Beauty and the Bodyguard

“No thanks.”

“I’ll just be a moment.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Rafe leaned a shoulder against the wall and made a leisurely inspection of the entry hall and the huge living room beyond. Last night, the house had overflowed with noise and people. Rafe had noted its elegance, but absorbed little of its character.

This morning, sunlight streamed through the fan-shaped window above the door and warmed the oak flooring to a golden glow. Fresh flowers added bright spots of color to the greens and blues of the high-backed chairs and overstuffed sofas grouped around the living room. For all its vastness, the Fortune mansion gave the impression of a home.

Rafe certainly couldn’t have said the same for the apartment he’d moved into in Miami after his divorce. Although it was furnished with all the basics, it lacked some indefinable homelike quality. Maybe that was due to the fact that he spent only a few days a month there, if that. For a moment, Rafe toyed with the idea of coming home to a place imbued with beauty and quiet elegance…and to a woman with the same qualities. A woman like Allie.

He shook his head at the errant thought. He’d been down that road once. He wasn’t about to travel it again. The sound of footsteps echoing against the oak floor banished his unpleasant memories, and Rafe straightened as Allie walked into view.

His first thought was that he’d done some stupid things in his life. Having his client exchange her loose slacks for well-washed denims that hugged her hips and showed off the tight curve of her bottom ranked right up there among the dumbest. Every male past puberty would trip over his tongue when she walked by.

His second was that she’d changed more than her clothes. At first, Rafe couldn’t pinpoint exactly what. Her sorrel hair swept her shoulders in the same thick wave. Sooty lashes framed the same chocolate-brown eyes. Her full mouth looked as tempting as it had when she opened the door to him a few moments ago. But something about the way she held herself triggered an instinctive, gut-level question in Rafe’s mind.

It took a few seconds before he realized that the woman returning his stare wasn’t Allie.

Christ! The dossier had indicated that she and her sister were identical twins, but that brief annotation didn’t begin to describe their astounding similarity. If Rafe hadn’t spent half the night imprinting his client’s features and mannerisms on his mind, he might never have known this wasn’t her.

Their differences, he decided objectively, were more a matter of style than of appearance. Unlike Allison’s classic sophistication, Rachel opted for a more rugged look. She wore a brown leather aviator jacket with the sleeves pushed up, a white knit top, boots, and the jeans that had made Rafe’s heart skip a few beats. He could only hope they wouldn’t hug Allie’s slender figure as faithfully as they did her sister’s.

“You must be Rocky,” he said slowly.

Grinning, she nodded. “Right. And you, I sincerely hope, are the hired gun.”

Before he could respond to that, Allie walked back into the vestibule. Rafe saw instantly that his hopes had been in vain. In glove-soft jeans, a cream-colored turtleneck and a misty blue tweed jacket, Allison Fortune looked like every man’s dream of a very bright, very sexy campus coed.

The only way he could make her inconspicuous, Rafe decided grimly, was to wrap her in a blanket from head to toe.

He dug a small, specially designed beeper out of his pocket. “Here, clip this on, and make sure you keep it within reach at all times.”

Frowning, she turned the little black box over in her hand. “What is it?”

“It’s a tracking device and emergency signal.”

“How does it work? I don’t see any button to push.”

“There isn’t any button. If you need me, just grip the unit in your hand and squeeze. The pressure and heat from your palm will set off a pulsing signal on my unit.”

She fumbled with the tight clip.

“The rest of the time, the device emits a continuous signal keyed to a special frequency that only my unit can pick up.”

Her hands stilling, she glanced up. “Continuous?”

“So I can track you anytime, night or day.”

“I’ve heard these devices were available,” Rocky put in. “The military developed them initially. Now people buy them to keep track of their dogs,” she added, grinning at her sister.

A look of distaste crossed Allie’s face. “I’m not sure I like the idea of being on a leash, like someone’s toy poodle.”

“It’s part of the security package.”

Rafe’s brusque tone said clearly that she could take the entire package or leave it. Allie didn’t miss the unspoken message. Her mouth tightening, she lifted the clip and jammed the unit onto the inner pocket.

“Let’s go,” she said shortly. “We’re late.”

Twenty minutes later, Rafe pulled off the airport access road and drove up to the private hangar Allie indicated. She’d told him some of the site crew would be traveling with them on the small chartered jet. She hadn’t bothered to mention that half the population of Minneapolis would be turning out to see her off.

He stepped out of the rental car, tensing as a figure darted out of the milling crowd and dashed toward them. Rafe relaxed only marginally when he saw that it was a teenage girl.

“Hi, Allie! We heard you were leaving this morning. Will you sign my T-shirt?”

Before Rafe could put himself between his client and the girl, the passenger door slammed and Allie walked forward. “Sure. Got a pen?”

“I got some new test shots for my portfolio,” another long-legged, coltish girl said shyly as she joined them. “Would you look at them?”

Within moments, Allie was surrounded by a clutch of tall, gangly young women. Wannabes, Rafe presumed, all pressing her for tips or advice or autographs. The rest of the crowd appeared to consist primarily of men in coveralls with logos from various airlines on their pockets. They watched the proceedings with avid interest. Occasionally one would nudge another in the ribs and share a comment that resulted in a lewd grin.

Rafe’s jaw tightened at their expressions, but Allie seemed impervious to the reactions she caused among her male admirers. Smiling and answering the girls’ peppered questions, she made her way toward the hangar. The men fell back to let her pass. As she reached the side door, Rafe turned to scan the crowd for the representative of the rental agency he’d arranged to pick up his car.

At that moment, Allie gave a little squeak.

Rafe spun back around just as an arm looped around her neck and dragged her through the door.

Three

R afe crashed through the hangar door and launched himself at Allie’s attacker.

Seconds later, she was pushing herself up off the floor, gasping. Her assailant lay facedown on the concrete, with one arm twisted up between his shoulder blades and Rafe’s knee planted squarely in his back. When he sputtered an obscenity and tried to dislodge the crushing weight that held him pinned, Rafe shoved his arm up higher.

“Ow!” His shout bounced off the high hangar ceilings.

“Break his other arm, if you like, but not that one. He can’t shoot left-handed.”

The low, husky voice penetrated Rafe’s pounding, adrenaline-charged consciousness at the same instant as Allie’s breathless protest.

“Rafe! That’s…Dominic. The photographer!”

The man’s nose scraped concrete as he turned his head toward the sound of her voice. Only then did Rafe notice his hair. Or the lack of it. The left side of his scalp was buzz-shaved to a glistening white. The right sported long, flowing black locks. The effect was every bit as startling this morning as it had been when Rafe first saw the man, last night at the party. He loosened his grip on the man’s wrist, but took his time unplanting his knee.

“Get him…off me!”

“Rafe, please! This is Dominic Avendez. He’s my photographer.”

When the man finally regained his feet, he rubbed his wrist and glared at his attacker. Rafe knew the exact instant the photographer noted the scars. His gaze snagged at chin level, and he swallowed visibly. Turning to Allie, he demanded an explanation.

“Who is this character?”