Page 28 of A Bride for the Bodyguard

As I’m led away, deeper into the bowels of the building and further from the safety of the crowd, I realize I’ve become a player in a game whose rules I don’t know—a game that could cost more than I’m willing to pay.

“Patricia, I don’t want any trouble.” I keep my voice a calm whisper, fighting to keep the quiver of fear from betraying me. “What’s happening? Why is George?—”

“Questions won’t help you now.”

The coldness in her eyes chills me more than her words. There is no room for reasoning with her; she has already made up her mind about my role in this twisted play.

My heart pounds, each beat a silent plea for rescue. Jack’s protective gaze, sharp and assessing, flashes in my mind. He’d know something’s wrong, wouldn’t he?

“Please,” I try again, keeping my voice even. “Can we talk about this? Whatever it is, we can sort it out.”

“Talk is cheap,” Patricia retorts, and I realize my attempts to soften her are futile.

I need Jack. Melanie. Anyone. Do they wonder where I am? Are they looking for me? The thought of Jack’s strong arms and his promise to always protect me sparks a tiny flame of hope in the dark terror enveloping me.

“Someone will notice I’m gone.” I say this more to myself than to Patricia, but she hears me.

“Let them.” There’s a smirk on her lips that speaks volumes of her confidence. “By the time they do, it’ll be too late.”

But it can’t be too late. Not when I’ve just found everything I never knew I needed. Not when love—real love—has just started to bloom.

Jack has to notice. He has to.

As we move farther away, my mind races, searching for a way out. But it’s Jack’s face that fills my vision.

Hold on, my heart whispers. Jack will come.

Jack will save me.

Patricia’s fingers clamp around my arm, and I stumble as she pulls me into a deserted corridor. The raucous laughter of the reception grows faint, muffled by distance.

Panic overwhelms me more as we move away from any chance of being overheard, away from Jack.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Quiet,” she hisses.

I scan the hallway for anything—a waiter, a passing guest, an escape route—but there’s only us, Patricia’s determined stride, and the echo of our steps.

I have to do something, say something. But what? How?

“Please, Patricia. This isn’t you.” I try to appeal to some sliver of humanity in her eyes, but they’re cold, distant, unreachable.

“Save it.”

My mind races, juggling the reality of my situation with the desperation to find a way out. I can’t let fear paralyze me. I think of Jack, his steady gaze, the warmth of his touch. He’d want me to be smart, brave.

“Jack will come for me, you know.”

“Will he?” There’s mockery in her tone now, and it fuels my resolve.

We pass a door slightly ajar, and I make a mental note. Could I make a break for it? The thought sends a surge of adrenaline through my veins.

No, not yet. It’s too risky. I need a better plan, a distraction.

Okay, Marlie. Think. What would Jack do? He’d be clever, use his surroundings.

And then it hits me—the brooch on my dress, a gift from Jack’s mom. It’s sharp.

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