The Bodyguard's Baby

He took his job seriously.

Nick stood at the foot of Laura’s bed and watched her sleep for several minutes. He closed his eyes and willed away the need to hold her. She looked so small and vulnerable. And Nick wanted more than anything to protect her, but could he do that? He opened his eyes and stared at the soft blond hair spread across her pillow.

Laura had almost cost him his life once before. But that sure hadn’t kept him from hanging around when his assignment was technically over. Giving himself credit, there was more to his being here than simply bone-deep need and desire.

Something wasn’t right with this whole picture.

One way or another he would get to the truth. He owed it to himself…and he owed it to Laura. He simply couldn’t walk away without looking back. No matter what had happened in the past. He just couldn’t do it.

The Bodyguard’s Baby

Debra Webb

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Debra Webb was born in Scottsboro, Alabama, to parents who taught her that anything is possible if you want it badly enough. She began writing at age nine. Eventually, she met and married the man of her dreams, and tried some other occupations, including selling vacuum cleaners, working in a factory, a day care center, a hospital and a department store. When her husband joined the military, they moved to Berlin, Germany, and Debra became a secretary in the commanding general’s office. By 1985, they were back in the States, and finally moved to Tennessee, to a small town where everyone knows everyone else. With the support of her husband and two beautiful daughters, Debra took up writing again, looking to mystery and movies for inspiration. In 1998, her dream of writing for Harlequin came true.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Laura Proctor—Her child was missing, and she can’t prove that he even exists. Can she stay alive long enough to find him?

Nick Foster—He has been burned once—left to die by the woman he trusted. Now she needs his help, but can Nick risk his heart to her again?

Victoria Colby—The head of the Colby Agency. She allows Nick to take Laura’s case despite her misgivings.

James Ed Proctor—The governor of Mississippi. Does he love his sister or does he only want her trust fund? He stands to gain the most by Laura’s death.

Sandra Proctor—James Ed’s wife. She has always been good to Laura, but Sandra has one too many deep, dark secrets.

Ray Ingle—The Natchez homicide detective who has worked with Nick in the past. Can he help Nick and Laura when it really counts?

The Stalker—Laura is worth a great deal to him dead. Who hired him? What has he done with Laura’s child?

Ian Michaels—A Colby Agency investigator. No one at the agency is better at digging up the facts than Ian.

This book is dedicated to some of the people I love most—my family. Erica, Melissa, Tanya, Johnny, Chad, Chris and Robby, you mean the world to me.

A special thanks to Robby for being the adorable inspiration for Laura’s child.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Prologue

Victoria Colby studied Nick Foster’s handsome profile for a long moment as he stared out the wall of glass that made up one side of her office. Nick kept his dark hair trimmed at precisely the perfect style and length, fashionably short, to accentuate his classic features. His attire received the same attention to detail. He dressed well and in a manner that drew one’s eye to the breadth of his shoulders and the leanness of his waist. He looked more model than investigator.

The man was a perfectionist, personally and professionally. In this line of work those traits could be a definite plus. Victoria had worked hard to make the Colby Agency the best in the business. And carrying on the dream that had driven James, her beloved late husband, was all that mattered to Victoria now.

The Colby Agency was much more than just another private investigations firm; it had a staff second to none. All personnel recruited and employed were on the cutting edge of their field. And Victoria made it a point to see that they stayed at their best, physically and mentally.

Victoria cleared her throat, unnecessarily announcing her presence, and crossed the thick, beige Berber that carpeted her spacious office. Nick was probably aware of her the moment she stepped off the elevator. He missed nothing. “Good afternoon, Nick,” she said, smiling pleasantly as she settled into the chair behind her desk.

“Victoria,” he returned warily before taking the two steps necessary to reach the overstuffed wing chair in front of her desk. “You wanted to see me?” He grimaced slightly as he lowered his tall frame into the chair, but quickly masked the pain of the old injury and relaxed fully into the supple leather upholstery.

