Page 10 of Guarded By an Alien Hunter

Vander nods, crosses his arms and leans back in his chair.

“Isn’t an alien bodyguard a little over the top?” Nelson sputters.

“I am a hunter,” Vander answers with his deep, melodious voice.

Everyone turns to look at him and the room grows quiet.

“What did he say?” a man in a suit questions.

“I said, I’m not a bodyguard. I am a hunter.” Vander inhales loudly. “And not only can I hear everything, but I can scent everything. I know what each of you consumed for your first meal today.”

“I can’t believe this.”

“Oh, shut up Nelson,” another man interjects, “Katie is the only one of us who isn’t anonymous anymore. She’s trying to stay, even though she’s been outed and the only way to stay is with that extra guard. If her family can afford it, then all the better. Really, since he’s here guarding her, in effect, he’s guarding all of us, so it’s all good.”

A courthouse guard enters the room. “The judge has called court into session. It’s time to go.”

And we all file out and get started.

By the endof the day, I’m exhausted.

The judge gave us directions and then we barely got started on the actual trial. The scariest part was the defendant, the famous guy charged with tax fraud—he glanced at us often and I swear met my gaze for a second and glared. A shiver of fear ran down my spine. Suddenly I feel twice as thankful that Vander is with me, considering this guy knows where I live and in fact his followers doxed me and let the world know my address.

I sat in my uncomfortable wooden jury seat, taking notes, or went to a small room behind the court. They sent out for a nice lunch for all of us and good drinks and snacks, so it’s not all that bad. But still, taking notes and then trying to understand law when I don’t know law at all, is hard. It’s like I’m back in college. I have a very serious job, trying to remain neutral even though I’m of course angry at the defendant for doxing me and then glaring at me in court. He seems to think that I was already against him and what’s sad is it’s really his behavior that’s hurting my neutrality. But I’m also taking my role as juror very seriously. If the evidence shows he’s innocent, then he’s innocent. If the evidence shows he’s guilty, then he’s guilty. I’m ready to find him innocent if that’s the way this plays out in the end.

There’s a team of journalists in the court, from all the major networks and publications. Luckily the judge didn’t allow the proceedings to be televised, but there is still someone who is drawing pictures of the defendant. All of us on the jury are still anonymous.

Somehow, Vander was able to get a seat in the back row. It really does make me feel safe, knowing he’s there.

The day runs long and we’re finally excused in the early evening. I leave with the jury and head out through the back rooms again.

Vander is right there, with his hand on my elbow. “Let’s go.”

We leave the way that we arrived. This time I demand that many of my fellow jurors are allowed with us on the elevator.

He frowns but allows it. “Only jurors,” he growls.

Alisha stands next to me. “It’s amazing how he manages to get this hallway clear for us. No one is here, not even the guards.”

“They are all stationed around the corner,” Vander growls. “This jury is anonymous, and I will make sure it stays that way.”

“Heh,” a nice man who works at the docks says. “I’ve decided that I like having Vander Best here with us. Makes things quieter.”

I glance over at Vander and decide I like it too.

Soon we are in the garage again. The others disperse to their own cars and Vander opens the fancy car just for me.

We get home and all I want to do is kick off my shoes and change into my favorite loungewear set, which is what I do. I lay on the bed for a moment, looking out the window, loving the quiet. But then I feel guilty that I have no idea what Vander is doing. Also, I miss him when he’s not near.

I get up and find him in the guest bedroom, sitting on the chair, tapping on his high-tech, hand-held glass screen. He’s removed his armor and is bare-chested again.

“How about I make us a quick dinner? You’d think I’d want to order out, but I had a big takeout for lunch and I’d just like something small and simple for dinner. Like soup and some ice cream. Also, I noticed you didn’t eat with us, which worries me. A big male like you can’t live on nutrition bars alone.”

He perks up. “Pistachio ice cream?”

“Yes.”

He stands and follows me to the kitchen. “Do you want me to cook?”

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