Billionaire Bodyguard
Page 41
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
CHAPTER 10
She had no idea how long she’d been out.
Upon waking, Allison winced at the pain hammering in her skull. Her body ached. Her wrist was too heavy to move. Her cheek throbbed hotly, swollen.
Steady beeps and the smell of antiseptic told her where she was. Harsh fluorescent lights singed her pupils as she forced her eyes open.
The first thing she needed to know: Is the baby okay?
Frantically, she traced the small swell of her abdomen. She struggled up to sitting, releasing a groan. A man in a dark suit stood in the hallway with his back to her, arms crossed, guarding the door.
“Help,” she whimpered.
He glanced over his shoulder. She recognized his face as the one that had hovered above her as he’d carried her away from danger. His eyes widened, seeing her awake, then he moved swiftly down the hall. He murmured in low tones. Logan rushed into the room. He was at her bed in three strides.
Torment tightened his features. He brushed her hair back, half-sitting on the hospital bed. His thumb smoothed her unmarred cheek. “How do you feel?”
“The baby.” She fisted her hand in his shirt. “Am I still…? Is everything—”
“Okay. So far.” He kissed her forehead. “The nurse did an ultrasound. Dr. Murray came by to check on things. They said the baby is fine.”
She collapsed against him. “Oh, thank God.”
“My words exactly.” He gathered her in his arms. “You took the brunt of it, baby doll. You’ve suffered a sprained wrist and a concussion.”
She stiffened. “Where is Trevor?”
“Out of the state, if he has any self-preservation in him,” Logan growled.
“I doubt it.” She started trembling. “No one stands in the way of what he wants.”
“He’s never met me.” Logan’s muscles tensed, but he checked his anger.
She thanked him silently. She doubted she could tolerate another fit of rage.
“I should’ve been there.” Angst coated his words. “I’m sorry, Allison.”
She shook her head. “Trevor planned this, waiting for the right conditions. He knew I was parked far from intervention. He chose a time when no one was around. He caught me by surprise.” She made a frustrated sound. “I should’ve been prepared. I should’ve known he’d—”
“Stop right there.” He cupped her face. “This is not your fault.”
Tears threatened. “I know better than to let my guard down. I should’ve been more careful.”
“Allison, if anyone’s to blame, it’s me.”
The tortured look in his eyes made her heart throb with compassion. “No, Trevor’s the one who needs to accept responsibility.”
“That’s likely,” he bit out. “God, I wish I’d been there. I would’ve flattened him.”
“I know.” She curved her hand around his strong bicep, wishing he could hold her forever. But if they had any hope of catching Trevor, they needed to act fast. “What about the police? Do they have any leads?”
“Not yet.” He released an agitated sigh. “There’s an officer in the hall, waiting to take your statement. Are you up for it? Because I can tell him to come back later—”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“You sure?” The concern in his expression touched her.
She nodded.
Logan paced, fists clenched, as she recounted to Officer Pratt the traumatic reunion with Trevor. When she finished, the officer flipped his notebook shut. He looked like he’d swallowed a razor. “Guy’s a freaking piece of work.”
Stepping forward, Logan looked ashen but resolute. “If he comes near her again, will I be held responsible for my actions?”
The officer arched an eyebrow. “I’ll pretend you didn’t ask that, so your self-defense plea will hold up better in court.”
“Logan,” she chided.
“What?”
“Don’t. Please. If Trevor comes back, let the police handle it.”
Logan’s jaw tightened. “No one lays a hand on my woman and walks away.”
“Trevor’s probably thinking the same thing,” Allison murmured.
Logan’s nostrils flared. “If that bastard so much as—”
The officer cleared his throat noisily. “I’ll head back to the station and plug your info into our system. We have plenty to hold him on, until the FBI gets here. They’ll make sure he goes away for a long time.”
“Not long enough,” Logan muttered. “We’d all be better off if the schmuck was d—”
The officer coughed an interruption. “I’ll get in touch the second we know something.”
“Thanks, Pratt.” Logan spoke to the man familiarly.
“Save it until we have him behind bars.”
“If you need me to call in any favors—”
“Take care of your girl, Stone. We’ll handle the rest.” He pointed a stern finger at Logan’s chest. “And don’t go all commando on me, either.”
Logan’s eyes flashed.
“I mean it, Stone.”
After a moment of internal debate, Logan gave a tight nod.
Allison didn’t quite believe him. He and Trevor were too similar in makeup to let someone else do the dirty work. She hoped the police got to Trevor first, or he might not be the one behind bars when this was through.
*
The first two days after the attack, Allison slept. Logan took off work and monitored her vigilantly. He woke her up at intervals for liquid hydration. Unused to being cared for like this, she was grateful for his kindness.
The third and fourth day, he insisted she stay in bed. He expressed concern about symptoms of her concussion and the baby’s health. He checked her temperature, shined a flashlight into her pupils, pressed ice packs to her cheek, quizzed her constantly about how she felt, and engaged her in deep discussions to ensure her memory was still sharp. Not to mention the frequent foot massages and back rubs. He pampered her like crazy.
During one of his divine massages, she sighed softly. “Forget security. You missed your calling as a masseuse.”
He grinned. “Just wait until you get my bill.”
The weekend drifted by in a lazy, gentle blur. Unfortunately, they received no word from the police regarding Trevor.
Concern festered inside her like a leaky wound.
Monday, the week after her incident, Logan still stayed home. Very uncharacteristic. He thrived in an environment of constant stimulus and action. The lack of forward-focus drove him into irritable funks. She urged him to go to the office for a few hours. While his attentiveness was sweet at first, the longer they were cooped up in the house together, the more his attention became smothering. He treated her like an invalid, incapable of feeding herself properly, doing right by her body and the baby. She could barely go to the bathroom without supervision.