“Yes,” she confirmed. Victoria had dreaded this meeting all day, but there was no putting it off any longer. She had noted the deepening lines around his mouth, the darkening circles beneath his eyes. The man was on a full-speed-ahead trip toward crash and burn. Firming her resolve, Victoria began, “Nick, we’ve worked together for five years, and I know you too well to pretend any longer that nothing is wrong. I’ve watched the change in you over the past two years. You haven’t been the same since—”

“I do my job,” he interrupted sharply, his assessing green eyes growing more wary.

“Yes,” Victoria agreed. “You’re a valuable asset to this agency. You do your job and more.” She understood all too well what Nick was attempting to do. She had been there. After losing James she’d buried herself in work, too. “And I’m sure you’ll understand that what I’m doing now is my job.” She paused a beat, allowing Nick to prepare himself for her next words. “As of today, you’re on mandatory R-and-R. You will not set foot back in this building, nor will you conduct any business even remotely related to this agency for a period of fourteen days.”

Instantly his gaze hardened, as did the usually pleasant lines of his angular face. “That’s not necessary, Victoria. I’m ready for—”

“No,” she cut him off, her tone final. “I’ve always trusted your judgment, Nick.” She shook her head. “But not this time. I’d hoped that your need to assuage your conscience would fade with time, but it hasn’t. You’re still struggling with demons you can’t possibly hope to conquer by driving yourself into the ground.” Victoria raised a hand to stay his protests. He snapped his mouth shut, but his tension escalated, manifesting itself in his posture and the grim set of his jaw.

Regret weighed heavily on Victoria’s shoulders at having to call her top investigator, her second in charge actually, on the carpet like this. “You can’t run forever, Nick. You’ll either burn out or get yourself killed trying to prove whatever it is you feel the need to prove. When Sloan left I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to work so closely with anyone else, but I was wrong. I don’t want to lose you, Nick, but I won’t allow you to self-destruct on my time either. Go home, spend some time with your brother, or find yourself a hobby.” Victoria raised a speculative brow. “Or maybe a woman. Lord knows you could use one…or both.”

Nick’s gaze narrowed. “I don’t recall seeing a category marked ‘personal life’ on my performance evaluation.”

Necessity and irritation overrode Victoria’s regret. “You see this desk?” With one manicured nail she tapped the polished oak surface of the desk that had once belonged to her husband. “The buck stops here, mister. When you go home at night you can thank God in heaven for whatever blessings you may have received that day. But here, in this building, I am the highest power. And, despite your long standing at this agency, whatever I say is the final word. You, Mr. Foster, are on vacation. Is that understood?”

He didn’t flinch. “Absolutely.”

“Good.”

Nick got to his feet. The only indication that the move cost him was the muscle that ticced in his jaw and the thin line into which his lips compressed.

“Two weeks, Nick,” Victoria reiterated as he strode slowly toward the door, his trademark limp a bit more pronounced than usual. “Get a life, and when you return to work I want to see a new attitude.”

He paused at the door and shifted to face her. The other trademark gesture for which Nick Foster was known spread across his handsome face. Victoria imagined that the intensity and appeal of that smile had made many a heart flutter wildly.

“Yes ma’am,” he drawled, then walked out the door.

TWO WEEKS.

What the hell was he supposed to do for two weeks? Nick slammed his final report into the outbox on his desk. Victoria just didn’t get it. He had a life—here. Nick surveyed his upscale, corner office. Work was his life. He didn’t care what the shrinks said—Nick Foster didn’t need anything else.

Especially not a woman.

Ire twisted inside him when he considered Victoria’s words again. Yeah, he always did a hell of a job on his assignments. Especially this last one. Victoria could always count on him. No one else at the agency would have gone so far out on a limb for a client, but unlike the rest, it didn’t bother Nick.

He had nothing to lose.

If he had gotten himself killed, who the hell would have missed him?

