme said, her voice raspy.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for. You aren’t responsible for your brother or your uncle. I’m only telling you this because I want you to know that this isn’t a good place to try to hide. Someone around here is on the Duprees’ payroll. Probably more than one person. I’m sure it wasn’t difficult for your uncle to find someone willing to come after you.”

  “Kill me, you mean.” Esme pushed away from the table, the chair scraping loudly on the old linoleum floor.

  “Yes. That is exactly what I mean.”

  “I need some air.” Esme didn’t ask permission. She didn’t seem to care if it was safe to leave. She walked out of the room, her limp obvious. She’d never gotten the Ace bandage, and she hadn’t had time to ice her ankle. Ian would make sure she did both. It wasn’t much to offer her, but it was more than he would have wanted to give her twenty-four hours ago.

  A Dupree but not like the rest of the family.

  He still wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

  All he knew was that he couldn’t keep viewing her through the lens of his anger and vindictiveness.

  He followed her into the hall, King off-lead beside him.

  He kept his distance as she made her way down a narrow hall and into a dimly lit stairwell. She jogged down the steps ahead of him, and he forced himself to keep quiet about her ankle, to not tell her to be careful.

  She knew he was there.

  He had no doubt about that.

  But she didn’t acknowledge him. She slammed open the stairwell door with both hands, her narrow shoulders shaking.

  Was she crying?

  He hoped not.

  Ian had never been great at dealing with the softer emotions. He could handle anger, frustration and disgust with ease. He dealt with them a lot in his line of work. And he knew how to assuage fear, how to calm nerves.

  But tears?

  They were a different thing altogether.

  Tears were vulnerability incarnate. They were hints at the soul of another human being, and he was never quite sure how to respond when he was faced with that.

  A pat on the shoulder? A verbal platitude? A gentle hug?

  They all felt awkward and foreign and fake.

  Esme reached the exit and would have opened the door, but he touched her shoulder. Felt the fine tremors, the tension.

  “You can’t go out there alone,” he said softly, and she whirled to face him, her short hair spiking out in a hundred different directions, her face still deathly pale.

  “I don’t want to do this anymore,” she responded, her voice calm and quiet and reasonable. Completely at odds with the wildness in her eyes.

  “Talk to the deputy sheriff?” he asked, knowing it was more than that. Knowing that she’d been pushed too hard and been through too much.

  “Be here. In this place. With an uncle who wants to kill me. I don’t want to keep running and hiding. I don’t like danger. I don’t like intrigue. I hate scary movies and books. I like weddings and happily-ever-afters and cakes with sugar flowers.”

  “I can get you some cake. I’m not sure about the sugar flowers,” he offered, hoping for a smile, and felt a spark of gratitude surge through him when he saw the telltale curve of her lips, a subtle shifting of her energy.

  She was calmer but not relaxed. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll take you up on that. If I survive until the trial.”

  “You will, but I thought maybe you could use some cake now. When was the last time you ate?”

  “I had a granola bar at noon.”

  “An empty stomach is hard on the psyche,” he said, and she offered a real smile.

  “You’re afraid I’m going to have a mental breakdown.”

  “I’m afraid you’re going to cry. I’m as opposed to tears as you are to scary movies.”

  She laughed a little at that, a hint of color returning to her cheeks. “You’re going to be very happy to hear that I almost never cry.”

  “And when you do, there’s always a really good reason?”

  “Usually. Sometimes, I cry at weddings. When the bride and groom are the perfect complement to each other, when I’ve worked with them for a year or more and seen just how deeply in love they are. I get a little teary-eyed then, because it reminds me of my parents. They were great people. You know what I keep wondering?”

  “What?”

  “Where they went wrong. How two great people could produce a son who has absolutely no moral compunction, no conscience, no remorse.”

  “Your brother made his choices, Esme. They had nothing to do with your parents.”

  “What about Violetta’s choices? She could have stepped forward and helped, but she’s refused to say anything.”

  It was true, and he wasn’t going to argue the point. Two people from one family had decided they were above the law. Three, if he counted Angus. He did. “You can’t blame your parents for that, either.”

  “I want to blame someone. It’s easier than believing that the siblings I loved weren’t worth it.”

  “Love is always worth it,” he said, and she smiled again.

  “Maybe you’re the one who should be in the wedding business, because I’m kind of done with the whole believing-in-the-fairy-tale-of-love thing.” Her voice broke on the last word, and he was sure there were tears in her eyes.

  “Esme—”

  “Relax,” she said, sniffing once and then turning away. “I’m not crying. Just wondering how I ended up standing on the opposite side of the fence from the people who are supposed to love me.”

  She opened the door, and he motioned for King to move into place. The dog trotted outside beside Esme, ears alert, tail wagging. Warm, moist air blew in from the Everglades, bringing a hint of brine and rot. It was quiet here, the distant sound of highway traffic drifting on the still night air.

