Part 17

Maria stirred when she became aware of movement in the house early the next morning. She turned her head, squinting as she tried to read the clock on the stereo; why was he up and moving around at half past three in the morning? She sat up, rubbing her eyes when his shadowed form moved through the living room and into the kitchen.

"You should go back to sleep," he growled as he passed her on his way back to his bedroom.

She stood and followed him, stopping in the doorway and watching him as he paused at the foot of the bed to study the contents of his suitcase. After a moment he nodded and closed the lid, securing it before reaching for a black case and laying it on top. He opened it, checking over the weapons inside before closing it up again and securing it.

He turned when he felt her behind him. "Didn't I tell you to go back to sleep?"

"It's three-thirty in the morning; shouldn't you be getting as much rest as you can before you leave?" she asked when he disappeared into his closet.

"I'm leavin' in fifteen minutes," he answered, his tone neutral.

His mind was already on his mission, Maria could see it. "Fifteen minutes?" She shook her head. "You haven't had anything to eat, Michael."

"I don't eat before I start a new job." He stepped out of the closet, dressed in black slacks and a white long-sleeved button-down shirt. He flipped his collar up as he moved to stand in front of the mirror on the wall above his dresser, adjusting the ends of the black tie hanging around his neck. "No one will bother you out here and I'd appreciate it if you'd stay here and not go wanderin' off while I'm gone."

Maria blinked, trying to contain her tears as she listened to him talking about his absence. She was trying not to be worried but it was hard not to, knowing where he was going and what he was going there to do. "How long do you think you'll be gone?"

"A few days, maybe more." He shrugged as he finished knotting the tie, straightening it and turning his collar down before running a comb through his hair one more time. Once he was satisfied that everything was in order he crossed the room and pulled down a leather harness that he slipped over his arms and settled into place on his shoulders.

Maria swallowed hard as he removed the weapon, checking it before slamming the magazine into place and sliding the gun back into the holster. The last thing to go on was the suit jacket that matched the slacks he wore and she moved back out of his way when he grabbed his bags and prepared to leave. She followed him out to the garage and waited while he placed his things in the backseat.

She was reluctant to let him leave even though she knew she didn't have any choice in the matter. She had seen the news, listened to the reporters as they spoke of widespread violence and listed the numbers of daily casualties. No one in their right mind would just walk into that and she didn't want to see his photograph on the evening news as the next casualty in a war he wasn't involved in.

"Why can't someone else protect this guy?" she asked.

Michael shut the back door and leaned inside the open front door to start the engine before he turned to look at her. "Worried about me?"

"That would boost your ego, wouldn't it?" she grumbled. His ego really didn't need that.

He moved to stand on the bottom step, putting them at equal height. His dark eyes scanned over her features, easily detecting the fear she didn't want to admit having for him. Something that he didn't understand shifted inside of him in response to the expression in her eyes, but he quickly pushed it down and covered it up. "Since you're worried about me makin' it back alive you oughta take advantage of what could be your only opportunity to see what it's like to kiss me."

Maria watched him. There was a part inside of her that wanted to do just that; kiss him and never let him go. But she couldn't… she couldn't, and she knew it. "Just be careful. I know you think I'm crazy and you're not convinced that everything I've told you is really true, but…" Maria met his gaze in the shadowed interior of the garage, shaking her head at his arrogance as she reached up to run the palm of her hand over his tie. "Don't make me bury you a second time."

Michael stared at her for a full minute. "So, does that mean I don't get a kiss goodbye?"

She ignored his flippant tone. "If you would just be careful and come back in one piece I'd appreciate it, Michael."

He moved closer to her, crowding her against the doorframe and leaning in until their lips were less than a breath apart. "Tell ya what," he whispered huskily, "you can save it until I get back. A goodbye kiss is filled with poignancy and sadness…" he shook his head. "And that's not what I want from you." He leaned back and lifted his right hand to her cheek, cradling the soft skin in his rough palm. "No, when you kiss me - and you will," he said with a confident, wicked grin. "When you kiss me I want heat, passion, desire, and I want the time to savor every moment of it." He glanced at his wrist when the alarm on his watch started chiming. "Gotta go."

Maria watched him hurry to the truck and climb inside, gunning the engine before backing out and reaching up for the automatic garage door opener clipped to the sun visor. As soon as the garage door had lowered into place she went inside and closed the door, leaning back against it and sliding down to sit on the floor with her face in her hands.