Nick shrugged off the answer to that question. He stood, gritting his teeth at the pain that radiated through his right knee and up his thigh. Nothing like a needling reminder from the past, he mused, to keep a guy in touch with reality.

Reality had royally screwed him three years ago when he’d gotten this bum knee while protecting a client. Bad knee or no, he still did the best job possible. In fact, in all his years of service to the Colby Agency he had never failed—except once. He brutally squashed the memories that accompanied that line of thinking. That would never happen again. You couldn’t lose if you weren’t looking for anything to gain.

Nick jerked on his suit coat and grabbed his briefcase. What the hell? He hadn’t been camping or fishing in a while. Maybe he would hone his survival skills with a couple of weeks in the wilderness. And maybe he would call Chad and make it a family venture—considering the two of them were all that was left of the Foster clan. Nick’s right knee protested painfully when he skirted his desk too quickly.

He muttered a colorful expletive and then forced his attention away from the burning throb. He had ignored a hell of a lot worse.

The ergonomically modulated buzz from the telephone halted his thoughts as well as his indignant exit. Nick stared at the flickering red light with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity. Everyone else at the agency, including Victoria, had no doubt already left for the day. No one ever stayed this late but him. Why should he bother answering the phone? Hadn’t Victoria ordered him to take a vacation starting immediately?

Just when he thought he could walk out the door without answering the damned thing, he snatched up the receiver and barked his usual greeting, “Foster.”

“Nick, it’s Ray Ingle.”

Nick froze, his tension rocketed to a new level. “Ray,” he echoed, certain that he must have heard wrong. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. Maybe he should have listened to the shrinks after all.

“It’s been too long, buddy.” Ray’s chastisement was subtle.

“Yeah, it has,” Nick said slowly as he leaned one hip against the edge of his desk, taking the weight off his bum leg. He dropped his briefcase to the floor and raked his fingers through his hair as he waited for Ray to make the next move.

“I haven’t called in a while.” Since we gave up on finding her, he didn’t have to add. “You haven’t returned any of my calls in so long, I guess I didn’t see the point anymore.”

“I’ve been really busy, man,” Nick offered by way of explanation, but the truth of the matter was he just hadn’t wanted to make time. He and Ray, a Natchez police detective, had worked closely for months on that one case. And to no avail. Guilt congealed in Nick’s gut.

“Sure, I know,” Ray acknowledged quietly.

Nick straightened. “Look, I was just on my way out the door, is everything okay?” He hated himself for trying to cut the call short, but just hearing Ray’s voice evoked more memories than Nick was prepared to deal with right now. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to deal with those memories.

“I saw her.”

The hair on the back of Nick’s neck stood on end as adrenaline flowed swiftly through his rigid body. “Laura?” he murmured in disbelief, the sound of her name sending an old ache through his soul. If Ray had seen her…she couldn’t be dead. Nick had known it all along.

“If it wasn’t her, it was her frigging twin.”

Nick moistened his suddenly dry lips. “Where?”

“I was following up on a possible homicide witness down in Bay Break and—”

“You’re sure it was her?” Nick prodded, suddenly impatient with the need to know.

“I’m pretty sure, Nick. Hell, we turned a good portion of the good old South upside down looking for that girl. And there she was, plain as day.” Ray sighed. “I don’t know how and I don’t know why, but it had to be her. I haven’t told anyone else yet. I hate to upset our Governor on the eve of an election.” He paused. “And, I figured you’d want to know first. I can give you a few hours head start, but then I’ll have to inform him.”

Emotion squeezed Nick’s chest, he swallowed tightly. “I’m on my way.”

Chapter One

She was being followed.

Oh God, no.

Panic shot through Laura Proctor, the surge of adrenaline urging her forward. The November wind whipped her hair across her face as she turned toward the town’s square and scanned the sidewalk for the closest shop entrance. The last of autumn’s leaves ripped from the trees at the wind’s insistence, swirling and tumbling across the empty street. Someone bumped Laura’s shoulder as they walked by, making her aware that she had suddenly stopped when she should be running.

