Page 105 of The Bodyguard

“You’re okay.” Carefully, Sawyer set her on the bathroom counter. His hands ran down her neck and over her arms. “Everything’s okay now.”

“We have to loop law enforcement in on this,” Brock said from behind him. “What the hell happened in here?” Then he whistled. “Smart girl, Angela Sorenson. Smart.”

Sawyer didn’t know what Brock saw that was so smart but agreed they needed law enforcement and a hospital.

“I’m getting this piece of shit out of here,” Winters called.

“Good riddance,” Sawyer muttered. It would probably be best for everyone involved if he didn’t set eyes on that woman again.

After a minute, Sawyer brought Angela to lie on the bed. Brock, Roman, and Cash milled around in Sawyer’s periphery. He wouldn’t take his eyes off Angela. How in the hell had this almost happened again? How had they found her? How—he stopped himself, emotion caught in his throat. If he started popping off questions, Sawyer wasn’t sure he could stop. His judgment would be more clouded than it was already.

Cash sidled over and squatted eye level to the bed. “Brock’s pretty impressed with you.” Angela’s tears had stopped, but she hadn’t had much to say. Cash stood and eyed Sawyer. “But someone’s gotta clue me in. What’s up with the forks and knives?”

Somewhat embarrassed, Sawyer ran a hand through his hair. “A little improvisation.”

The DIY vest might’ve absorbed some of the blow, but that didn’t explain why Angela had torn the thing apart—or how she used it to keep the door shut.

Brock joined them. “She wedged the door in by the hinges. Didn’t you?”

Angela nodded, slowly sitting up. She leaned against the headboard, wincing. “Yeah.”

Sawyer marveled at Angela. Every time she was put into danger, from slapping her would-be assassin to barricading the bathroom door, her mind remained crystal clear.

“How in the hell did you think of that?” Roman asked.

As though the attention on her was too much, she downplayed the situation with a quiet laugh but winced again. “I have absolutely no idea.”

Cash eyeballed the door to the hotel room as though doing calculations. “How far from the door were you when she fired?”

“Apparently not far enough.” Her eyes rose to Sawyer’s. “Sorry I gave you grief before you went downstairs.”

His lips curved. Sawyer wanted to stomp around the room about all that had gone wrong but couldn’t when she gave him that look.

“And,” she added, “thanks for the silverware.”

He laughed. Brock slapped him on the back. Roman and Cash rehashed the shot trajectory and circumstances, all agreeing that Angela was a genius.

Angela stood up. “I want to take a shower.” She touched her arms. “I’m sticky and smell like soda and gunpowder.”

“After the Feds talk to you,” Brock said.

Sawyer understood this wasn’t something a clean-up or black-ops team needed to handle. This had been the third attempted assassination of a federal witness. The realization hit as hard as a bullet to the chest. Angela needed to disappear intothe Federal Marshal’s Witness Protection program until, at the very least, she testified against Pham.

He hadn’t met her when that suggestion had been made years ago, before Boss Man gave her a job and moved her to Abu Dhabi. Sawyer couldn’t imagine the conversation would be any more successful today. He’d do anything to keep her safe. Hell, if she wanted, he’d disappear alongside her.

Witness Protection…?That would blow. New identities. Boring-ass jobs. But he might have a home to call his own again. A home with her. They could end up anywhere. The Pacific Northwest? A southwest desert town? They’d have regular jobs. They could do everyday things. They could get a dog.

“Thank you for not taking off that vest.” Other than the impact contusions and maybe cracked ribs, she didn’t have any wounds. Physical ones, at least.

“You told me not to,” she whispered hoarsely.

His smile broke. “Yeah, and you told me I was crazy and that smelling like a Jersey Shore arcade wouldn’t keep you alive.”

Angela snorted. “Turns out I’m wrong every now and then.”

Brock gave Sawyer a thumbs-up. “Cops are here. There’s an ambulance downstairs, waiting. Feds will meet us at the hospital.”

“I don’t need an ambulance or doctors,” she protested.

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