Prince Charming (2 page)

Of course she'd heard him. She thought everyone within a ten-block area had heard him. She refused to give him any satisfaction by reacting, though, and that was probably why he was becoming more outrageous with his threats.

Her attention remained centered on the bodyguard. She thought he would do his best to intimidate her in front of his employer, maybe even try to get her to apologize to Jorguson—hell would freeze before she'd do that—but he surely wouldn't touch her. Not in front of all these people.

Or maybe he wouldn't care who was watching. Jorguson had shouted his intent to have her killed. Would this bodyguard try to top that crazy threat?

There was a wall of windows in the restaurant facing the river, and diners were crammed together, their faces plastered to the glass. Some had their cell phones glued to their ears; others were using the cell phone cameras to record the incident . . . for YouTube, no doubt. Certainly, most of them had witnessed Jorguson ripping her dress and then screaming after she'd punched him. The man had howled like an outraged hyena. Surely they'd heard his ridiculous threats, too.

The bodyguard took Jorguson's orders to “get her” to heart. He lunged. He grabbed her upper arm and twisted as he jerked her toward him. Pain shot up into her neck and down to her fingers. His grip was strong enough to break her bone.

He glanced over his shoulder at the crowd before turning back to her. “You're coming with me,” he ordered.

A woman rushed out of the restaurant shouting, “You leave her alone.” At the same time, two men in business suits ran past the woman to help Olivia.

“Let go of me,” she demanded as she slammed the heel of her shoe into the top of his foot.

He grunted and let go. Olivia got in a solid kick, and he doubled over. But not for long. He quickly recovered and, roaring several grossly unflattering names at her, straightened and reached for his gun. His face was now bloodred.

Good Lord, was he going to shoot her? The look in his eyes suggested that he might. Apparently, Martin had forgotten his audience, or he no longer cared he was being watched. His impulse control had vanished. He had the most hateful look on his face as he pulled the gun from the waistband of his pants. The two businessmen coming to her aid stopped when they spotted the weapon.

“I said you're coming with me,” he snarled as he lunged.

“No, I'm not.” She threw a twelve-dollar glass of iced tea at him. He ducked.

“Bitch.” He spit the word and tried to grab her again.

“I'm not going anywhere with you. Now get away from me.”

The gun seemed to be growing in his hand. She backed away from him, and that infuriated him even more. He came at her again, and before she could protect herself, he backhanded her. He struck the side of her face, his knuckles clipping her jaw. It was a hard hit and hurt like hell. The blow threw her backward, but even as she was falling, she didn't take her eyes off the gun.

She landed on her backside, winced from the impact on her tailbone, and quickly staggered to her feet.

She understood what the expression “seeing stars” meant. Dazed, she tried to back away.

The thug raised his gun again, and suddenly he was gone. Olivia saw a blur fly past her, tackling the bodyguard to the ground. The gun went one way, and the thug went the other, landing hard. Within seconds her rescuer had the man facedown on the grass and was putting handcuffs on him while reading him his rights. When he was finished, he motioned to another man wearing a badge and gun who was rushing across the terrace.

With one of his knees pressed against the bodyguard's spine, the rescuer turned toward her. She suddenly felt lightheaded. She could have sworn she saw an ethereal glow radiating all around him and the sound of a singing choir echoing overhead. She closed her eyes and shook her head. The blow to her jaw must be making her hallucinate. When she opened her eyes again, the vision and the choir were gone, but the man was still there, looking up at her with beautiful hazel eyes.

“Who are you?” he asked as he hauled the bodyguard to his feet.

“Olivia MacKenzie,” she answered. She sounded bewildered, but she couldn't help that. The last few minutes had been hair-raising, and she was having trouble forming a clear thought.

“Who are
you
?” she asked.

“Agent Grayson Kincaid. FBI. Are you all right?”

“I've been better.”

“Maybe you should sit down.”

The bodyguard finally found his voice. “I was protecting my boss.”

“With a Glock?” Kincaid asked. “And against an unarmed woman?”

“She kicked me.”

