Beauty and the Bodyguard Page 17

  If Rafe hadn’t caught a glimpse of dark red hair through his narrow, squinting eyes, he would have thought the deep-throated voice belonged to Xola. He forced his eyes open wider to see if that could really be Allie rasping at him.

  For the space of a heartbeat, he wasn’t sure. The woman who leaned over him possessed deep wine-red hair, but it drooped in uneven lengths and its ragged tips curled in blackened crisps. Bloodshot brown eyes stared out of two huge white holes in an otherwise grimy face. Most of her left eyebrow had been singed off, and something he knew immediately had to be blood had smeared across one cheek.

  Panic gripped him. He reached out, ignoring the sharp prick and tug of a rubber IV tube. His hand closed around her upper arm, drawing her closer.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “It’s you we’re worried about. Jerry…Jerry slashed you with the glass jar, and threw chemicals…”

  She stopped, swallowing hard. Rafe’s swirling senses had cleared enough for him to grasp the meaning of her stumbling words. He wiped his tongue across cracked lips.

  “Guess I’ll have to get you to spread a little paint on me to cover up the dents and scars, like we did on those carousel horses.”

  Allie stared at him blankly for a few seconds, then gave a hiccuping sob of relief and laughter. “I’ll have to spread it on both of us, although I’m not sure even Fortune Cosmetics’s miracle products can repair all this damage.”

  Rafe took a curling crisp of hair between his thumb and forefinger. A small, painful smile lifted his mouth, but his eyes were dead serious.

  “You don’t need any wonder paints, sweetheart. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  Hot tears splashed down Allie’s cheeks. She swiped them away with the back of one hand. At that moment, she felt more beautiful than she’d ever felt before.

  Thrusting out an arm to steady herself against the rock of the ambulance as it swerved around a corner, she crouched beside Rafe’s stretcher and whispered promises of long, slow massages, endless nights spent spreading paint and various other materials on each other, and no morning runs for the next week or two, at least.

  Fourteen

  When Rafe awoke for the second time, dawn edged the curtains drawn across a pair of tall windows. Blinking, he swiped his tongue around a dry mouth.

  His first conscious thought was of Allie. She’d been here with him last night. For a while. Until a green-coated doctor had ushered her out with the admonition that she needed sleep and recuperation as much as his patient.

  As Rafe’s mind cleared, vivid images of the events leading to the appearance of the doctor came swamping back. He remembered his pounding run across the courtyard, a fleeting glimpse of Allie’s terrified face as he yanked open the door and she dived at him, trying to shove him back outside. His muscles tensed as he recalled flinging her to safety, then spinning to face the man who’d threatened her.

  At that point, all hell had broken loose.

  He remembered a spray of orange liquid arcing toward him. A burning sensation on his neck and forearm and face. Eyes watering from the acrid fumes. A shouted warning when Philips had smashed the jar on the edge of the table and came at him with the jagged edge. The first shot had gone into the intern’s shoulder, as Rafe had intended. He’d staggered back against some shelves, then leaped forward again. The second shot had been meant to shatter his upraised arm. Rafe was sure he’d heard the sickening crunch of bone shattering at the same instant the bullet plowed into the cabinet behind Philips and ignited the chemicals.

  He could remember only fragments after that. An ambulance ride. Allie’s smoke-blackened face smiling down at him. Rafe lay still, letting the horror of the night recede as visions of Allie filled his mind. Even grimy and singed, she glowed with an inner beauty that made Rafe ache.

  Gradually the sounds of the hospital began to impinge on his consciousness. A cart creaked along tiled hallways. Two people walked by, speaking low. The place was stirring, Rafe realized. It was time to pull himself together before Allie returned.

  He pushed himself up, grimacing at the dull throb in his temple. The wash of cool air against his backside did more to stir him to action than anything else could have. Hospital gowns, Rafe decided as he slid his bare buns off the bed, were designed to get men up on their feet and out of the place as quickly as possible.

