Page 63 of The Bombshell and the Bodyguard
First I brushed my teeth, then I went to knock on the door of Jessica’s room.
No response. I knocked again.
“Hey, you up? You awake, Jessica?”
Still nothing.
Feeling like I had no choice, I opened the door, girding myself to find her sleeping naked and vowing to be unaffected by the sight.
The room was empty. The bed had been made, and Jessica was nowhere in sight. I went to the open bathroom door and looked in. It was empty as well.
Where was she?
Our conversation had been spinning through my head all through the night and this morning. She’d shown compassion and understanding over my unfortunate brush with fameafterI’d basically accused her of being a maneater.
And then I’d doubled down on my rudeness and idiocy by basically telling her she meant nothing to me.
Bottom line, I owed her an apology—big time.
But first, I had to get her to safety before that storm hit.
Moving through the house, I checked each room, looking for her. Where the hell could she be? My heart rate gained speed as I failed to find her in her usual spots.
Oh God, she hadn’t decided to go for a hike or something, had she?
Surely she wouldn’t attempt to climb to the summit or go to the waterfall alone?
Noticing the slider from the living room to the ocean-front balcony was slightly ajar, I sprinted to the glass door and pushed back the curtain—and let out a sigh of relief.
A candle burned on a low table. Curled up in a lounge chair beside it, Jessica was staring out at the approaching storm clouds, her pretty face in profile.
I leaned through the opening. “Hey.”
Jessica turned, and I spotted the shiny tracks of recent tears in the weak morning light.
Awesome. You made the girl cry. Way to go.A giant hand squeezed my heart.
Pushing the door wider on its track, I stepped out onto the balcony, the warm ocean-scented breeze stirring my hair and sinking into my t-shirt.
“Hey.” Jessica shifted to face me, making a quick swipe at her cheek with one hand. “Looks like a storm’s coming.”
I nodded. “A big one. We need to get down to the storm shelter before it hits. I’d say we’ve got about twenty minutes.”
“The storm shelter? Is it that bad?”
“Could be. We’ll be safe there though. I’m going to gather some food and other supplies. You should grab whatever you think you might need. Your pillow, some warmer clothes maybe, in case it cools off drastically.”
She stood, hurrying into the house. “Okay. Where’s the shelter?”
“It’s built into the hillside here. The access is through the basement. I’ve got some things set up down there already—emergency rations, first aid kit, lanterns, a radio. But you should bring some things to make you comfortable and whatever you wouldn’t be able to replace, you know, just in case the worst happens.”
Jessica looked slightly alarmed. “I’ll grab my guitar and my writing notebooks. Want me to get anything for you while you gather the food and stuff?”
“Nah, I’ll stop by my office first and grab my briefcase.” I patted my side. “I’ve got the satphone on me already. I’m used to gearing up on a moment’s notice and moving fast when the situation calls for it.”
“I’m sure,” she said, and then she went to her room to gather her things.
We met back again a few minutes later in the kitchen. Jessica bore a slight resemblance to a little girl on her way to a slumber party, holding her blanket and a pillow, a small bag in tow as well as her beloved guitar.
