A Bodyguard for Christmas

“Yes,” she said, inclining her head in a short salute. “Regina Menlow.”

“So what does your attempted murder have to do with Chris Beck?”

“I was his mistress.”

“Bloody hell,” Jordan snapped, exasperated.

“You were?” Ian ignored his friend.

“Not really, but Jordan seems to think so. I figured I’d get it out there first. Doesn’t hurt so much when I say it.”

“Honest, aren’t you?” And tough, he thought.

“Painfully.”

“Painful for whom?” Ian glanced at Jordan, saw the flash of male frustration—the kind that came from fighting the inevitable.

Interesting.

Regina’s lips curved in amusement. “Believe it or not, more often for me. Jordan just happens to be the exception right now.”

“Are you quite done?”

“Quite done.” Regina mimicked Jordan’s accent before turning to his friend.

She held out her hand and shook Ian’s. “It’s a pleasure, Mr. MacAlister. Chris was quite a fan of your family’s whiskey. And of your family.”

“Please, call me Ian. Chris was a favorite of ours, too,” Ian acknowledged warmly, liking the woman instantly. He had a habit—a rather accurate one actually—of summing up a person’s worth in a matter of seconds after meeting them. Ian decided on the spot that if Regina Menlow were gold, she’d be worth quite a small fortune on her integrity alone. “And I think the pleasure will be all mine, Regina.”

“Ian,” Jordan warned, understanding his friend and the statement. “You can let go of her hand, now.”

He turned on Regina when Ian let her go. “I should have locked you in the motel room.”

“Motel?” Ian frowned. “Where are you staying?”

“Some seedy place downtown,” Regina replied, crossing her arms in what Ian determined was a deliberate attempt to show no fear. Too bad the deep swallow gave her away.

“We’re staying at the Carltonesque,” Jordan answered, his frustration becoming palpable.

“You’re kidding?” Ian let out a low whistle. “Isn’t that the place we busted that Mafia drug—”

“It’s fine. And that bust happened years ago. It’s under new management.” Jordan glared at Regina. The blast of it almost had her stepping back. Almost.

Instead, temper stiffened her spine. She hadn’t lived all those years with her Aunt Aida without learning how to defend herself. “Jordan’s right, seedy seems harsh. After all, it has a vibrating bed. We haven’t tried it out yet, but…” She punctuated the sentence with a shrug.

“Are you finished?” Jordan’s back teeth slammed together, forcing his jaw muscles into overdrive.

“Really?” Ian rocked back on his heels and grinned, thoroughly enjoying his friend’s discomfort, Regina noted.

“It beats your current living situation,” Jordan remarked. “Or did you forget your place is now nothing more than a pile of charred books?”

“I haven’t forgotten.” Regina’s chin went up, daring him to take another swipe. “Nor have I forgotten you saved my life. But that doesn’t give you the right to belittle it now.”

“Until I’m sure who is after you, you’re staying with me,” Jordan ordered.

“If Miss Menlow needs a place to stay, we have a guest room,” Ian offered, swallowing a laugh. “I can keep her safe here.”

“It’s not funny,” Jordan bit out.

Regina turned to Ian. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary—”

Jordan cut her off. “She’ll stay with me.”

Regina tried again. “Of course, I appreciate the offer but—”

“I’m not going to place your family in harm’s way, Ian.”

Regina placed her hands on her hips. “I can talk for myself, Jordan.”

He snorted. “What do you think is going to happen when your friend finds out the book he grabbed isn’t my father’s journal?”

“I know he’ll try to find me. I’m not stupid. In fact, I graduated top in my class at Princeton.”

“In what?” Ian asked, curious.

“Not covert operations,” Jordan answered, deliberately provoking her. “She has a master’s in English literature. But she never finished her doctorate.”

Regina gasped, enraged. “How do you know?” She narrowed her eyes. “You have a file on me, don’t you?”

“I suspected you of murdering my father, or at least sleeping with him. Of course, I’m going to have a file on you, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” she snapped, hating how he turned an endearment into a derogatory pet name.

“Scarface won’t take a chance that the book was not destroyed in the fire.”

“Scarface?” Ian asked, trying to keep up.

Both Regina and Jordan said, “Later,” in unison.

“I know they’re out there now,” she told Jordan. “I won’t be so easy to find.”

“Have you ever gone into hiding before?” Ian asked. He thought about stepping between the couple, until he caught Jordan’s glare. Ian decided he liked his teeth more.

“Of course not.” She dismissed the thought with a frown. “But I’ve read books on the subject. Many written by retired military or government officials. Some even by people who have managed to create new identities.”

Ian’s mouth twitched. “You’ve read books.”

“Seems Miss Menlow gets all her life experiences through books,” Jordan drawled. “Well, almost all.”

A flush crept over her cheeks. “You don’t have to be rude.”

“I’m only beginning, sweetheart.”

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