  Grasping the IV hooked to his arm, he made it to the washroom. A flick of the light switch confirmed what Allie had hinted at last night. He’d soon have another set of scars to add to his collection. The chemical Philips had thrown at him had burned raw splotches on his neck and chest. Lifting a corner of the bandage taped across his forehead, Rafe grimaced at the gash carved by the broken glass jar. It started high up on his left temple, nicked the tip of his eyebrow and curved back to his cheek. Someone had sutured it. Very neatly.

  Rafe taped the bandage back in place and twisted the tap. As he splashed cold water on those parts of his face that weren’t bandaged, it occurred to him that his added decorations didn’t particularly concern him. The most pressing items on his agenda at the moment were securing a decent set of pajama bottoms and scrounging a toothbrush from a nurse so that he could kiss Allie the moment she walked in the door.

  She arrived while Rafe was pulling up the pajama bottoms with assistance from a nurse. He felt another waft of cool air on his bare backside and yanked the green cotton bottoms up around his hips. Fumbling with the knotted cord, he turned.

  The moment he saw Allie, he froze.

  The woman who strode into his hospital room wasn’t the same one who’d leaned over him in the ambulance. She’d cropped her hair in a short pixie style. Her cheeks glowed with a blush of delicate color. Deep, copper-tinted wine glazed the full, sensual mouth that had pleasured Rafe in ways he didn’t dare think about with the nurse standing so close.

  “Here, let me help you.”

  She nudged the smiling nurse aside and took hold of the tangled strings. He stared down at the top of her newly shorn head as her nimble fingers yanked at the cord, looping it into an elaborate bow.

  “Have I mentioned before that I think you have great buns?” Allie asked softly, her breath a warm wash against his bare chest.

  The nurse chuckled and sailed out of the room with the tart observation that her patient was in competent hands. She nodded to the distinguished-looking gentleman with the shock of thick, white hair, who tucked his hands behind his back and discreetly studied the ceiling.

  Rafe recorded their reactions only peripherally. His whole being was centered on the woman standing before him.

  “No,” he replied, smiling lopsidedly down at her. “You haven’t.”

  “Well, I do. Good thing, since they’re about the only part of you I’ll be able to touch for a while.”

  Rafe curled a hand under her chin and tilted her face to his. “I think we might be able to find a couple of touchable square inches.”

  Allie’s whole body quivered with the need to rise up on tiptoe and brand him with the force of her love.

  “Later,” she promised in a husky whisper. “Later, we’ll find every touchable spot.”

  His fingers tightened on her chin, and the leap of searing hunger in his eyes told her that later would come soon. Very soon. Suppressing a shiver of urgent anticipation, she slipped free of his hold and turned to introduce the man waiting patiently by the foot of the hospital bed.

  “This is Sterling Foster, Rafe. He’s Fortune Cosmetics’s senior attorney and one of our most trusted friends. He was in Dallas when I called my family to tell them about the explosion last night, and managed to beat everyone here.”

  “Everyone?”

  Foster stepped forward, his hand outstretched. “Allie’s sister is flying their father and mother to Santa Fe, Mr. Stone. I was closer, and came immediately.”

  Rafe took the man’s hand and his measure. Foster’s firm grip and
broad shoulders suggested a man who might have seen a few fights outside as well as inside a courtroom. His years sat as well on him as his tailored suit, Rafe decided.

  “I got most of the details of what happened from Allie,” the attorney said quietly. “But there are still some unanswered questions that concern me.”

  “You and me both,” Rafe replied. “But I’m still hazy on exactly what went down last night. Allie had better fill me in on the details, too.”

  Perching on the edge of the bed, she gave a thorough account of the frightening events.

  “They recovered Jerry’s body last night,” she finished, twisting her hands in her lap. “His parents are flying out later today.”

  “He didn’t give you any reason for his actions?” Rafe asked, frowning.

  “None, except to say I was too perfect.” She shuddered. “Too…too beautiful.”

  Rafe fought the sudden, murderous rage that spiked through him. Later, he might feel a twinge of sorrow at the intern’s death. Right now, though, he couldn’t quite forgive him for the terror and danger he’d put Allie through, or for the shadows that darkened her eyes.