  Esme didn’t say another word. She seemed determined to leave, though, her limping stride carrying her across the parking lot to a cracked sidewalk that snaked through long grass.

  “You know I can’t let you go, right?” he said gently, and she shrugged, her hair glowing dark red in the streetlight.

  “Esme,” He tried again. “Don’t make this more difficult for both of us.”

  “Sometimes, I get tired of following the rules, Ian. Especially when following them isn’t doing me any good.”

  “It’s doing you plenty of good.”

  “How so?” she countered. “I’ve nearly been killed more times than I care to remember. Maybe Violetta has a point. Maybe sitting on the fence and trying to stay neutral would be better than this.”

  Her words left him cold.

  “You’re not going to testify?” he asked, the question gruff and angry-sounding.

  He needed to tone it down, rein in his own emotions. Esme clearly needed to talk this through. She didn’t need him muddying the water with his less-than-positive opinion about her sister.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll do what I said I would, and you’ll get what you want from me.” All the warmth had left her voice, and that bothered him more than it probably should have.

  “What I want is for you to live. That’s not going to happen if your brother goes free.” That was the truth. Or part of it.

  “You’re twisting the truth to make yourself feel better, Ian. You want me to testify because you want my brother in jail. He’s committed crime after crime with impunity, and his organization is only getting bigger. Look at this.” She waved at the darkness that surrounded them. “Reginald started in Chicago. In the past ten years, he’s expanded to Florida.”

  “And nearly every other state in the country,” he offered.

  “Exactly. I can’t let him continue, but there is a part of me tha
t wishes I could. There’s a tiny little piece of me that would love to do what Violetta is doing. She’s not committed any crimes, but she hasn’t betrayed her family, either. She has support from the authorities and from my brother and uncle. All I’ve got is myself.”

  “You also have me and my team.”

  “For a while.” She reached the end of the sidewalk and stopped, turning her face up to the night sky. A million stars dotted the blackness, and he wondered if she noticed, or if she was too caught up in her pain and regret to see anything beyond herself.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said, answering the question he hadn’t asked.

  “Yes. It is.”

  “That’s the weird thing about life.”

  “What is?”

  “It goes on. Even during the most horrible pain a person can imagine, the earth continues to revolve around the sun, the seasons continue to change. Flowers bloom and crops are harvested and people are born and others marry. God is still on His throne, and life goes on.” She sighed. “I guess we need to go back.”

  “If you’re ready.”

  “What else do I have to do?” She skirted past, King close by her side.

  “Call your sister?” he suggested and instantly regretted it. He shouldn’t be encouraging her to speak with someone who had a different agenda than the FBI. Esme was already struggling. Speaking with her sister might pull her farther down the path of regret and farther from the job they needed her to do.

  “That would be nice, but I don’t have a phone. Even if I did, your people told me that if I tried to contact anyone from my former life, I’d probably be dead within forty-eight hours. Cell phone signals can be traced.”

  “Not mine,” he said, continuing to give her the option. Despite his misgivings, it seemed like the right thing to do. Not for the FBI or, even, for Ian. For Esme. She deserved to have a little bit of peace, and if talking to her sister gave her that, who was he to deny her the opportunity?

  “You’re offering me your phone?” She met his eyes, and he could see the suspicion in her gaze, the wariness. He couldn’t blame her. For six months, she’d been a pawn in a game she didn’t want to play, shuffled around by people who either wanted to kill her or wanted to use her.

  The fact that he’d been part of that made him feel guiltier than he should have. Or, maybe, as guilty as he should be. If he hadn’t been so caught up in trying to bring her family down, he’d have thought more about what she was going through—the terror and anxiety and loneliness she must be feeling—rather than what her name meant to him.

  “Your uncle already knows you’re in this area, but I don’t want you to mention our exact location,” he said, and it felt right. It felt good. It felt like he’d stopped letting his emotions, his need for revenge, cloud his judgment and started seeing the situation for what it really was. Not a chance to destroy the Duprees. A chance to keep the one bright light on its dark family tree from being snuffed out.

  “So, you are saying that.” She grabbed his arm, and he let her pull him to a stop. Found himself looking down into her face, gazing into her eyes. They were dark in the dim light, her lashes thick and straight.

  She was a Dupree, but she was smart, driven, decent.

  Beautiful.

  It was a winning combination, and if they’d been anywhere else, in any other situation, he’d have told her that.

  “Don’t tell her what happened tonight,” he said instead, letting his gaze drop to King. He was relaxed and alert. No sign of danger, and Ian was glad. Not just for himself and King, but for Esme. She needed a break from the chaos and drama, a chance to breathe in a little peace. “No mention of anything that has transpired since you and I met, okay? I’ll give you fifteen minutes, and then the conversation ends. You agree with those terms, or it doesn’t happen.”

