Bodyguard

Bodyguard Read Free Page A

Book: Bodyguard Read Free
Author: Suzanne Brockmann
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detective pushed open the door, wincing apologetically as he crunched on the remains of her Waterford crystal. He held out the phone. “Call waiting beeped while I was on with the captain. It’s a Brandon Wright for you …?”
    Her lawyer. Finally. She took the phone. “Brandon, thank God. The house has been completely ransacked. Can you get over here right—”
    “Alessandra, it’s nearly two A.M.”
    “But the entire house is—”
    “No, I’m sorry, I can’t come out there now.” He sighed heavily. “And I know this is not the right time, but I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this. You’re broke. You can’t afford me anymore.”
    She kept her voice calm as she went into the living room, searching desperately for some place, any place to sit down. “I see.” There was no longer anywhere to sit in the entire house. She was going to have to take this latest blow standing up.
    “I’m sorry. I hate to desert you at a time like this, but if I come out there at two hundred and fifty dollars an hour the drive time alone will—”
    “Of course. You’re right.” The front door was ajar, and as Alessandra watched, two men pushed it even farther open and stepped into the entryway. “Seven years of friendship is worth far less than two hundred and fifty dollars an hour.”
    Her acerbic comment had completely taken Brandon aback. It was unlike her to speak out. Years of living with Griffin had taught her to murmur her agreement, even when she didn’t agree. But Griffin was dead now, and over the past few months her life had taken a ratherdrastic turn. “Brandon, please. Can’t you come out here as my friend?”
    Brandon hesitated. In the silence Alessandra watched the two men who had just come in.
    One of them was dark and compact. He was probably only an inch or two taller than her own not-quite-statuesque five feet eight, but he was powerfully, muscularly built. The other man was tall and elegantly slender, the perfect example of high fashion, his suit clearly brand-new—this minute’s style, in fact. The shorter man wore a raincoat that looked as if it hadn’t been to the dry cleaner’s in the better part of a decade. Underneath, she caught glimpses of a rumpled dark suit, a white shirt with the collar unbuttoned, tie loosened.
    The taller man was a walking ad for the Hair Club for Men, every strand perfectly in place, inventoried and accounted for. The other had thick, dark hair that had to be completely his own, arranged in a style that could only be described as permanent “bed head.”
    They were cops. Detectives, most likely. She could tell from the way they looked around as they came inside. The shorter one’s dark gaze flickered over her, identifying and processing her as completely as he’d taken in and filed the torn sofa cushions and the bloodred paint splattered on the walls.
    “I can’t,” Brandon finally said, just as she’d known he would. “It was different when you were married to Griffin, but now, especially with him dead … I don’t think Jeanie would understand.”
    His wife wouldn’t understand that Alessandra could use a little support after her ex-husband was killed by mobsters and her house was completely destroyed? He read her silence correctly.
    “I’m sorry, Alessandra,” he continued. “But I know what she would think if I went out there at this time ofnight. I can’t help you. In fact, I’ve got to get off the line. I am sorry.”
    “I’m sorry, too.” Alessandra cut the connection. She was alone. She was completely alone. For the first time in her entire life, she didn’t have someone to call, someone to take care of things for her.
    Where’s the money? Find it. Fast. Or you’re next.
    For several long seconds, Alessandra couldn’t breathe.
    “Mrs. Lamont?”
    She looked up, directly into the eyes of the cop with the messy hair. His eyes were dark brown and meltingly warm. With eyes like that, a man could get away with a rumpled suit and a

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