  “What else?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Nothing. He just kept saying that he had to hurt me.”

  “Maybe that fax will explain….”

  “What fax?” the lawyer asked sharply.

  “Here, I’ve got it in my purse.”

  Allie dug out a folded sheet and handed it to Rafe. He scanned the brief entries, his frown deepening.

  “Two drug busts, one as a juvenile for selling and one last year for possession. I’m surprised the university administration let him stay in school after the last one.”

  “Maybe they didn’t know about them,” Allie suggested hesitantly. “Records are easy to suppress in some states.”

  Rafe wanted desperately to banish her last, lingering traces of fear. But his every instinct told him there was more behind Philips’ calls than a sick obsession. Curling his fist around the fax, he met Sterling Foster’s piercing blue eyes.

  “It doesn’t feel right.”

  “If you’ll permit me?”

  The attorney took the crumpled sheet. His unlined face remained impassive as he studied the sketchy information it contained.

  “My aunt Rebecca has hired a private investigator to look into the accident that killed Kate,” Allie put in slowly. “He’s expanded his investigation to include the explosion at the lab. Between his contacts and yours, perhaps we can discover what drove Jerry Philips.”

  “We will, sweetheart.” Rafe’s promise was flat and hard. “We will.”

  Foster’s eyes narrowed for a moment, then he folded the fax into neat quarters and tucked it in his suit pocket. “If you two will excuse me, I’ll go make a few calls.” He held out his hand once more. “You’ll hear this many times in the next few days, I’m sure, but let me say it first. Thank you.”

  Rafe’s gaze slid to Allie. “I’m the one giving thanks.”

  “That’s going to make certain people extremely happy,” the lawyer murmured obscurely as he turned to leave.

  Rafe let him go. He’d get together with Foster and Jake Fortune later to decide where they went from here. Right now, his most pressing concern was Allie. Driven by a need to banish the shadows from her eyes once and for all, he tilted her face to his.

  “You know,” he mused, “Philips had it wrong. You’re beautiful, but not perfect. Not by a long shot.”

  She blinked in surprise. “Is that so?”

  “’Fraid so.”

  One dark red brow arched. “Would you care to enlighten me about those areas I’m deficient in? Just for future reference, you understand.”

  Rafe brushed the pad of his thumb across that wine-glazed mouth. “Well, you have a tendency to rewrite rules when they inconvenience you.”

  “True.”

  “You can be hardheaded about certain things, like leaving a perfectly good bed to chug through the dawn.”

  “I suppose I could be a little more flexible about my schedule,” she admitted grudgingly, flicking her tongue against the tip of his thumb. “No sense leaving a perfectly good bed…if there’s a reason not to.”

  He smiled down at her. “I could give you a reason.”

  Allie’s heart skipped several beats. She waited, willing him to say the words she saw in his eyes, felt in the stroke of his thumb against her lip.

  “I love you, Allie. Seriously.”

  Her smile unfolded in a joyous sigh. Wrapping her arms around his bare waist, she rose on tiptoe.

  “I love you, too, my darling. I very seriously love you.”

  She closed her eyes, savoring the kiss. It was gentle, because of his injuries, and warm, and so achingly wonderful Allie could have lost herself in his touch for the rest of her life. Unfortunately, an angry voice sounded outside the door just moments later.

  “No, dammit, I’m not coming back during visiting hours. I’ve got work to do.”

  A moment later, the door thumped back against the wall and Dom strode in. The fluorescent lighting gleamed on his bald head. Like Allie, he’d lost his hair and an eyebrow to the singeing flames. Unlike Allie, he hadn’t penciled the eyebrow in.

  Xola followed at a more leisurely pace, smiling a hello while the photographer sputtered in exasperation.

  “Where do these people get off? It’s after ten, New York time. You okay, Stone?”

  “I’m getting there.” Rafe rose and held out his hand. “Allie tells me you helped drag me out of the processing center last night. Thanks.”

