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  I washed my face in the sink, raked my fingers through my greasy hair, and unlocked the door. He faced me with a cell phone to his ear. I lifted my hand and twirled my finger giving him a hint. He took it and turned his back. I hobbled over to the bed and crawled beneath the covers realizing how exhausted I was from a very short trip to the toilet. Twenty-four hours had passed since I came to the new hospital and forty-eight since the attack. I needed a really good meltdown to take the edge off my bad mood. I hadn’t trained in two days and though I knew it wouldn’t kill me, the win-at-all-costs side of my brain didn’t like it.

  “Clothes will be here within the hour. Your doctor is on his way.” He nodded at the intravenous tubing that no longer connected to my arm. “You’ll do what he says.”

  Even without seeing his eyes, I could feel their heat. This man with his beach boy looks wasn’t accustomed to anyone challenging his authority. Too bad I didn’t give a shit. Outside of my coach, no one told me what to do and that included my father. Yes, my father tried manipulating me because it was his type A nature. And, I gave in every so often because… well… I loved him. And even he was learning to ask if he wanted my cooperation.

  My. Head. Hurt. Conveying the message Goliath needed to hear would work better if I could yell. Damn—shrieking like a banshee was out of the question. I pressed my fingers to my temple, lifted my head, and glared. My voice was low and direct, “I know you must think you have some say in what the hell I do or don’t do, but you’re misinformed.” I winced due to the unintentional rise in my voice, but kept going. “My father may have hired you, but I’m firing you.” I lifted my hand and made a shooing motion toward the door. “Go on, get your ass out of my room, and give me some peace. Have someone with a better disposition replace you.” I carefully rested my head back against the pillow and closed my eyes.

  Problem solved.

  Chapter Three

  I could hear Mr. B… whatever the hell his name was, speaking to the doctor. My half-ass attempt to chase him away obviously failed and I was too tired to care. The doctor turned my way. Even knowing he saw me do it, I closed my eyes and feigned sleep. He didn’t take the hint.

  “Miss Stradmore.” He let my name hang in the air for a moment. “The fluids need to continue for a minimum of twenty-four more hours. I will, however, change your orders to assisted restroom visits. I’ll immediately request a nurse to administer another line.”

  I opened one eye. Gritting my teeth hurt too badly, so I hissed between pressed lips, “Doctor.” I did the whole name hanging in the air thing just as well as he did. “If anyone gets near me with a needle they will receive a piercing in the rectum. I made it to the bathroom without assistance, so that one’s out too. I plan to leave here in the morning, but right now my head hurts and I need sleep. Please don’t let the door slam you in the ass on the way out.” I shut my eyes and rolled over so my back was to him.

  Who knows what his response would have been. A commotion at the door had me holding back a groan. Did people actually recover in hospitals? I was poked and prodded every hour and hadn’t managed a quarter of the sleep I required.

  “Move back.” There was that deep authoritative voice again.

  “The delivery is for Miss Stradmore,” a woman replied.

  “Step back! Nothing goes to Miss Stradmore without going through me first. Your pretty bouquet of flowers will be decorating the same floor as your face in two seconds.”

  With that outburst, I opened both eyes.

  An older woman half his size stood at the door holding a vase of flowers with shaking hands. She looked nothing like the terrorist she was obviously mistaken for. I watched as she shoved the large arrangement into Mr. B’s arms and stormed away without another word.

  Dark glasses turned my way before settling on the doctor. “I’ll take over from here Dr. Kennedy. Miss Stradmore will have assistance to the restroom, but the IV won’t be necessary.”

  The doctor gave me a quick look before departing the room like his medical coat was on fire. Okay, so maybe I could learn something from Tweedle Dumb. Or, grow another foot and intimidate everyone with size. “If my stalker grows a vagina, I’m now assured you can handle him. Just set the damn flowers on the table in the corner and let me get some sleep.” Dammit, my voice went whiny, “Please.” I closed my eyes unable to handle even a squint. The nerve of the man. Middle-aged women were not on my hit list.

