The Bodyguard and Ms. Jones Read Online Free

pieces appeared more feminine. An armoire sat across from the foot of the bed. A dresser was next to that. Opposite the window was a doorway that led to a bathroom. Beside the door stood a highboy.
    Someone approaching the room interrupted his inspection. The footsteps didn’t sound like Allison’s so he wasn’t surprised when a boy entered the room. He was bigger than his sister and looked older. Something tugged at his memory, the faint impression of the boy prodding him into consciousness.
    The kid had blond hair like his sister, but brown eyes. The shape of his face was different, as well. He must look like his father. Mike glanced around the room again and wondered if Mr. Jones lived elsewhere.
    The boy shoved his hands into his shorts pockets. “Can I see the bullet wound?”
    Until that moment, Mike had been able to ignore the pulsing pain radiating from his thigh. The memories crashed in on him. The ambush on the rooftop garden terrace, the madness in the assassin’s eyes, the sudden slowing of time as Mike had shoved his client to the ground and pulled out the Beretta he carried with him. The assassin’s first round had missed, the second had caught Mike in the thigh. Mike had shot the assassin, and had then been attacked by the man’s assistant. In the struggle, Mike had gone off the side of the building. He’d taken the assistant with him. The client escaped unharmed, the bill was paid and Mike was left to move on. Only this time it had been to a hospital instead of another job.
    He shook his head to clear it and only succeeded in blurring his vision. The kid was still staring at him expectantly. What did he want? Oh, yeah. To see the bullet wound. “Not right now, sport.”
    The boy’s mouth twisted with disgust. “My name’s Jonathan. I just want to look.”
    Allison entered, carefully carrying a glass of water in both hands. Her pale eyebrows drew together in concentration. When he took the glass from her, she smiled proudly. “I didn’t spill any.”
    â€œThanks.”
    He tried to sit up again, but he didn’t have a prayer. The spirit might be willing, but his body was still whimpering and broken. He tilted his head forward and drank the water down in four long swallows.
    The liquid was cool and about the best-tasting drink he’d had in weeks. When he was done, he sighed and offered the glass back to Allison. Now both kids were staring at him, their mouths open, their eyes big.
    â€œYou drink fast,” Allison said.
    â€œI guess,” he said, feeling vaguely uncomfortable.
    â€œYou ever kill anybody?” Jonathan asked.
    Allison grabbed her doll and took a step back. Mike set the empty glass on the nightstand and looked at the boy. “No. My job is to protect people. I’m hired to keep my client safe.”
    â€œBut someone shot you.”
    â€œIt happens.”
    â€œWas it a bad man?” Allison asked. Her voice was soft and concerned. She continued to keep her distance.
    â€œYes, he was bad,” Mike told her. “He’s in jail now. He can’t hurt anyone again.” For some reason, he wanted to reassure the little girl. He didn’t like seeing the fear in her eyes. He tried smiling at her. His lips felt dry and his face was tight. Still, it must have worked, because the wary expression faded and she approached the bed again.
    â€œShelby thinks you’re nice,” she said shyly.
    â€œWho’s Shelby?” He glanced around searching for yet another kid.
    Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Allison, don’t be such a baby. Stop talking about Shelby. She’s not real.”
    The girl tightened her grip on her doll. She ignored her brother and leaned closer to Mike. “Shelby’s my bestest friend in the world. She doesn’t like Jonathan and won’t let him see her.”
    Mike didn’t know what to make of this. He was saved from having to answer by the sound