  Gray eyes met blue, and then Dom took the proffered hand in a firm grip. “Yeah, well, you’re welcome. I’m just sorry the shot of Allie I was going to make into a portrait for your wedding present went up in flames.”

  Over his shining head, Rafe’s eyes snagged Allie’s. “Wedding present?”

  She smiled. “Wedding present.”

  “You two can talk about it later,” Dom exclaimed impatiently. “Right now, Allie needs to get to work. I’ve got backups of everything but yesterday’s museum sequence. If we hump, we can reshoot it today. A little creative lighting, and no one will know she’s just been scalped. Come on, Allie, let’s move it.”

  “Hold it, Avendez.”

  Dom swung around. “What?”

  “I need to get a few things straight with Allie before she goes anywhere.”

  The photographer swiped a hand over his gleaming skull. “Oh, for Pete’s sake. You’re not still playing watchdog? Your job’s over, isn’t it?”

  “No, it’s not,” Rafe drawled, his eyes on Allie’s face.

  “It’s not?” she asked breathlessly.

  “No, sweetheart,” he replied, brushing a knuckle down her cheek. “It’s just beginning.”

  With a rich, velvety chuckle, Xola looped an arm around Dom’s neck. “Why don’t we wait outside? I think they want to be alone.”

  The photographer shot her a startled glance. For once he was silent as he was steered out of the room.

  “About this business of guarding my person…?” she prompted when the door had swished shut.

  “I thought we’d better establish a few of the ground rules,” Rafe explained, smiling down at her in a way that made Allie melt. “Something tells me the job is going to last forever.”

  Epilogue

  “Dammit, Sterling, I don’t like being dead!”

  A weary smile edged the attorney’s face. He’d flown all night to get back to Minneapolis after leaving Allie and her bodyguard, knowing his partner would want a first-hand report. He watched her now as she paced the apartment he’d rented for her under an assumed name, noting the flush of anger on her high cheekbones and the delicate quiver of her aquiline nose. Any one of Kate Fortune’s children and grandchildren would recognize the danger signs immediately and keep a respectable distance. To Sterling, who’d been her friend for longer than he’d been her attorney, the humming vitality that radiated from her slight body
was as fascinating as it was faintly alarming.

  She took another turn of the room, ignoring its panoramic view of sparkling blue lakes tucked among the greenery of Minneapolis in full summer. The cane she’d needed sporadically ever since her plane went down in flames in the Amazon jungle thumped against the hardwood floors.

  “May I remind you that this whole charade was your idea?” he put in mildly.

  She waved an impatient hand. “I know, I know.”

  Foster had opposed the idea at first. For that matter, he had also opposed the idea of Kate flying her sleek little jet down to South America in search of a newly discovered species of aloe plant that would provide the secret “miracle” ingredient for her new line of cosmetics. But Kate wasn’t a woman to be stopped by any person. When the charred wreckage of her plane was found deep in the Amazon jungle, he’d been as grief-stricken as any of the Fortunes.

  He wasn’t a man given to emotion, but those long, dark nights after Kate’s funeral were the bleakest of his life. He still hadn’t quite come to grips with the emptiness her death had left in his heart when the confounded woman had knocked on the door to his home one night and limped in as bold as you please, almost giving him a coronary!

  As indomitable as ever, Kate had fought off the attacker who’d hidden in her plane. The struggle had sent the craft careening into the jungle canopy. Kate had been thrown clear just before the jet exploded in a ball of fire. Nursed by natives who’d taken her to their remote villages, she’d slowly recovered from the multiple injuries she’d sustained. Then she’d returned to Minneapolis and to the one man she said she trusted.

  Sterling wasn’t quite ready to admit, even to himself, that he was coming to want more than trust from this remarkable woman. He’d known Kate for four decades, as a friend and a client. The idea of altering that comfortable, well-established relationship made him almost as nervous as Kate’s absolute determination to flush out the person who hired her attacker. It had been her idea to remain dead, and now the vibrant, independent woman was caught in her own trap.