Free His Bodyguard by Lois Greiman

hurricane.
    But what a rush!
    “What are you doing here?” someone asked from behind.
    Brenna spun toward the voice. And there, not ten feet away, stood her youngest brother.
    “Brady!”
    “Don’t you ‘Brady’ me. We’ve been worried sick ‘bout you.” He wore that tough-guy expression he used to use when they played commandos together. It brought back a hundred aged memories, and with them, a rush of vintage guilt.
    “What are you doing—running off without so much as a goodbye? We thought you’d up and got yourself murdered or something.”
    “I sent Shamus a letter,” Brenna said and glanced nervously toward the doorway to the auditorium, hoping no one would see this encounter.
    “Yeah. And you said you were going to be some singer’s traveling secretary. Not a damned bodyguard! What were you thinking—lying to Bartman and everything?”
    She felt herself pale. “You didn’t tell him, did you?”
    “I probably should have. But he’s sure to figure it out for himself. Someone called him just the other day. Asked if they had a guard named O’Shay.”
    “Someone called?” Her knees felt weak. “Who?”
    “How the hell would I know?”
    “Was it Fox? No! It couldn’t have been. Was it a man? What kind of voice? Did he—”
    “Dammit, Brenna! I just came to bring you home.”
    She straightened. “How did you find me?”
    “I’m a cop, Brenna. You think I can’t track down my own sister?”
    In fact, she’d known they would find her eventually. But she’d thought that by then she would have proven her ability. “Well.” She shrugged, but she couldn’t help feeling that shewas five again, even with her youngest brother. “You found me. So you go on home and tell everyone I’m fine.”
    He snorted again. “Not without you, I’m not. Shamus said to bring you home.”
    “You told Shamus where I was?” Oh, no! It was bad enough having Brady here. But Shamus was the oldest of the six of them, and had always been the undisputed ringleader of the commando squad. It was he, in fact, who decided Brenna could no longer be a cop once their mother died. After that, she’d been lucky to be one of the robbers. Though, if the truth be known, she’d made a damn fine thief.
    “’Course I told Shamus,” Brady said. “You think we was just going to let you get yourself killed somewhere?”
    “I’m not going to…” One of the security guards passed by. She straightened her back and lowered her voice. “I’m not going to get myself killed, and I’m not seven years old, Brady. I’m twenty-three. Old enough to make my own decisions.”
    “So you decided to be a bodyguard? Brenna! What are you thinking?”
    “I’m thinking I’ve got a job to do and I’m damn good at it. So you hike on back to Poplar Springs and call off the hounds,” she said, and pivoted away, heart thumping and nerves jamming.
    But she didn’t get fifteen feet down the aisle before Brady caught her arm. “This is crazy, Brenna.”
    She yanked her arm from his grasp. “What’s crazy is that you can’t let me live my own life.”
    “Shamus said to bring you home, so I’m bringing you home,” he said, and pulled her close.
    “What do you think you’re doing, bub?” asked Smitty from her immediate right.
    “I’m not looking for any trouble,” Brady said. “I’m just having a conversation with my—”
    “Take your hands off her and back away.”
    “Listen,” Brady began. “I’m a—”
    “Get out of here now and I won’t cause you any trouble,”Brenna whispered. “But keep this up and I swear you’ll regret it.”
    “I’ve got to do it,” he said. “Come on.”
    He gave her arm a tug, but training and adrenaline made it simple to break free. Brady stepped in close, and she gave him a light knuckle punch to the belly. He doubled over in surprise, and in that second she reached around quick as light. Snatching his wallet from his back pocket, she stashed it up her sleeve.
    Smitty was staring