Page 11 of The Bodyguard's Fall

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked. I didn’t recognize my voice. It had a defeated, numbed slump to it. I suddenly felt exhausted, and it wasn’t because it was four-thirty in the morning. I had created a hopeful little bubble around myself in the past week or so, not hearing from him, fantasizing that Leroy might finally be gone for good.

“Because I hate scaring you,” he said softly. After a beat, he added, “We need to draw him out, but I refuse to use you as bait. I need you somewhere safe.”

“And you think that’s with the Walkers?”

He let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah. I’ve got all the details worked out. Ann’s got a room ready for you. Please just trust me.”

I wanted to tell him he couldn’t do this. I wanted to demand he take me to a hotel. I wanted to beg him to hide me away with him, even though I knew I could never put Meg and the baby at risk.

But I was too chicken to say no.

That was the hard truth of the whole thing. I was so tired of being terrified of every little noise in the night. I was tired of wondering if the knock on my door was really the pizza guy. Tired of turning down girls’ nights with friends or dates with guys because I was a walking neon hazard sign.

And maybe there was a tiny, minuscule part of me that craved the idea of not being alone. Even just for a week. There was such comfort in being surrounded by people. Would I sleep better at night, knowing someone could hear me if I cried out?

And if the Walker family agreed to be my watchdogs, who was I to put a stop to it all?

“Fine. But you owe me,” I told Will, leaning my head against the headrest.

“How about we get your life back and call us even?” He nodded out the window. “Ann’s not expecting us until seven. I’m going to drive around and take some back roads just to be sure nobody’s following us. Why don’t you take a nap? I know you haven’t been sleeping great.”

Sinking into my seat, I closed my eyes. I didn’t sleep, though. There was no way my brain would settle now. Maybe this would all be fine. The town was a walking ad for the kind of inspiration I was in desperate need of. I wasn’t planning to get out much, but maybe just living in a home with people again and a change of scenery would help me get inspired to write. The looming six-week deadline was beginning to fester, and even with the dire situation that led me here, a tiny string of hope flickered in my chest.

So, in the quiet of the early morning, I let my brother drive me along Vermont’s windiest river bend to my old hometown of Autumn Ridge.

Tate: Does she know?

Will: Not yet.

Tate: Where are you?

Will: Ten minutes away

Tate: You going to tell her?

Will: I was hoping to just shove her out of the car towards you and drive away. She’ll get the hint.

The sun had risen on our drive, lighting the sky with pinks and purples as we passed through the covered bridge and entered Main Street. To our left sat Autumn Ridge High with the football stadium just behind it. Suddenly, the memories of chilly nights spent cheering and doing stunts under the bright lights seemed like another life. Another person.

Autumn Ridge boasted about two thousand people. And even I had to admit, Main Street was the stuff of small-town dreams. We had an inn, a library, a bakery, and a restaurant. Most of my childhood had been spent in that library. And many of my nights were spent in the Maple Bar and Grill, grabbing a burger with friends after a big game.

All along Main Street, the store windows were decked out with fall decor. I had no doubt that if we were walking the street right now, it would be filled with the smells of pumpkin chai lattes and maple cinnamon sticky buns from Keller’s Bakehouse.

“Is the B&B doing a remodel?” I asked, peering out the window at the old Once Upon an Inn Bed and Breakfast that had been a town staple my entire life. Now, orange cones and construction tape blocked the entrance.

“Looks like it.”

As we drove farther into the town and the road leading to the Walker farm became visible, I began to shift uncomfortably in my seat, like I was a kid being taken to the dentist.

I hated going to the dentist.

As suspicion rose in my gut, I eyed my brother and asked once more, just to be sure. “Tate still lives in Burlington, right?”

Not even a blink. No hesitation. Just an automatic, “Yup.” Noticing my slight frown, he added, “Why would it be so bad if he was here?” His voice was softer with this question.

It wasn’t one reason but a hundred small ones why I didn’t want it to be Tate. He’d spent most of my high school years hovering and being overprotective and annoying in a brotherly way I didn’t hate, but certainly didn’t love. He and Will had always claimed he’d rescued me; it hadn’t happened that often, and 'rescued' felt generous. Still, whether I wanted him or not, he’d always been there. A few years later, at Will’s wedding, I’d seen a different, sexier, more grown-up Tate, and he’d helped me out again. The idea of ducking into his childhood home and letting Tate play rescuer one more time made me want to disappear entirely.

More reasons were racing through my head just then, but only one that I was willing to tell him.