Bodyguard by Suzanne Brockmann Page B

the goods all you want, sweetheart. You can even go further, put your mouth where your money is, so to speak. Yeah, I’m betting Michael Trotta won’t have any problem at all with you giving him a blow job before he kills you.”
    She flinched. “You’re disgusting.”
    “The truth is disgusting. Don’t confuse the messenger with the message.”
    Alessandra pulled herself up to her full height and gazed at him with as much haughtiness as she could muster. “Please. I’m exhausted.”
    Harry smiled. “The ice bitch thing doesn’t work with me either, Al.”
    “Stop calling me that.”
    “What? Ice bitch or Al?”
    She held herself tightly to keep from shaking. She wasn’t sure if what she felt was anger or fear or just sheer desperation. All she knew for certain was that the thought of losing her identity scared her to death, and that she missed baby Jane so much she ached. “My name is Alessandra.”
    “Not for long.” Harry stood up in one smooth motion. “Here’s the deal, Allie.” His voice was harsh. “I know you don’t believe your dear friend Michael really wanted to blow you into a million little pieces, but if you so much as dial his phone number, you’ll be out on the street, on your ass, faster than you can spit. Because if you call Trotta, he’ll know exactly where you are within minutes. And then not only will you be dead, but George and I will also probably die attempting to protect you.
    “If you really have a death wish, I can get you a T-shirt with a great big target on it, and you can wear it as you walk out of this hotel. It’ll be a short walk, though. You’ll only get a few blocks before you’re spotted and taken down.”
    She didn’t believe him. She couldn’t believe him. And he knew that just from looking at her.
    He picked up the phone and with one swift, effortless yank pulled the wire right out of the wall. “Maybe this will reduce the temptation, huh?”
    “Are you intending to lock me up in here, too?” Her voice shook.
    “You’re free to leave whenever you want. My advice, though, would be to get your personal effects in order first.” Harry turned toward the door but then turned back. “Oh, and Al? If you get in touch with Trotta, either by calling on the other hotel line or any other way, and he finds out where you are, you’re toast. Even if his hitmen somehow manage to miss you, you’ll be dead. Believe it. Because I’ll shoot you myself.”
    “Hello?” Kim’s breathless voice sounded impossibly young and innocent. Nicole had never sounded that young. Not even when she’d first come up from the Academy.
    “Hi, babe. It’s me—George.”
    “Who?”
    He had to laugh. “Jeez, it’s been that memorable, huh? George. Remember? George Faulkner?”
    “Omigod, George! I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you. It’s noisy in here and … God, of course I remember. Where have you been? Wait a minute, let me move to another phone.”
    There was a thud then only bar sounds—loud music, laughter. Then a click and Kim’s voice was back. “Hang up, Carol.” Louder. “I said, hang up.” Then deafeningly, shrilly, “I said, hang the motherfucking phone up! Now!”
    The bar sounds disappeared and Kim was back, as sweet and breathlessly innocent as ever. “Baby, I’m so glad you called. I was starting to think you’d forgottenabout me. Where have you been for the past three days? Can I see you tonight?”
    Cold and hot. Psycho and sweet. Kim was an actor—George knew that. He was something of an actor himself.
    “I’m on assignment,” he told her. “I can’t get free. Not tonight, anyway.”
    “Where are you now? If you can come over here right this minute …” Her voice trailed off, leaving George’s imagination to fill in the blank.
    He was too tall for the so-called privacy shields built around the pay phone to make any kind of difference. Still, he ducked awkwardly closer to the phone, wishing he could crawl through the line, wishing he could