Page 4 of Once a Killer

Setting the suitcase and the briefcase on the floor, Bree dug out her wallet and opened it to her ID card. Held it up to the peephole in the door, and she heard the doors unlatching.

Three locks. A cautious man.

The door swept open to reveal a tall, dark-haired man standing in the doorway. He was lanky instead of bulky, although the muscles in his forearms, exposed by the rolled-up sleeves of his dress shirt, were well-developed. Toned. Clearly he worked out.

Piercing blue eyes -- flame blue. Wavy dark hair, a little long, as if getting a haircut was far down on his list of priorities. Bree sympathized. She hated going to a salon and having a strained conversation while someone messed with her hair.

“Come on in, Ms. Gordon,” he finally said, after he’d studied her carefully, head to toes.

He stepped away from the door and Bree picked up her bags and walked into the living area.

A fireplace filled the center of the opposite wall, and a huge flat-screen television hung above it. A massive desk stood in front of shade-covered windows. Papers and books, spread around randomly, hid the surface of the desk. She wondered how he got anything done in that mess.

Other than a couch across from the television, bookshelves covered the rest of the walls. A lot of the books were about computers and computer programming. The fact that she didn’t understand any of the titles was her first clue. Some fiction was mixed in with histories and biographies. The lowest shelves held Xerox boxes. Nothing on the boxes gave a clue to what they contained.

She looked back at Ford to find him frowning as he studied her. “You’rea bodyguard?” he finally asked.

“Yep,” she said. “Want to see my ID again?”

“No. I got a good look at it.” His frown intensified as his gaze traveled down her body, then back up again. “I don’t understand. I told the woman I talked to, Mel, that I needed someone who could physically protect me. Who could take down a threat, likely a man. I didn’t expect Mel to send a woman who could be blown over by a strong wind.”

Bree straightened, squared her shoulders and stomped down the irritation. She’d faced this question before. No one thought a slight, short-ish woman was capable of taking down a man twice her size. “I assure you, Mr. Ford, that I’m very well-trained.”

“Training is all well and good,” he said. “But there’s nothing to you. How would you take down a man my size?”

Bree wanted to shake her head. Roll her eyes. But she knew she’d have to prove herself. Show him what she could do. Fortunately, the middle of the room was clear. All the furniture backed against the walls.

She took a deep breath. Shifted her feet a little. “You think I can’t handle someone your size, Mr. Ford?” She wiggled her fingers at him. “Bring it. Try to take me out. Put me on the ground. Try to hurt me.”

He scowled at her. “No way, flea-bit. You’re half my size. Skinny as a stick.”

She shrugged. Not like she hadn’t heard it all before. “Unless you come at me like you’d come at a man your size, you’re never going to believe I can protect you. I promise, you will not hurt me. And if you do? I’ll call Mel and have her send someone else. Got it?”

“So you want me to… what? Attack you?”

“Yep,” she said. “Take me down.” She paused. Smiled. “If you can.” She nodded at the faded Persian rug on the floor. “Plenty of padding there.” She raised one eyebrow. “No matter which one of us ends up on the floor.”

He shook his head slowly, a mocking smile on his face. “You think I’ll be the one on the floor?”

She nodded. “You will be. So come at me. Prove me wrong.”

He stared at her for a long moment. Glanced at the floor. Then he looked over her shoulder, as if there was a threat behind her.

Oldest trick in the book. She laughed as she waggled her hands at him again. “What’re you waiting for? Afraid you’ll hit the floor too hard? Are your bones or your ego that delicate? Want me to take it easy on you?”

“Hell, no,” he growled. Anger built in his gaze. “Gimme your best shot.”

“You got it.” Bree stood calmly, waiting for him to make his move.

He charged at her suddenly, one shoulder down to knock her off her feet. In a blur of motion, she flipped him into the air. He landed on his stomach with an audible ‘oof’.

He sprang to his feet, glowering. “What the hell?”

“Want to try again?”

“Yeah, I do,” he said, scowling. “You got lucky.”

She’d heard that about a million times. “C’mon, big guy. Do your worst.”

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