Bodyguard by Melanie Shawn

1

Gage

I jolted awake,my senses on high alert. I wasn’t sure what had woken me, but it had been something. The hairs standing up on the back of my neck told me that.

Thunder roared in the distance, barely audible above the deluge of late night rain.

That wasn’t it. The storm had been going on all night. That wouldn’t have woken me up, let alone put me on edge.

Pounding sounded from the front door.

My alert level shot up to red.

As an elite freelance close protection agent—a bodyguard, basically—I was used to action kicking off in the middle of the night. But I wasn’t on a job. There was no client in potential danger.

I had no idea who was beating my door down at this hour, but I was going to assume the worst. I always did.

Some people might think that was a sad way to live. But I was still alive, and so was every client I’d ever been charged with guarding. I’d take those odds.

I never went anywhere unarmed. Now was no exception. I had my piece in my hand before my feet hit the floor.

You never knew what you were about to walk into, no matter what. Even when you thought you did. Hell, especially when you thought you did. Forget that just once and it was real easy to get dead.

I padded down the stairs without turning on any lights. I didn’t want my unexpected visitor to be alerted to my approach.

When I reached the lower level, I slid over to a side window that had an oblique view of the porch. I was moving stealthily. It was amazing what tiny sounds and sights the subconscious could pick up without our mind even being aware of it. I didn’t want whoever was on my porch to get a “sense” I was there, even if they weren’t consciously aware of it.

I stood by the side of the window for a moment, entirely still, and let my own subconscious scan the atmosphere for sounds or sights that were out of place. When I was satisfied that there had been no change, no one was creeping up on me, I moved the blinds aside just the smallest fraction of an inch.

Most people would have looked out the peephole, but I liked my eyes without bullet holes in them.

When I saw the figure standing on the porch, I froze.

It couldn’t be. But...was it?

There was something about how she stood, the way she held her shoulders. It seemed impossible, but...

The woman at my door turned slightly, giving me a better view of her face in the dim porch light.

Holy shit. It was.

“Savannah.” I growled the word like an accusation as I ripped the front door open. I hadn’t meant it to come out so harsh. But it did.

Any animosity I might have felt, though—even deep down—disappeared into thin air the minute I saw her. Really saw her.

She looked up at me, shivering, soaked to the bone, her jet black hair clinging to her face. Her eyes were filled with anguish and desperation, and dammit, every stone in the wall I’d spent twelve years building around my heart washed away like they were made of sand, and she’d brought in high tide.

She held my gaze and her lip trembled. “Gage,” she whispered. “Please help me. You’re the only one who can save my life. I need you.”