Be On The Lookout: Bodyguard

Someone was in the hallway.

But what were they doing?

Curious—always curious—Kate got off the bed and made her way to the door. She peered through the peephole but was met with a cloudy circle with no help identifying who was outside. If there was anyone at all. She dropped back down to flat-footed and bit her bottom lip, waiting.

Seconds turned into minutes. Kate remained perfectly still until she was positive the sound, whatever it had been, had stopped. Slowly she unlatched the top lock and eased the door open a crack.

No one was there.

Cautious, Kate stepped out into the hallway. It was empty. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

See? That bodyguard has made you paranoid, she thought. No one is after you. No one even knows where you—

Her current thought bubble popped as she turned.

Taped to the door was a piece of paper with a single word written on it: Stop.

However, it wasn’t the message that made her throat catch.

Soaking the paper, blurring the one bold word, was blood. It ran off the paper and down the chipped paint of the door.

And this time, Kate didn’t think it was fake.

Chapter Seven (#ulink_6e86994f-0605-52b1-acfe-e5ef6142cb20)

Jonathan was barely out of the shower when a pounding sounded against his door. Adrenaline spiked at the urgency behind each knock. He dropped the towel to his waist and had the door open within seconds, water dripping off him and on to the carpet.

“I think it’s real,” Kate greeted. She was still wearing her clothes from earlier but the impression of a pillow lined the right side of her face while her hair was ruffled. Like he’d suspected, she had been sleeping for the last few hours. Her expression, however, was not in the least rested. Her brows were pushed together, a wrinkle between them, and she wore a frown so pronounced it seemed to drag down every line that made up her face.

“What?” Jonathan asked, an umbrella question to everything.

“This time I think it’s real,” she repeated.

“What’s real?” Jonathan moved closer, out of the doorway. He was trying to get an answer that made sense. What he got was Kate’s shaky hand pointing to her door.

And then he understood.

“It’s real blood,” he said, senses going on alert as he took in what was taped to her door. This one undoubtedly looked more menacing than the other letters she’d received.

“Yes. The coloring, the way it drips,” she added. “The way it smells.”

Jonathan didn’t need to sniff the dark crimson to agree with her assessment. When he was a teenager, he’d gotten into a bad fight with a kid in foster care over which bed was his. The kid had been older and bigger and had hit Jonathan so perfectly in the nose that he busted it on impact. For nearly an hour it had bled. The color and consistency matched what was on the door now.

That was real blood, all right.

“Did you see who put it here?” he asked. His head swiveled back and forth down the empty hallway.

“No. I heard something and when I came out here to look I found—” she motioned to the note, eyes wide “—that.”

Jonathan spotted the bubble cameras at each end of the hall.

“I bet those did,” he muttered. “Have you touched it in any way?”

Kate shook her head.

“I just saw it and then knocked on your door.”

“Good, come on.”

He motioned for her to go into his room. Her concerned look turned stubborn immediately.

“Shouldn’t we call someone?”

“We will, but inside the room,” he said, holding back a building tidal wave of frustration only she seemed to be able to produce within him. “If you haven’t noticed, the longest trail of blood hasn’t even made it to the carpet yet.”

Kate whipped her head back to the door and he knew when she saw what he was talking about.

“Which means—” Jonathan started before she cut him off.

“That it hasn’t been there long at all.”

“A plus for the scientist,” he said, waving her through again.

This time she followed instructions without resistance.

“Call the front desk and get the manager up here,” he said, following her in and immediately going to his still-packed bag. “Let them know that you’re also calling the cops.” Kate’s mouth opened and closed, like a fish out of water. “Listen, there’s no doubt in my mind this letter is connected to the others you’ve been receiving. Which means his anger is escalating.” He held up his fingers to tick off his points as he made them. “One large ‘stop’ instead of a page filled with the word. Real blood, not fake. On your hotel-room door, states away from home. Even that stubborn brain of yours has to see that whoever is behind these letters is getting angrier.”

He watched as the urge to fight back—to be the one making complete sense—flashed across her face. Thankfully, it disappeared quickly. In its place was the face of a woman who finally agreed with him. She nodded.

“Which asks the question...what’s next?”

“Let’s make sure we never have to find out. Now call the front desk and, if you don’t want to see me naked, turn around.”

Jonathan saw her cheeks redden, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. Someone had left a letter soaked in blood as a warning to Kate—a violent threat. Jonathan not only wanted to protect her from that person, he wanted to find and stop them, too.

He changed into a white T-shirt and covered it with a gray button-down and a pair of khakis that were a bit tighter than he liked thanks to his recently changed leg workouts. Once he put on his boots, though, he wasn’t thinking about how his clothes looked. His mind was already focused outside the hotel room.

“The front-desk guy, Jett, the one who checked you in, said a manager is on the way up,” Kate said, eyes still averted. “He sounded more than concerned.”

“Good, he should be.”

Jonathan grabbed his cell phone and rummaged through his bags until he found something he had hoped he wouldn’t even have to think about while on contract.

“Orion prides itself on always trying to use nonlethal means to protect our clients,” he said, walking to the other side of the bed where Kate sat with the phone. “But since you refused a second bodyguard and now you’re getting bloody letters on your door, I’m going to give you this and warn you to be careful.” Jonathan extended the small block of plastic to her. It was black with a strip of school-bus yellow across the grips on either side and about as heavy as it looked. “Do I need to show you how to use it?”

Kate’s eyes had widened when she realized what it was, but the surprise didn’t last long.

“I’m a woman who lives by herself,” she said, taking it carefully and placing it on the nightstand. “I know how to use a Taser, Mr. Bodyguard.”