A hint of a smile turned his expression. “Yeah, I saw.”

“I'm bringing charges.”

“You attacked her,” Kincaid snapped. “If I were you, I'd be real quiet right now.”

The bodyguard ignored the suggestion. “Mr. Jorguson has known for a long time that the FBI has been tailing him and listening in on his private conversations. What you're doing is illegal, but you people don't play by the rules, do you?”

“Stop talking,” Kincaid said.

Another agent grabbed hold of the bodyguard's arm and led him away. He didn't go peacefully. He was shouting for a lawyer.

“Hey, Ronan,” Kincaid shouted.

The agent dragging the bodyguard away turned back. “Yeah?”

“Did you see it?”

Ronan smiled. “Oh yeah, I saw it all. After I put this clown in the back of the car, I'll go get Jorguson.”

Olivia glanced around the terrace. In all the commotion she hadn't seen him slip away.

Kincaid nodded, then turned back to her.

“The gun is under the table,” she offered.

“I'll get it,” Kincaid said.

He walked over to her, and she flinched when he reached out to touch her. Frowning, he said, “I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to see how bad it is.”

“It's fine,” she insisted. “I'm fine.”

He ignored her protest. He gently pushed her hair away from the side of her face. “Your cheek's okay, but he really clipped your jaw. It's already starting to swell. You need to put ice on it. Maybe I should take you to the emergency room, have a physician look at your arm, too. I saw the way he twisted it.”

“I'll be all right. I'll ice it,” she promised when he looked like he wanted to argue.

He took a step back and said, “I'm sorry I couldn't get to him faster.”

“You got here before he shot me. He really was going to shoot me, wasn't he?” She was still astounded by the possibility and getting madder by the second.

“He might have tried,” he agreed.

She frowned. “You're awfully nonchalant about it.”

“I would have taken him down before he shot you.”

Her cell phone rang. She checked the number, then sent the call to voice mail. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man rounding the corner of the building and glaring at her. He stormed toward her, just as Kincaid bent to retrieve the bodyguard's gun.

“What the hell's the matter with you?” the man shouted.

Since he was wearing a gun and badge, she knew he was also FBI. “Excuse me?”

“You ruined a perfectly good sting. Were you wearing a wire? Did you get anything we could use? No, I didn't think so. You weren't supposed to be here until one. We weren't ready.”

The agent screaming at her was an older man, late fifties, she guessed. His face was bright red, and his anger could light fires.

He moved closer until he was all but touching her, but she refused to be intimidated. “Stop yelling at me.”

“She's not with the FBI,” Kincaid said.

“How . . .” The confused agent took a step back. He looked at Olivia, then at Kincaid.

“I'd know if she was. Your undercover woman hasn't shown up yet.”

“Two months' planning,” the agent muttered. He pointed at Olivia. “Are you wearing a wire? Jorguson seems to think you are. Are you with a newspaper or—”

“Poole, leave her the hell alone,” Kincaid said.

Poole was staring at her chest. Uh-oh. Olivia knew where this was going.

“If you think you're going to look for a wire, be advised. I'll punch you, too,” she warned.

Distraught to have his investigation fall apart, Agent Poole stepped closer and said, “Listen, you. Don't threaten me. I could make your life a nightmare.” He put his hand in front of her face and unfolded three fingers as he said, “I'm F . . . B . . . I.”

She smiled. It wasn't the reaction he expected. “You want to talk nightmares?” she said. She put her hand up to his face and unfolded her three fingers. “I'm I . . . R . . . S.”

Titles by Julie Garwood

Sweet Talk

The Ideal Man

Sizzle

Fire and Ice

Shadow Music

Shadow Dance

Slow Burn

Murder List

Killjoy

Mercy

Heartbreaker

Ransom

Come the Spring

The Clayborne Brides

The Wedding

For the Roses

Prince Charming

Saving Grace

Castles

The Secret

The Prize

The Gift

Guardian Angel

The Bride

The Lion's Lady

Honor's Splendour

Rebellious Desire

Gentle Warrior

A Girl Named Summer