  I couldn’t believe it when another voice at the door spoke next. “Here you go, Brack. Senator Stradmore’s housekeeper packed it.”

  “Thanks, Mack. Set the bag right there. Sleeping Beauty can change after her nap.”

  Their irritating laughter floated away and so did I.

  ***

  I woke up feeling slightly better. The previous throb in my head was now a dull ache. I stretched, remembering I’d removed the IV and now didn’t have irritating tubing to contend with. The nurses also allowed me to sleep uninterrupted. I had no idea how much time passed, but I could tell it was longer than they’d given me since my arrival. I peeled my eyes open and almost screamed.

  Tweedle Dumb was sitting close to the bed, his head tilted back against the chair, and he faced me. Crap, two feet was entirely too close. And for some reason it drove me crazy not knowing what color his eyes were. The ridiculous sunglasses had to go. If I were lucky, his eyes were an unattractive color mixed with baby shit yellow. He also needed to leave my room and give me privacy. Just the sight of him in here had me irritated all over again; mysterious eyes or not.

  My voice was thick with sleep-induced lethargy. “If the other guard wasn’t to enter the room, why are you in here?”

  He didn’t immediately answer. Was he asleep? Damn glasses. I slipped my foot from beneath the covers intending to nudge him.

  “You want to lose the foot?”

  My entire body jumped at his bark and I jerked my foot back. “What the hell’s your problem?” I growled.

  He brought his arms above his head and stretched. “I was thinking about how to answer.”

  My heartbeat sped up when he startled me and now it accelerated even more. The muscles of his arms flexed showing more power than I’d ever seen on the court. Lean was mean in tennis. I tore my eyes from his arms and looked at his face again. “Would you take off those stupid glasses?”

  “No.” He didn’t follow it up by saying anything more.

  “You are the most insufferable person I’ve ever met. Do you see my cell phone anywhere?” I looked around thinking I’d left it on the tray table by my bed, but it wasn’t there.

  “It’s turned off and in my pocket. Why do you need it?”

  This guy was a whack-job. “That is none of your business, but I don’t mind telling you I’m calling my dad to have you fired.”

  “Then it can stay in my pocket.” He sat up straighter and moved his neck from side to side.

  My headache may have been a dull throb when I woke up, but now it turned into a steady drum beat. I looked around for the call button to the nurse’s station. What the hell? It was no longer attached to my bed. He was a complete douche. “Is the buzzer in your pocket too?”

  It took a minute before his lips tilted up into what could only be described as a smirk. “If it starts buzzing, I’m sure the effects will show quickly enough.”

  I couldn’t help grinding my teeth regardless of the pain. “It doesn’t buzz, you moron. I want to call the nurse.” My mind was a little slow, so it took a few extra seconds for his words to register. Effects? He couldn’t possibly mean a hard-on? I sat up as he stood. He placed a small bag on the bed beside me. I recognized it as one from my room at my father’s house.

  “You need to get dressed and then we’ll talk. The nurses are staying away until I give them permission to come back into the room.” His smirk changed to a slight smile. “If you promise not to kick me, I’ll turn my back while you change.”

  No way. Who was this man and why had my father, the dictator of dictators,
hired him? I’d had more than enough. “I’m counting to three and if you aren’t out of this room, I will scream so loud your eardrums burst.” As far as threats went it lacked authenticity. I knew screaming would kill my head. Connecting his chin to my right hook probably wasn’t happening either.

  He moved so fast I could do little more than gasp. His hand tightened on my jaw as he tilted my head so our eyes met. Well mine met his dark lenses. I suffered such a shock from the contact that I remained still.

  When he spoke, his breath warmed my face. “I’ve been hired to keep you alive. I’m very good at my job. You, doing exactly as I say, will guarantee this is a successful assignment.” His grip tightened a fraction. “Put. The. Clothes. On.”

