Page 1 of A Bride for the Bodyguard

Chapter One

JACK

“A bomb?” Rich Hunt stares wide-eyed at the smoking piles of debris around us before turning to look at me. “Seriously, Jack?”

I quirk a brow. “What?”

“I thought we agreed you were going in quiet on this one.”

The corner of my mouth tips up into a half-smirk. Rich might be my boss, but it feels good knowing I can still surprise him.

I shrug. “You said you wanted me to be thorough.”

“So, you blew up a building?”

“It was a controlled explosion.”

Rich glares at me. “Call it whatever you want. All I know is that the people in this town are going to kill us. I mean, look at this place.” He waves his hand around. “What am I supposed to tell the governor when he calls?”

“The truth.”

“Which is?”

“That I did my fucking job.”

Rich sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. I know he’s pissed, but he can’t argue with the results.

It’s a Saturday morning and I’ve just wrapped up my latest security gig in Maple Hollow, Vermont. The job? Playing bodyguard for a former gang leader turned tech mogul named Peter Crowley.

The job seemed pretty straightforward at first. But then last night, I found out that one of Crowley’s enemies had rigged his office in the town square with explosives.

The idea of disarming all those explosives without causing panic or inadvertently detonating them was out of question. I knew I had to act fast. So instead, I opted for a calculated risk - using a minor explosive myself. It wasn’t exactly by-the-book, but then again, when you’re dealing with snakes in your backyard, sometimes you have to get your hands dirty.

“I need to make a call,” Rich grumbles. “You gonna be around for a few minutes? I’ve got something I need to talk to you about.”

I give him a nod. “Sure thing, boss. I’ll just be over here doing some light dusting.”

Rich shakes his head and strides across the square towards the cluster of police cruisers parked haphazardly across the street.

The early morning sun glints off their shiny surfaces as they take witness statements and secure the scene. Despite it being an ungodly hour for most folks in Maple Hollow, a small crowd is already gathering around the perimeter. Curiosity is one thing this town isn’t short on.

While most of the square escaped unscathed, not all were as fortunate. Especially the businesses sharing a block with Crowley’s office. Several storefronts are now marred by debris and shockwave-induced damage.

As I look around, my eyes catch on a particularly heart-wrenching casualty of our operation. A destroyed dessert cart is tipped on its side near the curb, its cheerful paint blackened and peeling from the heat.

“Macaroons by Marlie” reads the charred sign hanging askew.

My chest tightens as I take in the sight.

This is the part they don’t train you for—the part where you face the ripples of destruction that extend beyond the immediate threat neutralized.

A few minutes later, Rich ambles back my way.

“What’d the governor say?” I ask.

Rich ignores my question. Instead, he replies, “I’ve got a new assignment for you.”

I figured as much. Rich isn’t one to micromanage. After a decade in the slammer and the subsequent rise from the ashes as the owner of his own security company, he knows when to step back. The fact that he came here at all tipped me off that something was up.

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