She couldn't afford this kind of complication. She had been waiting for him to stop being such a cold bastard, but now she realized that if he started to act more like her Michael she was going to have a hard time keeping him at a distance. He would be a distraction she couldn't handle and it would be too easy to let herself fall into that trap.

No, she had to make sure he stayed at a distance and the best way to do that was to keep him off-balance and pissed off. "I can do that," she whispered raggedly. Seriously, how hard could it be? His temper was like quicksilver and he was easier to provoke than anyone she had ever known. The question was, how?

The second bedroom, she thought suddenly. He had gotten angry when she had suggested turning the office into a bedroom… angry enough that he had taken off for several hours. The furniture was in the shop and he was going to be gone for several days at least. There was a lock on the door and he had the key, but there were ways around that.

She stood up, feeling a little bit better about things and she went back to the living room to lie back down. There was no need to get started until the sun came up and she was going to need her strength to move all that furniture. She stretched out and pulled the blanket up over herself, closing her eyes and hoping for the oblivion of a few hours of dreamless sleep.

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Michael was ready to spit nails as he stood next to the limo that was waiting to take him and the man under his protection to the airstrip where a private plane was scheduled to take them to Lebanon. They had encountered a slight snag when the client had stepped out of his house with briefcase, luggage, and his wife. Everything had been fine until the man had announced his intention to take his wife on the trip.

Alistair Covington was 47 years of age, balding, and had very severe features. The man wasn't interested in negotiating the terms of the trip; he had decided that his wife would be accompanying him and as far as he was concerned the issue was settled.

Protecting a moving target was a pain in the ass, but two? And a female at that? "Mr. Covington, sir, I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation - " Michael started.

Alistair Covington interrupted Michael rudely and effectively, his eyes cold and confident. "Mr. Guerin, as I understand it, you are here to provide security and to make sure that the clients make it back home alive. Correct?"

Michael bit the inside of his cheek in an attempt to contain his fury. Dealing with the clients was hell; he hated people. He was a protector, not a damned negotiator. "I just think you should consider the repercussions - "

"Is that, or is that not, your job?" Covington watched the bodyguard like a hawk. He was a leader, the kind of man who made the tough decisions and knew how to do his job no matter the circumstances. He remained calm because he knew in the end he would get what he wanted.

Michael took a deep, calming breath before nodding sharply in response to the man's question. "Of course, sir." He nodded at Shawn Taggart, the second bodyguard Marcos had assigned when Mr. Covington had decided at the last minute to allow his wife to tag along. He stood back as the couple was ushered into the back of the limo and then he slid in the front next to the driver, motioning for the man to depart.

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Eleanor Covington was two years younger than her husband with pleasant features and a quick smile; she carried herself with grace and dignity and she dressed with a sense of style and panache that most women half her age lacked.

She watched her husband as he paced around the lush interior of the cabin, his face expressing his displeasure with the person on the other end of the phone. She nodded when he disconnected the call and made a small motion with his head before heading for the cockpit.

Her gaze eventually turned to the young man charged with the responsibility of keeping them safe. "You don't approve of my decision to accompany my husband, do you?"

Michael's gaze lifted from the file in his hands when the client's wife spoke, her cultured voice carrying with ease. "No, I don't."

She was intrigued by his blunt honesty. "Why?"

"I've read your husband's file so I know you have children at home. Shouldn't you be at home with them?" Michael believed that a woman who had children shouldn't go into a warzone just to be with her husband. Maybe he reacted that way because he had never had a mother, and if he had, he wouldn't have wanted her to dump him off on caregivers just to travel the world. That was his opinion and the hell with her if she didn't like it.

She smiled. This man had a lot to learn about women. "Did you know that I've been married to Alistair for twenty-five years?"

"Like I said, I've read his file," Michael answered, not seeing where she was going with her questions.

Eleanor Covington accepted a glass of wine from the steward, savoring it. She closed her eyes, letting the white wine caress her taste buds. Turning the glass in her hands, admiring the wine's golden color, she spoke again, "Twenty-five years and I've been at that man's side for every one of them. We've had good times and bad and I've loved him through it all; I've never once doubted or questioned where my place was."

"Sounds a bit archaic to me." His gaze dropped back to the file in his hands. "Aren't you worried about settin' the women's movement back a few generations?"

She chuckled, taking no offense to his question. "No. I didn't lose myself by being with Alistair or by loving him all these years. The choice to marry, have children, support him in whatever he's doing, and to travel with him… those choices were all mine to make."