  Pure reflex took over. My arm came up, my fist intending to crunch his jaw. I can’t even say how it happened. He flipped me over and pressed my face into the pillow.

  Air. I couldn’t breathe.

  He pulled my hair, lifting my nose away from the pillow, and spoke softly into my ear. “We need to talk, and I really don’t have time for your crap. I let you sleep, but now it’s my turn. Do you want me to dress you?”

  His grasp on my hair wasn’t near the stitches, but it still hurt. His bedside manner needed an adjustment. Hell, his entire bodyguard approach needed a complete overhaul. I took a deep breath trying to calm myself. The sight of his right forearm bulging only inches from my face proved I couldn’t win. For now.

  I took another slow breath. “Turn your back and I’ll dress.”

  He let me go so suddenly that my face plopped against the pillow. When I spoke to my father, I’d tell him I wanted to press charges. No one would get away with manhandling me like this. I lifted up and reached for the bag. I pulled out a dark blue t-shirt and didn’t bother with a bra. I was in bed for God’s sake. There were jeans and running shorts to choose from too. The shorts won because they were less work.

  I eased myself back against the pillow. “You can turn around.” My brain pounded to the beat of my heart.

  He turned and cocked his head slightly, making me think he was checking me out. “How’s your head?” he asked in a pleasant voice pretending that he actually might care.

  I didn’t trust this gentle side. “It’s attached.”

  His lips curled up into the half-smile from minutes ago. “Let’s keep it that way.” He placed his hand out. “I’m Brack, and you may call me Brack.”

  I looked at the hand for several seconds and finally manners took over. His fingers grasped mine. I had large hands for a woman. Mine now appeared dainty. “Olivia. You may call me Miss Stradmore.”

  More of his grin flashed. He slowly released me, and I wanted to bring my fingers to my cold cheeks and warm them with the heat residue from his hand. He picked up a folder from the side table and handed it to me. “There are two possible exits we can use to get you out of here quickly if needed. Take a look, I’ve marked them.”

  I opened the folder and sure enough there was a ridiculous map of the hospital with exits clearly marked. “I don’t think this is necessary.” I looked up and wanted so badly to knock his damn glasses off.

  “The man who interrupted your kidnapping and most likely saved your life was shot to death by your assailant. An innocent who had no idea what he walked into. Your attacker has no problem killing, which makes my job that much harder. I’m rather partial to my life, so your cooperation is needed or we both die.”

  His voice held no emotion. Blunt. Cold. Hard. Fact. Not that it made a difference. The roar in my head began the second he said the man who saved me was dead. Dead. My father hadn’t told me—no one had. The gunshots echoed through my brain again.

  Chapter Four

  There was little in my stomach and what was there was trying to come up. Warm hands grasped my shoulders.

  “Deep breaths. You’re okay,” Brack said with quiet authority.

  I tried to inhale. There was no air. And he lied. Nothing would ever be okay again.

  Dead.

  I struggled to get out of bed while mumbling, “Toilet, I… please.”

  An ugly plastic, curved, pink hospital bowl appeared under my chin as I heaved. It did little good; nothing came up and I couldn’t catch my breath.

  “Breathe in through your nose and hold it as I count—one… two… three.” Brack’s commanding voice penetrated my thoughts. He sounded like he spoke through a funnel. Something in his instructions had me paying attention and doing what he said.

  “Now out through your mouth—one… two… three.”

  It took several minutes for the roar to fade to a small whoosh. The heat from one of his hands rested against the base of my neck. Then I felt his fingers in my hair tilting my head back.

  “You’re okay. You suffer these often?”

  It took a second before the question registered. “These?”

  “Panic attacks.”

  I’d never panicked in my life or had any type of an attack for that matter. Tears began streaming down my face. Crying was something else I rarely did. There’s no crying in tennis, or so my coach drilled into me from a very young age. Thanks to Tom Hanks' famous baseball line, I’d heard the phrase entirely too often.

