The Bodyguard. Lena Diaz
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blue eyes widened, providing a stark contrast to her pale complexion. Was she surprised he knew her name? Didn’t she realize everyone in Savannah knew who the Ashtons were? The “perfect couple” was plastered on the front pages of the local gossip rags at least once a week, and their annual Christmas party was the event of the social season, rivaling the acclaim of the infamous parties held by Jim Williams back in his heyday. Or at least, that was what Luke had heard. His name would certainly never appear on the Ashtons’ Christmas party’s prestigious guest list.
She swayed slightly, as if caught in a daydream, before stretching her manicured hand out to shake his.
His hand practically swallowed hers, and he felt a shudder go through her. What the hell? She pulled her hand back, but not before he noticed something flash in her eyes, something he’d seen too many times in his line of work not to recognize it.
Fear.
Was it possible she was here on purpose, and that she needed help? That seemed so unlikely as to sound ludicrous, but Luke’s internal radar sounded a warning. Rather than show her to the door as he’d been tempted to do the moment she’d walked in, he rounded his desk and picked up a stack of folders from the one guest chair he owned.
He frowned at the lint on the dark green fabric. Normally he wouldn’t give it a second thought, but Caroline Ashton was far too sophisticated to sit on a dirty chair.
“Give me a minute and I’ll find something to cover the seat.”
“No, no, please. Don’t go to any trouble on my behalf. This is fine.”
She sat before he could stop her.
He raised a brow in surprise and leaned back against the edge of the desk, his legs stretched out in front of him as he waited for her to explain why she was here. But again, she seemed perfectly content not to say anything. She simply looked up at him with a polite, blank look. He wondered again at the foibles of the wealthy.
“Mrs. Ashton, how can we help you today?”
“I n-need t-to...” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment as if she was in pain. “I need to hire a bodyguard.”
Her nervousness had him studying her more closely. “I figured you came in here by accident and needed directions.”
Her thick lashes dipped down to her lap, as if keeping eye contact was too difficult.
“I’m not lost. I need protection.”
Her words, and the desperate quality of her voice, had those alarms ringing in his head like church bells on Sunday. Still, he didn’t want to offend her if he’d misunderstood—because surely a billionaire’s wife didn’t really need Luke’s protection.
“Mrs. Ashton, it’s no secret that your husband has a contract with Stellar Security, one of the best security firms in Georgia, one of my biggest competitors.” He glanced at Mitch, who’d gone stone-faced as soon as Luke mentioned Mitch’s former employer. Mitch hated Stellar Security, but since he’d never explained why, Luke could only go by his own personal dealings with the other firm.
“I wish I could tell you my company could do better,” he continued, “but honestly, I don’t have the resources the other firm has. I have five bodyguards, besides myself. Stellar has dozens. If someone’s bothering you, I can call your husband’s security guys and talk to them for you.”
She shook her head, her eyes widening. “No, don’t call them. They’re the last people I would trust.”
He frowned. “Why wouldn’t you trust them? They work for you.”
For the first time since coming into the office, she seemed to really focus on him. The blank look evaporated, replaced by a look of startling clarity and intelligence, as if she’d been playing a role earlier and she’d decided to drop all pretenses.
“No. They don’t work for me. They work for my husband.”
Few people surprised Luke Dawson anymore, but Caroline Ashton had just given him a sucker punch. Was it possible she was afraid of her husband? If something...bad...was going on between them, Luke would have expected rumors in those gossip magazines. At the very least, he’d expect to hear something in the bars when he and his security friends bantered about their clients and the crazy things they sometimes did. But he’d never heard a whisper of anything bad about the Ashton couple. Not one.
He had heard the exact opposite, that Richard Ashton III was practically a saint, in spite of his wife being a bit...needy, to put it kindly. She was said to be nervous, high-strung, but her husband was the epitome of tenderness whenever they were seen together. He was always at her side, seeing to her every whim.
Luke studied her face. Her skin tone was even, her makeup accenting her natural beauty, not thick like women wore when trying to cover bruises. Long sleeves covered her arms—no clues there. But her legs, at least what he could see beneath her modest, below-the-knee skirt, were long and sleek, without the hint of a bump or a bruise. There was nothing about her appearance that made him think she had valid reasons to fear her husband.
With everything he’d heard about the Ashtons, he should believe she’d come here, like so many women before her, planning a divorce and hoping to use the “abuse excuse” to take her husband for everything he was worth. That would make sense, except for one thing.
The fear in her eyes is real. He’d bet his autographed Tom Glavine baseball on it.
Still, just in case he was wrong, he proceeded as he would with any other client, probing for the facts.
“Let me guess. You’re getting a divorce, and you want a bodyguard until the divorce is final.”
Her eyes widened again. “I haven’t filed yet, but that’s my intention, yes. I’ve rented a house outside of town. I’m on my way there now. I just need someone to stay with me until things are...settled.”
That admission sent a flash of disappointment through him. Maybe he was wrong about the fear in her eyes. Maybe she was just like those other women, the ones who would tarnish their husbands’ reputations with ugly lies so they could profit financially when their relationships went south.
“You need a bodyguard right now?”
“Yes.”
He straightened away from the desk. Regardless of the kind of person she was, he couldn’t afford to turn away a paying client. He had too many unpaying ones to allow that luxury and keep his business afloat.
As for going on assignment right now, that wasn’t a problem. He kept a go-bag packed at all times with his clothes and extra ammunition. Since Luke needed to keep his hands free while guarding a client, Mitch would load the bag into the car while Luke escorted the client outside. Standard operating procedure, and so routine he didn’t even need to remind Mitch, who had already jumped out of his chair and grabbed the go-bag. He stood waiting beside Luke’s desk with the strap over his shoulder.
“We can leave right after you sign a contract and pay a retainer fee,” Luke said. “Do you want to take your car or mine?”
Her cheeks flushed a light pink. “Mr. Dawson, I mean no disrespect, but you’re a bit...small. Is there someone else you could assign to help me?”
He stared at her in stunned amazement. Mitch shook his head, obviously as confused as Luke was.
Luke crossed his arms over his chest. “Mrs. Ashton, in all my thirty years, no one else has ever called me small. I’m six foot three and weigh two hundred twenty pounds. I’m not bragging when I say most of that is muscle. It’s just a fact, a necessity of my occupation. I was a champion boxer in high school and college. I’m extensively trained in self-defense. I carry a concealed weapon, am a crack shot and I know just about everything there is to know about guarding people. I assure you, I’m more than capable of protecting you.”
She politely cleared her throat, not looking all that impressed with his speech. “Have you ever