Dying for You

Lawson coughed a few times, and then grumbled several obscenities. “She was supposed to play the part of my girlfriend. That was understood when I hired her.”

“Yes, sir, that’s correct.”

“Well, apparently you didn’t make that part of her assignment clear because she sure as hell refused to act the part.”

A nagging suspicion tightened Sawyer’s gut. “Precisely what did Ms. Evans refuse to do?”

“She refused to sleep with me. I paid top dollar for her services and I expected her to be worth every cent. But when I told her to strip and get in bed, she refused, so I took matters into my own hands.”

“And did what?” Sawyer swallowed hard.

“I slapped her and the crazy bitch sucker punched me. Knocked me on my ass and—”

“Mr. Lawson, Dundee’s provides bodyguard services, nothing more. I thought I made that perfectly clear to you. If Ms. Evans had to defend herself, then consider yourself lucky that she didn’t kill you. Believe me, the lady is more than capable.”

“Hell, you’d think she would have been thrilled to have Lieutenant Jack Starr fuck her. Most women would be.”

“Then there’s your problem. You see, Lucie Evans is not like most women.”

“I figure she’s a butch, despite the way she looks. You should have warned me. You’ll definitely be hearing from my lawyers. I’ve got a broken nose, a couple of cracked ribs and a black eye.”

“Unless you want Ms. Evans to file charges against you for attempted rape, then I’d think twice about siccing your lawyer on us. Now, you have a good day, Mr. Lawson.”

Son of a bitch! That over-the-hill has-been had tried to rape Lucie. No wonder she was pissed at him. He’d known Lawson was a sleaze, but he’d also known that Lucie could handle him. And she had. What he hadn’t considered was that the man might actually try to rape her.

LUCIE EYED THE security guard with disdain. Don’t blame him. He’s just doing his job, doing what Sawyer told him to do. Watch her and make sure she doesn’t follow through with her threat to demolish the CEO’s office.

Even though she had no intention of actually wreaking havoc on Sawyer’s expensive sculptures and paintings—she had too much love and respect for good art to destroy such beauty—he had no way to know for sure what she might do. Yes, she had, during one of her classic hissy fits, broken a Waterford crystal paperweight, but the piece had not been one of a kind. A duplicate now resided on his desk in the precise spot where the original had sat. She would no more toss one of his Salvatore Fiume or Marino Marini pieces on the floor than she would take a knife to his Charles Ginner or Clare Avery paintings. One of the things she admired about Sawyer was his eclectic tastes in art, music, food and sports. He was a man who enjoyed the good things in life and appreciated them to the nth degree. He possessed a suave sophistication that disguised the primeval warrior beneath his Reuben Alexander suits.

Lucie knew how ruthless he could be. She had seen the man in action and had been the recipient of his cold, relentless retaliation for the past nine years. If she had thought time would soothe his inner demons, she had been wrong. Like Jane Austen’s fictional Mr. Darcy, Sawyer’s favor once lost was lost forever. Even now, despising him for the way he’d treated her—the way she had allowed him to treat her—Lucie could not deny that some small part of her still held on to a tiny shred of hope. Someday Sawyer McNamara would forgive her. But before he could forgive her, he would first have to forgive himself.

No, she wouldn’t have harmed his expensive artwork, but if not for the ever watchful guard she would have dearly loved the chance to do some damage. Maybe she could have removed the contents of his desk and scattered it all over the floor. Or better yet, she could have tossed his laptop out the window. A six-floor fall onto the solid concrete below…

“He should be here soon,” Daisy Holbrook said, breaking the awkward silence. “While we’re waiting, would either of you like coffee? Or maybe a Danish or muffin?”

“No, thank you, ma’am,” the young, intense guard replied.

“Nothing more for me, thanks.” Lucie offered Daisy a don’t-worry smile.

“Then if you’ll excuse me…” Daisy looked pleadingly at Lucie. “If you need to talk afterward, I’ll take an early break.”

“Okay. I’ll stop by your desk on my way out.”