  I stared into Brack’s dark lenses and saw my reflection. His hand left my back and he slowly removed his glasses.

  Hell. I didn’t think I could breathe again.

  His eyes were crystal blue. No, green. I sucked in a breath as the colors captivated me. They were both. One eye blue and the other green. He wiped tears from my cheek with one finger as I stared in amazement.

  “Can I put my glasses back on?” Another slight grin came with the question. No he wasn’t model material good looking, but his eyes were stunning.

  “Why would you cover those?” God, they were beautiful.

  A rosy tinge crept into his cheeks. I smiled slightly. Brack was embarrassed about the most striking eyes I’d ever seen. Then, I remembered the man who died because of me. “Who was he?” I asked.

  Brack misunderstood. “I’m hoping you can give me some additional clues so my people can figure that out.” All business, he slid his glasses back over his eyes.

  “No… the man.” My breath hitched. “The man who saved my life.”

  He nodded his chin to the folder I’d dropped beside me. “All the information is in the there.”

  I grabbed it and went through the pages until I reached the picture of a man I didn’t recognize. Written below the picture was the name William Leonard Johnston, age seventy-two. His address showed the same street as my father’s. I looked up. “This tells me nothing.”

  Brack moved closer and perched his hip on the side of my bed. “He was walking his dog and apparently interrupted your kidnapping.”

  I suddenly remembered it barking. It was a stupid question, but I couldn’t help asking. “What about the dog?”

  “Your stalker shot them both.”

  More tears escaped. I’d never owned a dog. Hell, I never even knew William Leonard Johnston existed. He saved my life. A man and his dog dead because of me. “I’ve never seen my stalker. I didn’t see him after he ran into me with the van. I told the police that.” At least I thought I had. I vaguely remembered a detective asking a few questions. My father ushered him out of the room after I provided a few bleary details—the van was white and I never saw the man’s face, but I did recognize his voice. I would never forget that voice.

  My stalker began bothering me a little over a year ago. He liked to call my cell phone. I would ask the prerequisite questions, “Who is this? How did you get this number?” He ignored me and said I was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. He always told me he was a huge fan. After a few weeks, I changed my cell number because his calls became more frequent and creepier. Two weeks of respite later, he called my new number. That freaked me out and I reported it to the police. It didn’t stop him. My stalker liked to identify the clothes I wore on particular days and made comments on them. “You need to embrace modes
ty in all things. I don’t like when you show off your legs in public.” Everything he said was extremely disturbing. Unfortunately, the police couldn’t trace the disposable phones he used.

  When his calls came through to my third cell number, the police asked me to question him as much as possible. “What’s your name? Do I know you from somewhere?” He told me I should call him Ty. That really gave me the creeps because all I could think of was “tie,” as in tie up. Ty didn’t like my clothes or my friends. He obviously followed them too and told me to stay away from “That slut Meagan.” My apartment was next to Meagan’s. When my hectic, competitive schedule allowed, we sometimes hung out and went to clubs together.

  The gifts started appearing shortly after that particular warning. He always boxed them prettily, but what they held was not so pretty. One had a recently severed rabbit’s foot with pieces of sinew and flesh hanging from it. “For luck,” the card read. He sent me clothes too; his idea of modest clothes in drab colors.

  I came back to the present and realized Brack waited patiently for me to continue. “I recognized his voice. That’s it.”

  Now that I knew what lay behind his dark glasses, his regard had me fidgeting uncomfortably. I needed to see his eyes again. I also knew I was selfish. A man died and all I wanted to do was look into a beautiful pair of eyes and escape my horrific life.

  The sound of a throat clearing had me looking toward the doorway. My father stood there. He wasn’t nearly the size of Brack, but his sheer presence was larger than anyone I’d ever known. Brack turned that way too. When most men would have jumped up and stood at attention, Brack remained sitting on my bed without a care in the world.

  “Senator Stradmore,” he acknowledged with another of his regal head nods so at odds with his unkempt appearance.