Running for her life.

Instinctively her feet carried her along with the handful of passing pedestrians. She hadn’t taken the time to disguise herself as she should have. The desire to avoid the possibility of being recognized was no longer a priority. The only thing that mattered now was finding a place to hide.

Any place.

She had to get away.

To get back to her baby. She couldn’t be caught now.

Not now.

The knot of people crowding into the eastern entrance of the courthouse drew Laura’s frenzied attention.

Election day. Thank God.

Laura rushed deep into the chattering throng. Once up the exterior steps, she allowed herself to be carried by the crowd into the huge marbled lobby. Weaving between the exuberant voters, she made her way to the stairwell. Almost stumbling in her haste, Laura flew down the stairs leading to the basement level.

If she could just make it to the west end, up the stairs, and onto the street on the opposite side of the square, she would be home free. She had to make it, she determined as she licked her dry lips. The alternative was unthinkable.

Don’t dwell on the negative. Think, Laura, think!

Okay, okay, she told herself as she glanced over her shoulder one last time before starting down the dimly lit, deserted corridor. If she cut through the alley next to Patterson’s Mercantile, then circled around behind the assortment of shops until she reached Vine Street, she would have a straight shot to the house.

Mrs. Leeton’s house.

And her son. God, she had to get to Robby.

Laura skidded to a halt at the foot of the west stairs. “No,” she muttered, shaking her head. The door to the stairwell was draped with yellow tape. A handwritten sign read, Closed—Wet Paint. Laura grasped the knob and twisted, denial jetting through her.

She was trapped.

Laura blinked and forced herself to think harder.

Slow, deliberate footsteps echoed in the otherwise complete silence. She swung around toward the sound. He was coming down the stairs. In mere seconds he would cross the landing and descend the final steps leading to the basement…

To her.

Oh God. She had to hide. Now! Laura ran to a door, but it was locked. As was the next, and the next. Why were all the offices locked?

Election day.

Only the office serving as the voting polls remained open today. Fear tightened its mighty grip, shattering all rational thought. Laura bolted for the next possibility. Blessedly, the ladies’ room door gave way, pushing inward with her weight. Moving silently past each unoccupied stall, Laura slipped inside the last one and closed the rickety old door behind her. She traced the flimsy lock with icy, trembling fingers only to find it broken. Climbing onto the toilet, she placed one foot on either side of the seat and hunkered into a crouch. Knowing her pursuer to be only seconds behind her, Laura uttered one more silent prayer.

Trembling with the effort to remain perfectly still, she swallowed the metallic taste of fear and concentrated on slowing and quieting her breathing. The heart that had stilled in her chest, now slammed mercilessly against her rib cage. Laura refused to consider how he could have found her. She had been so careful since returning to Bay Break. She fought back a wave of tears as she briefly wondered just how much her brother was willing to pay the men he sent after his only sister.

How could this keep happening?

Why didn’t he just leave her alone?

How did they keep finding her?

And, God, what would happen to Robby if she were killed in the next three minutes as she fully expected to be if discovered? Anguish tore at her throat as she thought of her sweet, sweet baby. She wanted to scream…to cry…to run!

Stupid! Stupid! How could she have been so careless? She should never have left the house without taking precautions to conceal her identity. But Mrs. Leeton had insisted that Doc needed her at the clinic—that it was urgent. After all Doc had done for her son, how could Laura have refused to go? She closed her eyes and banished the tears that would not help the situation.

The slow groan of the bathroom door opening temporarily halted Laura’s galloping heart. Everything inside her stilled as her too-short life flashed before her eyes.

She had failed.

Failed herself.

Failed to protect the only man she had ever loved.

And, most important, failed to make the proper arrangements for her son’s safety in the event of this very moment.

Now she would die.

What would become of Robby? Who would care for him? Love him, as she loved him?