She had no idea how long she’d been out.
Upon waking, Allison winced at the pain hammering in her skull. Her body ached. Her wrist was too heavy to move. Her cheek throbbed hotly, swollen.
Steady beeps and the smell of antiseptic told her where she was. Harsh fluorescent lights singed her pupils as she forced her eyes open.
The first thing she needed to know: Is the baby okay?
Frantically, she traced the small swell of her abdomen. She struggled up to sitting, releasing a groan. A man in a dark suit stood in the hallway with his back to her, arms crossed, guarding the door.
“Help,” she whimpered.
He glanced over his shoulder. She recognized his face as the one that had hovered above her as he’d carried her away from danger. His eyes widened, seeing her awake, then he moved swiftly down the hall. He murmured in low tones. Logan rushed into the room. He was at her bed in three strides.
Torment tightened his features. He brushed her hair back, half-sitting on the hospital bed. His thumb smoothed her unmarred cheek. “How do you feel?”
“The baby.” She fisted her hand in his shirt. “Am I still…? Is everything—”
“Okay. So far.” He kissed her forehead. “The nurse did an ultrasound. Dr. Murray came by to check on things. They said the baby is fine.”
She collapsed against him. “Oh, thank God.”
“My words exactly.” He gathered her in his arms. “You took the brunt of it, baby doll. You’ve suffered a sprained wrist and a concussion.”
She stiffened. “Where is Trevor?”
“Out of the state, if he has any self-preservation in him,” Logan growled.
“I doubt it.” She started trembling. “No one stands in the way of what he wants.”
“He’s never met me.” Logan’s muscles tensed, but he checked his anger.
She thanked him silently. She doubted she could tolerate another fit of rage.
“I should’ve been there.” Angst coated his words. “I’m sorry, Allison.”
She shook her head. “Trevor planned this, waiting for the right conditions. He knew I was parked far from intervention. He chose a time when no one was around. He caught me by surprise.” She made a frustrated sound. “I should’ve been prepared. I should’ve known he’d—”
“Stop right there.” He cupped her face. “This is not your fault.”
Tears threatened. “I know better than to let my guard down. I should’ve been more careful.”
“Allison, if anyone’s to blame, it’s me.”
The tortured look in his eyes made her heart throb with compassion. “No, Trevor’s the one who needs to accept responsibility.”
“That’s likely,” he bit out. “God, I wish I’d been there. I would’ve flattened him.”
“I know.” She curved her hand around his strong bicep, wishing he could hold her forever. But if they had any hope of catching Trevor, they needed to act fast. “What about the police? Do they have any leads?”
“Not yet.” He released an agitated sigh. “There’s an officer in the hall, waiting to take your statement. Are you up for it? Because I can tell him to come back later—”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“You sure?” The concern in his expression touched her.
She nodded.
Logan paced, fists clenched, as she recounted to Officer Pratt the traumatic reunion with Trevor. When she finished, the officer flipped his notebook shut. He looked like he’d swallowed a razor. “Guy’s a freaking piece of work.”
Stepping forward, Logan looked ashen but resolute. “If he comes near her again, will I be held responsible for my actions?”
The officer arched an eyebrow. “I’ll pretend you didn’t ask that, so your self-defense plea will hold up better in court.”
“Logan,” she chided.
“What?”
“Don’t. Please. If Trevor comes back, let the police handle it.”
Logan’s jaw tightened. “No one lays a hand on my woman and walks away.”
“Trevor’s probably thinking the same thing,” Allison murmured.
Logan’s nostrils flared. “If that bastard so much as—”
The officer cleared his throat noisily. “I’ll head back to the station and plug your info into our system. We have plenty to hold him on, until the FBI gets here. They’ll make sure he goes away for a long time.”
“Not long enough,” Logan muttered. “We’d all be better off if the schmuck was d—”
The officer coughed an interruption. “I’ll get in touch the second we know something.”
“Thanks, Pratt.” Logan spoke to the man familiarly.
“Save it until we have him behind bars.”
“If you need me to call in any favors—”
“Take care of your girl, Stone. We’ll handle the rest.” He pointed a stern finger at Logan’s chest. “And don’t go all commando on me, either.”
Logan’s eyes flashed.
“I mean it, Stone.”
After a moment of internal debate, Logan gave a tight nod.
Allison didn’t quite believe him. He and Trevor were too similar in makeup to let someone else do the dirty work. She hoped the police got to Trevor first, or he might not be the one behind bars when this was through.
*
The first two days after the attack, Allison slept. Logan took off work and monitored her vigilantly. He woke her up at intervals for liquid hydration. Unused to being cared for like this, she was grateful for his kindness.
The third and fourth day, he insisted she stay in bed. He expressed concern about symptoms of her concussion and the baby’s health. He checked her temperature, shined a flashlight into her pupils, pressed ice packs to her cheek, quizzed her constantly about how she felt, and engaged her in deep discussions to ensure her memory was still sharp. Not to mention the frequent foot massages and back rubs. He pampered her like crazy.
During one of his divine massages, she sighed softly. “Forget security. You missed your calling as a masseuse.”
He grinned. “Just wait until you get my bill.”
The weekend drifted by in a lazy, gentle blur. Unfortunately, they received no word from the police regarding Trevor.
Concern festered inside her like a leaky wound.
Monday, the week after her incident, Logan still stayed home. Very uncharacteristic. He thrived in an environment of constant stimulus and action. The lack of forward-focus drove him into irritable funks. She urged him to go to the office for a few hours. While his attentiveness was sweet at first, the longer they were cooped up in the house together, the more his attention became smothering. He treated her like an invalid, incapable of feeding herself properly, doing right by her body and the baby. She could barely go to the bathroom without supervision.
