Free YULETIDE PROTECTOR by Julie Miller Page A

away a step when he approached the opposite side of the heavy bag. “What are you doing?”
    He needed the D.A.’s star witness to show up in court and give the testimony that would lock Elliott away in his cell forever. He needed Bailey to be safe. If she suspected a threat, he needed her to trust that instinct and take the proper action to protect herself. Time to change this catharsis of a workout to a more focused lesson in self-defense. He steadied the swinging bag between his hands. “Where’s your opponent?”
    Her blue eyes narrowed with confusion, but didn’t look away.
    Spencer leaned in closer to her. “If this bag is the schmuck who interviewed you, how tall is he?”
    “Schmuck?”
    “Clearly, he missed your...passion...for the job. If he didn’t recognize your hunger for making an impact on his organization, then he’s clearly a schmuck.” When she grinned at his sardonically worded support, he felt like some kind of hero. Spencer quickly squelched the warming sensation that made him smile in return, and got down to business. “Now, where would he stand if this bag was him?”
    “You really think that man was following me today, don’t you?” she challenged. “That it wasn’t just some paparazzo getting the scoop on Mother’s Christmas Ball. The D.A. promised that I’d remain an anonymous witness until the trial begins. No one outside that look-at room yesterday knows I’m testifying.”
    “Brian Elliott knows. At least two members of the press do.”
    What color was left in her porcelain skin drained away. “You really do suck at pep talks, don’t you?”
    Spencer dipped his head closer to hers, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I’m a cop, not you’re therapist. I don’t see any point in sugarcoating the truth. If you felt there was a threat, then there probably was. Vanessa Owen is notorious for sensationalist reporting. Elliott or his attorney could have leaked your name to the press. He might have contacted The Cleaner to throw a scare into you. There are any number of possible scenarios to explain that man following you. Trust your instincts. Don’t take chances.”
    “Take care of myself,” she whispered.
    “Yes.” Once he realized he was close enough to count the shades of blue in Bailey’s upturned eyes, Spencer abruptly pulled back and braced the heavy bag against his shoulder. “Let’s start by learning a few rules of self-defense. Now, how tall was Mr. Stern?”
    “I guess about there.” With a nod, she shook off the hushed stupor that seemed to have temporarily claimed her, too, and pointed to the bag. “Taller than me. Shorter than you.”
    “Let’s focus that temper so it does you some good.” He gave her a quick lesson in hand-to-hand combat. “You need to punch higher or lower than where you’ve been aiming. Go for the throat or up his nose, or the soft gut or between his legs. You’ll only hurt your hand if you punch him in the jaw or sternum like that.”
    “I thought I was working out my frustration.” She slid back into a boxer’s stance with her fists raised.
    “Nothing wrong with that. But let’s make every punch or kick count.” He pointed to her targets and steadied the bag for her. “Try it. Nose, neck, gut or groin.”
    She followed his instructions with soft punches to get the placement of the blows right. He encouraged her to do it again, harder, faster, until he could feel the impact of each blow stinging him through the bag.
    “Now kick him where it counts.” She gritted her teeth and lifted her knee, slamming the bag against him with a feral grunt and knocking Spencer back a step. He released the bag and raised his hands in surrender, grinning. “You’re a quick study. Trust me, I’m down. Or at least disabled enough that you can run away.”
    The admission made her smile between her panting breaths. “You made that seem easy, like I could really do it if I had to.”
    He pulled down his sleeves and buttoned his cuffs. “I