Trusting the Bodyguard

“I don’t drink beer,” she said, declining.

“Figured you might need a little liquid courage before we begin,” he said with a shrug.

She stared. “Before we begin what?”

“Before we begin where we left off.”

Her cheeks heated and he knew she was thinking of the moment they shared only seconds ago but he shook his head. “I have to know details, Marissa. You’re hiding something and I want to know. No more pussyfooting around. I mean it. You spill the beans or it’s over.”

She grabbed the neck of the beer bottle. “I guess I’ll need that after all,” she said.

“Figured you’d change your mind.”

She twisted off the top like a pro and took a short swig. He followed, eyeing her above the bottle, noting the shake in her hands hadn’t completely subsided but she was trying like hell to make it stop. She grimaced at the taste but didn’t complain. “I don’t know where to start,” she admitted.

“Start at the part where you found Mercedes. What happened after that?”

Her eyes watered and she glanced down, and then she chuckled sadly. “You know it’s like my tears are on autopilot. Anytime I think of Mercedes…the waterworks start. I miss her so much.”

“Of course you do,” Archer said gruffly, looking away so his chest would stop feeling as if an elephant had just used it for an ottoman. “No one expects you to be a rock. But I need to know everything. I think it’s safe to say we’re not dealing with a bunch of small-town thugs. I’ve got a guy doing background on this Ruben character but the Oaktown Boyz are no stranger to FBI investigations. You’re in some serious shit, Rissa.”

“I know that,” she said, but she didn’t look as frightened as she did a minute ago. Instead, her brows were pulling into a scowl. “I asked you to keep this information to yourself. Who are you telling my business to?”

He held her stare. “Someone I trust,” he said, leaving it at that. If she wanted his help she had to let him do things his way. But he figured if he were in her shoes, he’d be touchy, too. “I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize your safety,” he said quietly. His admission calmed the storm brewing in those dark eyes and she jerked a short nod.

“If you trust him…I guess I’ll trust you.”

Her statement caused an ache in his chest that was hard to ignore but he did a fair imitation at least on the surface.

“So how did you—the woman who craves stability and security above all else—” he tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice but he wasn’t sure he succeeded for she winced subtly at his comment “—get yourself into this kind of mess?”

She straightened and pushed stray strands of hair from eyes as dark as midnight, and a small sigh escaped. “If you think I don’t wonder that myself every moment since Mercedes died, you’re mistaken. I’d do anything to go back to my life.”

“What happened after you found Mercedes?” he asked again, hating the jealous spurt that spilled over onto his thoughts at her admission. Her work meant everything to her. The fact that she was no different from him should’ve comforted him in some way but it didn’t. It just made him feel rejected all over again.

“I called 911.”

“Okay and then what?”

“Well, I had to give a statement to the police,” she answered, but the information well trickled to a drip and she was holding on to something she didn’t want to share. “And then I went to get Jenna,” she finished, averting her eyes.

“And like I said before, I doubt he just handed her over. Plus, you’re sporting a nice bruise from someone’s fist. Let’s start with the easy stuff. Who hit you?”

Her hand went automatically to her lip and her mouth tightened.

“Was it Ruben?” Archer prompted, anger rising again at the thought of Marissa being manhandled by anyone. He forced the red-hot emotion down and focused as if she were just another victim in another case that he was assigned. “Who hit you?” he repeated, this time more forcefully.

“Not Ruben,” she answered.

“Then who?”

“His name was Manny…Ruben’s cousin.”

Archer stilled. “Was?”

Marissa swallowed hard, the telling gesture sending spikes of dread straight to his gut. He had a feeling things were about to go from bad to worse in her world and by proxy his. “What do you mean? Was?”

She looked at him, her eyes misting but she didn’t elaborate.

He stared, not quite able to believe what his brain was telling him. “Marissa…did you kill him?”

“I don’t know,” she answered in a small voice, her fingers nervously fiddling with the beer label on the bottle. She met his gaze, imploring him to believe her, save her, hell probably anything aside from hauling her into the authorities, and he wanted to curse. “It was self-defense,” she started, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I swear it. He’d attacked me and there was a struggle…”

Archer had a hard time imagining how Marissa, who stood at a petite five feet four inches tall had managed to overpower a man who was likely taller and stronger unless she’d been prepared for a fight when she walked in there. “Did you shoot him?”

She gave him a wounded look. “You know I hate guns.”

“Okay…so what’d you use?”

Marissa hesitated, clearly wishing she could refuse an answer but she knew he wouldn’t quit, so she finally relented. “A knife.”

“Something small that you could easily conceal,” he surmised and she nodded. “So you knew when you walked into that place that it might come down to someone getting hurt.”

She shook her head vigorously. “I didn’t have a plan per se, I just wanted the knife for protection. And as it happened I ended up having to use it,” she added defensively.

He sighed. “Okay, so you killed this Manny guy…”

She blinked hard. “I don’t know…he was bleeding pretty badly…but maybe he lived. Ruben keeps a doctor on staff at the compound for his own personal uses.”

“Where’d you stick him?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” she whispered. “I really didn’t. But I was scared and…”

“Where, Marissa?”

She glanced down at the warm beer in her hand. “In the stomach.”

“He’s dead.”

Her head shot up, her expression crumpling.

“Unless the doctor Ruben keeps around has a surgical suite at his disposal…the guy likely bled out.”

Marissa put her beer down and dropped her head into her hands. Her shoulders shook as she silently wept. He looked away, not able to watch her pain without feeling it himself. But he was unable to stop from reaching out to her. He tried to ease her pain. “Don’t waste your tears on that scum,” he said. “I’m not saying what you did was okay but some people deserve what they get.”

What he didn’t mention was that he was privately glad to hear that the man who’d punched Marissa had taken a knife to the gut. Bleeding out from the stomach was a nasty way to die.

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” she protested, tears strangling her voice. “I just wanted to get out of there and when he hit me all I could think was ‘If I die what will happen to Jenna?’ She’s already lost so much. I couldn’t take the thought that she might lose everyone who would ever love her. Now that Mercedes is gone, I’m all she has.”