  “I agree!” she said with more enthusiasm than he’d have had if he were calling a sister who didn’t care whether he lived or died. Violetta didn’t seem to when it came to Esme. She knew more about the workings of the crime family than she’d admitted. Her silence had kept Angus from going to jail.

  He shoved the thought away, taking Esme’s arm and leading her back to the building. “We’ll do it inside. It’s safer there.”

  She nodded, but he didn’t think she heard.

  She was smiling, nearly skipping with happiness as they made their way across the parking lot and back inside.

  Weddings.

  Happily-ever-afters.

  Cakes with sugar flowers.

  Right then, she seemed filled with all those things. And suddenly, he understood why she was so good at her job; he knew how she’d built a wedding planning business from nothing into a million-dollar company. Her energy was difficult to resist. Her joy and enthusiasm were contagious.

  But her uncle was still on the loose.

  She still had a price on her head.

  And until the Dupree crime family had been dismantled, all the joy and enthusiasm in the world couldn’t keep her safe.

  SEVEN

  Ian managed to find a small room where Esme could make the phone call. He also managed to convince the deputy sheriff to leave her alone there.

  Well...

  Not alone exactly.

  Ian was sitting in a chair a few feet away, King lying near his feet.

  Esme would have preferred they both leave, but she hadn’t been able to convince Ian to let her have privacy.

  His way or the highway.

  That was the impression he’d given.

  But he was letting her make the call.

  That was all that mattered to her.

  Her fingers shook as she punched Violetta’s number into the phone. She felt nervous and uneasy, no point in denying it. Six months ago, she and her sister hadn’t parted on good terms. Violetta had been convinced that Esme was going to destroy the family.

  She’d been right.

  But the family had been destroyed long before Esme realized what her brother was. Families couldn’t be built and sustained on lies. They couldn’t be nurtured when one or more of the members wasn’t who he pretended to be. Esme had explained all of that to Violetta. She’d outlined her reasons for testifying against Reginald. She’d tried to convince her sister to cooperate with the police and FBI, to tell them anything she knew about their brother’s crimes. But it had backfired.

  Big-time.

  Violetta had been livid.

  So, yeah. They hadn’t parted on good terms, but Esme still loved her sister. She longed to hear her voice, to know that she was doing okay, that the police and FBI hadn’t come down too hard on her.

  She punched in the last number and waited as the phone rang. Once. Twice. The third time, voice mail picked up, and all Esme’s excitement and fear seeped away. She leaned against the wall, every bit of her energy suddenly gone. She left a quick message telling Violetta how much she loved her.

  When she finished, she handed the phone back to Ian.

  “Thanks,” she managed to say, her eyes hot with tears she wasn’t going to shed.

  “I’m sorry she didn’t pick up,” he responded in a gruff voice, tucking his phone into his jacket pocket.

  She caught a glimpse of his holster and gun, and she turned away from the reminder that he was there doing his job, that he only cared about keeping her safe so that she could testify.

  Right at that very moment, Ian Slade was all she had, and he’d given her way more than she’d expected.

  “It’s not your fault,” she said, walking to the door.

  “You’re giving up a little easily, Esme,” he responded, and she turned to face him again.

  “What?”

  “You escaped witness protection and kept ahead of your uncle for months. I’m surprised that you’re willing to mak
e one phone call and call it quits.”

  “That was the agreement.”

  “We agreed on the terms of your talk with her.” He pulled out the cell phone and handed it to her. “Give it another try. Who knows? She might be screening her calls. Maybe she’s gotten tired of hearing from my team and the prosecuting attorney.”

  She met his eyes, realized that he was doing this for her. Nothing else. No hidden agenda. No desire for information or control. He wanted her to have what she wanted, and that felt...different. It felt nice. It felt like what she’d hoped to have with Brent but had never achieved. She’d loved him, and she’d been willing to concede on almost every issue. They’d almost never fought, because she hadn’t found much worth fighting about. It seemed easier and better to let him have his way.

  Her friends had said they were the perfect couple. They’d all wanted to be in a relationship just like the one Esme and Brent were in.

  She wondered what they were saying now.

  She dialed her sister’s number again, her heart thumping with memories and with anxiety. She really did want to hear her voice.

  “Esme?!” Violetta’s voice rang in her ear, sharp and a little frantic.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m so glad. When I realized I hadn’t picked up when you’d called...” She paused, and Esme could picture her pacing her posh home office. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard your message. I should have picked up, but the number wasn’t one I was familiar with. And the police and FBI and press won’t stop hassling me.”

  “I... Someone let me use his phone. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “Me? I’m not the one in trouble. Are you okay? The FBI said that you weren’t in protective custody anymore. I’ve been worried sick.” She seemed to have calmed, her voice taking on its normal clipped tone. Violetta had money. Lots of it. She liked to live large. Big house. Expensive cars. Gorgeous clothes. Her persona reflected an upper-crust background that she didn’t have.