Free Bodyguard by Suzanne Brockmann Page A

the explosion?” she asked. “Was it a problem with the gas line?”
    Harry didn’t answer right away. He just looked at her for a moment then shook his head. “Mrs. Lamont. Do you really think it was a coincidental gas explosion that took out half your house? Your husband—”
    “Ex-husband,” she corrected him.
    He watched her. “—stole five million dollars from the mob.”
    “Five million dollars!” There was real surprise in her voice, in her eyes. “Five million?”
    Harry leaned even farther forward. “Am I wrong? Was it less?” He knew it was only a million.
    The animated expression on her face instantly disappeared as she realized she’d nearly given herself away. She was now expressionless, her eyes devoid of the life that had glistened in them just moments before. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Car bomb,” Harry told her.
    Uncertainty sparked in her eyes, along with a flare of disbelief, and he knew she was much smarter than she let on.
    “Yeah, you heard me right,” he said. “The arson squad’s still looking the place over, but from what they can tell right now, the blast was caused by a faulty trigger device in a bomb that was planted in your Jeep Cherokee. The bomb wasn’t supposed to blow until after you backed the car out of the garage and put the sucker into drive. There was a second bomb in the sedan, just in case you took that car when you went to the mall in the morning. That second explosion—that was the second bomb going off, triggered by the fire.” He paused. “I guess they were gambling on the fact you wouldn’t drive the Miata two days in a row.”
    Her eyes were wide and she was starting to shake. He knew he could stand up and walk around the table and sit down next to her and she wouldn’t move away. He knew he could put his arm around her, gently pull her close for a little comfort, and she wouldn’t complain. In fact, she would probably lean in to him, trembling, and he’d reach up and soothingly stroke her hair.
    She wanted someone to take care of her—she probably didn’t particularly care who. He’d bet she’d even trade sex for his protection.
    The possibilities loomed above him for a moment as he sat gazing at her. He could stand up and set the process in motion. And within a matter of days, maybe even hours, he’d find himself in bed with this beautiful woman.
    But Harry didn’t stand up. He didn’t move. He’d never paid for sex, and he wasn’t about to start now. Even if the payment was in protection, not U.S. currency.
    “Maybe you can give me a list of names—people whomight want to see you dead,” he said to her. “Irate neighbors who object to your lighting the shrubbery on fire, perhaps?”
    She glanced up quickly at him, and he knew he’d been right about the fire. “Or maybe you want to start by explaining why the word on the street has your name at the top of a very short list of people with contracts out on their lives. You’re marked for death, sweetheart. Someone wants you cold and dead. I’m not a gambling man, but I’d put my paycheck on the fact that it’s Michael Trotta who’s behind that.”
    “I gave the money back,” Alessandra whispered. “I don’t understand. I did what he wanted. I found the money—all of it. One million dollars. And I gave it back.”
    She gave the money back. “Jesus, lady, you are without a doubt the Queen of Bad Judgment. That million dollars was evidence we could have used—”
    “They told me they’d kill me if I went to the police!”
    “Yeah? Well, it looks as if killing you is on their agenda regardless.”
    “It doesn’t make sense!”
    “What doesn’t make sense is you giving the money back.”
    “I saw what they did to a man who’d gone to the police,” Alessandra told him, her voice shaking. She was scared to death, but her pretty blue eyes were dry. Apparently the only thing that made her weep was the thought of all those great bargains she’d