Daisy tried to smile, but the effort failed. Lucie genuinely liked Daisy Holbrook and the two had formed a strong friendship over the years despite the difference in their ages. But she supposed a seven-year gap wasn’t a great barrier between women over twenty-one. If they were ten and seventeen, it would matter. But at twenty-nine and thirty-six, they were contemporaries.

As the minutes ticked by, Lucie sat behind Sawyer’s massive desk, occasionally tapping her foot on the floor or drumming her fingernails on the desktop. She checked her watch. It had been twenty-one minutes since Daisy had called him. Unless she missed her guess, he would arrive sometime within the next few minutes.

Brace yourself. Gird your loins, Miss Lucie. Thisday has been a long time coming. If you want to walk out of here with your pride in tact, keep your emotions under control. And whatever you do, don’t cry. God in heaven, do not cry.

TWENTY-THREE MINUTES from when he’d taken Daisy’s call, Sawyer entered Dundee’s sixth-floor office complex. Daisy hopped up from her workstation chair and rushed toward him as he made his way down the corridor toward his office.

“She hasn’t touched anything,” Daisy assured him. “The guard is keeping an eye on her.”

Sawyer paused, patted Daisy on the arm and assured her, “Everything is going to be all right. I spoke to the client personally and understand why Lucie left her assignment without notice. I’ll talk to her privately.”

“She was fit to be tied when she first got here, but now she’s calm. Much too calm.”

“I don’t think you need to worry as long as Lucie’s not armed.”

Daisy gulped. “I’m afraid she is.”

Sawyer tried not to grin. “She won’t shoot me, if that’s what concerns you. If she were going to shoot me, she’d have done it before now.”

“Yes, sir, I’m sure you’re right.”

The door to his office stood ajar, the security guard standing at attention a few steps over the threshold. Sawyer cleared his throat. The young man turned, looked at him and seemed to instantly relax. He entered his office, shook the guard’s hand and effectively dismissed him.

“Thank you,” Sawyer said as he glanced around the room, noting that nothing was out of place. “I’ll take over from here.”

Once they were alone, Sawyer closed the door and faced the woman who had been tormenting him for the past nine years.

Lucie rose from his chair to her full five-eleven height, a look of pure defiance on her face. Her long, curly hair hung in loose disarray over her shoulders and down her back. Apparently, she had forgone refreshing her makeup and had combed her hair with her fingers. Only a hint of eyeliner remained and that was smudged. The only color on her lips was a naturally healthy pink.

She walked out from behind the desk and glared at him, her two-inch wedge sandals lifting her almost to his eye level. He noted the bulge her shoulder holster made beneath her gray cotton jacket that covered her white T-shirt and skimmed the top of her faded blue jeans.

“I appreciate your giving me fair warning,” Sawyer told her. “You could have come in here and ripped the place apart before Daisy could have stopped you.”

“Believe me, I thought about it. On the flight from Vegas, I not only envisioned tearing your office apart, I plotted how I could kill you and get away with it.”

“I understand your anger.”

She lifted her brows in surprise. “Do you really?”

“I spoke to Taylor Lawson. He told me what happened. I’m sorry, Lucie. I had no idea—”

“Bullshit. Don’t tell me that you didn’t know the man’s reputation before you assigned me as his body-guard. You didn’t give a damn what I had to put up with. You never do. As far as you’re concerned, the worse my assignments are, the better. But this time, you reached an all-time low, even for you, Mr. McNamara.”

He surveyed her from head to toe. “You don’t look any worse for wear.”

“You don’t think so?” She lifted her T-shirt high enough to reveal the white lace bra beneath and the bruises on the swell of her breasts. “Pretty, aren’t they?”

“Lucie—”

“Would you like to see the others—the ones on my hips and butt?”

“I’m sorry things got out of hand, but I never doubted for a minute that you could take care of yourself. You’re a trained professional.”

She hissed like a snake preparing to strike. “You son of a bitch. You heartless, uncaring, unforgiving son of a bitch.”