The Bodyguard's Assignment. Amanda StevensЧитать онлайн книгу.
or we can do it the hard way. Makes no difference to me.”
The insolence in his tone triggered Grace’s anger. “Oh, and just what are you going to do when I resist? Grab a fistful of my hair and drag me down the street? Throw me over your shoulder and carry me kicking and screaming into the sunset? Is that the reason for the Marlboro man getup?” Her gaze raked disdainfully over the hat and the sheepskin coat, the boots that made him seem even taller. “Are you trying to convince me you’d actually resort to such tactics?”
He gazed down at her, the gray of his eyes glittering like twin glaciers. “Looks like it’s going to be the hard way.”
When he reached for her, Grace instinctively flinched away. And at that exact moment, something buzzed by her face. A fraction of a second later, she heard the sound of the gunshot as the bullet crashed into the wall of the building behind her.
The next few moments were a blur. Grace realized she’d been shot at just as Brady lunged toward her. The two of them crashed to the ground, and the air rushed from Grace’s lungs. For an instant, the fact that the breath had been knocked out of her frightened her more than the sound of gunshots.
Gunshots. In the plural, her dazed mind finally absorbed. She and Brady were still being fired upon.
Shouts erupted on the street, and the scene became chaotic as frightened onlookers dove for cover. Someone screamed in agony as a stray bullet found a mark. In the pandemonium of thrashing bodies, Brady drew Grace to her feet and all but flung her toward the side of the building.
“Keep low,” he shouted as he shoved her roughly toward the alley between the two buildings. He flattened them both against the wall, and with his weapon drawn, he chanced a glance around the corner. A chunk of the building disintegrated over his head, and he grabbed Grace’s hand. “Run!”
He didn’t have to tell her twice. Grace sprinted up the narrow alley beside him, her long legs pumping full throttle. She wasn’t trying to keep up with Brady this time. She was trying to outdistance him if she could. Bullets whizzing overhead could do that.
It wasn’t until they’d reached the end of the alley and a padlocked gate barred their way that Grace realized she still clung to the metal briefcase. Brady took it from her hand and tossed it over the fence. Then he easily scaled the mesh, reaching a hand down to pull her up. Her sleeve caught on a wire, and she ripped it loose, scrambling over the fence to land on her feet on the other side.
But Brady collapsed to the ground, clutching his knee and writhing on the ground in agony. “Run!” he gasped. “Keep going.”
Sparks flew from the fence as a bullet skimmed the metal. Grace ducked, grabbing Brady’s arm. “Come on!”
Flinging off her hand, he fired several rounds into the alley, the sound almost deafening. Grace recoiled, her ears ringing.
“Get up!” she cried. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Go,” Brady said. “I’ll catch up.”
He fired again as another bullet flashed against the fence. Grace lunged for the briefcase. She wasn’t about to leave it behind. The money inside would help her and her mother leave the country. Or at least, it would tide them over until she could contact her father.
She turned back to find Brady struggling to his feet. “I thought I told you to run.”
“We’re wasting time talking about it.” As another round hummed overhead, she grabbed Brady’s hand. This time, it was Grace who took the lead.
Chapter Three
By the time they emerged back on the street, sirens wailed in the distance. Behind them, panicked shouts and frightened screams melded with the sirens, the cacophony triggering a battery of memories for Brady, none of them good.
Putting away his gun so as not to frighten onlookers, he limped down the sidewalk next to Grace. He could feel her trembling, from fear more than cold, he was fairly certain, but she probably wouldn’t admit it. She’d always been a little too independent for her own good. And a lot too single-minded.
He urged her across Market, using one of the horse-drawn carriages for cover. They moved steadily beside it, keeping the carriage between them and the street. Brady kept hold of Grace’s arm, timing their stride to match the gait of the horse. As they neared the parking area where he’d left his rented truck, he pulled Grace into the shadows, glancing over his shoulder. He couldn’t see anyone following them, but he knew the shooters were still out there somewhere. He and Grace had to get off the street and fast.
“My truck’s just around the corner,” he said. “We need to get out of here.”
She nodded, too out of breath to reply. If they could make it to the truck, Brady knew he could get them out of here. He hadn’t lived in Dallas for nearly five years, but this had once been his town. He knew the back streets and alleys as well as he was coming to know the West Texas terrain. He wasn’t sure which turf was more dangerous.
They made a run for it, and after unlocking the truck, he and Grace scrambled inside. Brady started the engine, reversing from the parking space almost before the doors had slammed shut. Within moments, they were merging with traffic on Commerce.
Grace was silent for a change. Brady thought maybe she’d finally accepted the situation—he wasn’t leaving here without her—but when the interstate loomed ahead, she sat up and looked around in alarm.
“Pull over.”
He shot her a glance. “I don’t think so.”
“I mean it, Brady, pull over. Let me out.”
“Are you crazy? Have you forgotten what just happened back there?”
“We were both shot at. Innocent bystanders were hurt, maybe even killed.” Her pale blue eyes looked haunted in the light from the dash. “I haven’t forgotten. But I still want out.”
“Don’t be an idiot—” When he slowed for a traffic light, Grace opened the door. He grabbed her at the last minute, hauling her back in as he swung the truck to the curb. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
He shoved the gearshift into park as she struggled to free herself from his hold. “Damn it, Grace, calm down. What the hell’s the matter with you?”
She looked almost frantic, like a trapped animal trying to get free. “Let me go! I have to get out of here. I can’t go with you. I can’t leave the city. You don’t understand…”
Her voice trailed off, and she glanced away. Her struggles had ceased, but Brady could tell that she would still bolt at the slightest opportunity.
“I understand better than you think. You’re willing to risk your life for the sake of a story.”
Her eyes glittered, with anger or tears, Brady couldn’t tell which. But he assumed it was the former, because he’d never seen Grace cry. Not once.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said almost desperately.
“Oh, I know. I know better than anyone what you’re willing to do for a story.” When she tried to jerk free of his hold, his grip on her tightened. “These men are killers, and I’m not just talking about back there. They’re brutal and ruthless, and they think nothing of destroying lives. Do you remember the mass graves that were uncovered in Juarez last year? The college students who were mutilated in Matamoros ten years ago because they saw something they shouldn’t have? Men like Kane and Rialto did that, Grace, and they have to be stopped. You have the power to put them away, but you won’t because it would compromise your precious exclusive.”
He let her go in disgust, but the moment she was set free, she reached for the door handle again. Brady’s hand shot out and closed around her wrist, pulling her toward him, and for an instant, their gazes clashed—blue against gray. Her lips trembled, drawing Brady’s