Page 25 of Escorting the Bodyguard
Training kicks in. I call for backup while keeping visual contact, but Tim spots me and bolts. I’m after him in a heartbeat. My boots hammer the pavement, heart kicking harder with every step. The chase is brief but intense—two blocks through narrow alleys before I tackle him behind a dumpster. He goes down hard, and for a moment I want to keep hitting him.
For stalking her. For scaring her. For making me feel like I failed before anything actually happened.
But I don’t. I hold him down until the cavalry arrives.
“We belong together,” Tim pants against the asphalt, his face pressed into the concrete. “She just needs to see it.”
The words make my skin crawl. The guy’s fucking unhinged.
One of the responding officers approaches me as they load Tim into a squad car. “You’re going to want to see what we found in his vehicle.”
I follow him to a beat-up sedan parked a block over. The trunk is open, revealing a carefully organized collection that makes my blood turn to ice: zip ties, duct tape, a knife, and a notebook, opened to a page where her name is scrawled dozens of times.
“This wasn’t just stalking,” the officer says grimly. “This was preparation.”
The breath I take feels like fire. I picture Gemma walking out of that clinic, completely unaware. Him across the street, watching. With restraints in his fucking trunk. What if I’d stayed in the shower another ten minutes? What if I hadn’t checked the feeds?
The scenarios multiply in my head, each one worse than the last.
I need to get to her. My statement to the cops can wait. I turn back toward the clinic, desperate to touch her, to make sure she’s real and safe, when I see her coming out of the building. She looks pale, almost fragile.
I close the distance between us in seconds, pulling her into my arms before I can think. She’s solid, warm, real. For a moment I just hold her, breathing her in, letting the terror finally start to drain out of my chest. But relief is a short-lived drug. Because now that I know she’s safe, I can’t stop thinking about how close I came to losing her.
“Why would you leave without telling me?” The words come out harsher than I intend, but the adrenaline and fear are still coursing through my veins. “Do you have any idea what could have happened? He was here, Gemma. Tim was watching the clinic with zip ties and a fucking knife in his car.”
“Zip ties?” she repeats, voice thin. “He was going to?—”
She doesn’t finish the sentence. Her face goes pale. Then something fiery settles behind her eyes.
“He didn’t come to scare me.” Her voice is resolute. “He came to take me.”
Her hands tremble. She looks away. The anger drains out, leaving something else behind. Something gutted and still.
She’s somewhere else now. Not afraid. Not furious. Just…hollow.
“Look, it’s over now,” I say, trying to ground us both. “Tim’s in custody. You’re safe.”
But instead of relief, her face crumples.
“It’s not that,” she whispers.
I frown. “Then what?—?”
She looks at the cop cars, the bystanders, the edge of the sidewalk like she’s trying to hold herself together.
Then she turns back to me, eyes bright and wet.
“I’m pregnant, Ford.”
The world tilts sideways.
“I’m sorry I left without telling you, but I wasn’t sure and I just needed to know for myself. I thought I’d be back quickly.”
Pregnant.
The word echoes in my head like a gunshot in an empty room. My mind races, calculating dates, but the math is obvious.
“Is it—” I start, then stop myself. Stupid question.