No one.

The answer twisted inside her like a mass of tangled barbed wire, shredding all hope. She had no one to turn to…no one to count on. A single tear rolled past her lashes and slid slowly down her cheek only to halt in a salty puddle at the corner of her mouth.

Something deep and primal inside Laura snapped.

By God, she wouldn’t go down without a fight.

Laura’s heart pounded back to warp speed. She swallowed the bitter bile that had risen in her throat as she heard the whoosh of the door closing and the solid thunk of boot heels against the tile floor. Each harsh, seemingly deafening sound brought death one step closer.

The first stall door banged against its enclosure as the hunter shoved the door inward looking for his prey. Then the second door, and the next and the next. Hinges whined and metal whacked against metal as he came ever closer to Laura’s hiding place.

To her.

Her heart climbed higher in her throat. Her breath vaporized in her lungs. Tears burned in her eyes. She focused inward to her last image of Robby, all big toothy smiles, toddling across the floor, arms outstretched.

Blood roared in Laura’s ears as her killer took the final step then paused before the gray, graffiti-covered metal door that stood between them. Did he know that she was there? Could he smell her fear? Could he hear her heart pounding?

Bracing her hands against the cold metal walls, Laura gritted her teeth and kicked the door outward as hard as she could. The answering grunt told her she had connected with her target—his face hopefully. Laura quickly scrambled to the floor, beneath the enclosure and into the next stall. Hot oaths and the scraping of boot heels echoed around her. Her body shaking, her breath coming in ragged spurts, Laura crawled from one stall to the next to retain cover. She had to get out of here. Had to run!

To get to Robby!

The door of the stall she had just wriggled into suddenly swung open. “Don’t move,” an angry male voice ordered.

Laura frowned. There was something vaguely familiar about that low, masculine drawl. As if in slow motion, her gaze traveled from the polished black boots, up the long jean-clad legs to the business end of the handgun trained on her. She blinked, feeling strangely disconnected from her body. Then her gaze shifted upward to look into the face of death.

Nick.

It was Nick.

“DON’T MAKE ME SORRY I put my weapon away,” Nick growled close to her ear. Awareness punched him square in the gut when he inhaled the gentle fragrance that was Laura’s alone. No store-bought perfume could ever match that natural sweetness. He clenched his jaw and simultaneously tightened his grip on her arm as they moved toward his rental car.

Hell, the Beretta had been overkill, he knew. Laura hadn’t even been carrying a purse, much less a weapon of any sort. But Nick wasn’t taking any chances this time. She hadn’t had a weapon the last time either.

His right leg throbbed insistently, but he gritted his teeth and ignored the pulsing burn. He had found Laura, alive and well, and that’s all he cared about right now.

Lucky for him Bay Break streets were deserted as far as he could see. He supposed that most of the residents out and about this morning were huddled in and around voting booths inside the courthouse, or sitting around a table in the local diner discussing how the election would turn out. Nick didn’t keep up with Mississippi politics, but James Ed Proctor III’s sensational reputation was hard to miss in the media. And, from what Nick had heard, whomever the man supported for Congress or the Senate was a sure winner.

The cold wind slapped at Nick’s unshaven face. After a late night flight, a long drive, and an even longer surveillance of the little town’s streets before Laura made her midmorning appearance, Nick welcomed the unseasonably cold temperature to help keep him alert.

He had fully expected Bay Break to be a good deal warmer than Chicago, but he’d gotten fooled. According to the old-timers hanging around the general store, all the signs warned of an early snow. Nick didn’t plan to hang around long enough to see if their predictions panned out. Between twelve hours of mainlining caffeine and the unanticipated cold, Nick felt more alert than one would expect after virtually no sleep in the last thirty hours. But by the time he drove to Jackson and did what he had to do, he would be in desperate need of some serious shut-eye. And, of course, there was that R-and-R Victoria had ordered. Yeah, right, Nick thought sarcastically.