"And is it your choice to die with him if it comes to that?" He looked up when she remained silent and found himself pinned by her penetrating gray gaze.

"Have you ever been in love?" she asked. She shook her head when she saw the answer written across his face. "No, you haven't; you think it's a waste of time, an emotion that has no place in your life."

"I think it's a myth," he corrected. He had his opinion of this so-called 'love' thing, but he didn't feel like developing his theory at any length with his client's wife.

She shook her head, saddened by his answer, yet not surprised by it. But somehow, she felt compelled to try to explain what love was to this young man. There was something about him… she could read people, she had a gift for it, and she felt that Michael Guerin was different. "Then I am truly sorry for you, Mr. Guerin. However, if the right woman ever crosses your path and she makes it past that cynical wall you hide behind you'll understand what I'm talking about. When being with her, holding her, and loving her becomes something that you can't live without, when you realize that you would be willing to walk through the very fires of Hell just to hold her for one more moment…" She smiled. "When you realize that even the threat of death isn't enough to keep you from her side you'll know what love is."

"If you say so," Michael muttered, turning his attention to the folder once more.

Eleanor smiled at his statement; most of the time the men hired to protect them were dull, and they wouldn't even think of disputing anything that she or her husband said unless it was in direct conflict with their orders or it interfered with their ability to provide security for their clients.

She loved a challenge and she had no problem holding her own against anyone who wished to express their own opinions. She wasn't a woman who bowed to any man and she enjoyed engaging in good conversation and heated debates, so she welcomed any opinions the young man might wish to share.

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Maria glared at the padlock that stood between her and the furniture she wanted to get her hands on. She had been trying to pick the lock for the past hour without success and she couldn't understand why it wasn't unlocking. She sighed and shook her head as she crouched down to try again. Hair pins, paper clips, letter openers… she had seen a dozen different things used by detectives on television shows to pick locks, but not one of them had ever had this much trouble.

She leaned back and reshaped the paper clip yet again before inserting them into the keyhole at the bottom of the lock and wiggling them around. "Why aren't you working?" she grumbled as she twisted one of the paper clips viciously. "All you have to do is…" She fell silent when she heard the quiet snick and a grin slowly spread over her face when the padlock opened. "Now that's more like it." She tugged on one end of the chain and it slithered through the metal handgrips to fall on the ground. Pushing it aside with her right foot, she dropped the padlock on top of the chain and pushed the door open.

The plastic covering the furniture was quickly removed and tossed aside and as Maria's hand settled on the headboard she frowned. It was oak, she realized as her fingers traced over the intricate designs carved into the wood. Not that there was anything wrong with oak… it just had a tendency to be heavy. She pushed that thought aside for the moment and moved on to the next important issue - the bed. She tugged and pulled on the queen-size mattress for several minutes before she succeeded in pulling it out from behind the dresser so she could check it out.

Satisfied that the furniture was in good condition and most importantly - the mattress was clean - she closed the shop up and went back up to the house so she could start rearranging the living room to make room for the office furniture.

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Michael stepped down off of the bottom step as he exited the plane, slipping a pair of sunglasses on as he surveyed the tarmac. He sent Taggart to secure the limo, waiting for the all-clear call before he stepped aside to let the Covington's leave the plane.

Once they were safely ensconced in the backseat with the other man he stood guard while the driver loaded their bags in the trunk. Most of the outer-lying areas showed signs of recent bombings and weary soldiers patrolled the streets. Adults and children ran through the ravaged neighborhoods searching the rubble for food, water… survivors? He scanned the faces of the people they passed, easily distinguishing between those who were used to the violence, the constant toll of death and destruction, and those who were new to the cruelty of war.

Was this what the streets of his home planet would look like? Were the weapons as crude, the people as ready to commit acts of unspeakable cruelty and murder for a cause they didn't even understand? The world he lived in was considered modern and civilized, but mankind had yet to step out of the dark ages when it came to the atrocities people were capable of committing against each other.

Maria had spoken of a coming war and the necessity of his participation in it, and he knew from experience that wars couldn't be fought without cost. They were paid for in blood and the only winners were those who ruled from their protected little rooms where they made rules, passed laws, and decided who lived and died. The winners were those in power, those who sent others out to do what they themselves wouldn't dare to do.

He was pulled from his thoughts when the driver slowed down and his hand tightened on the gun in his hand when he saw the little girl crossing in front of the limo. "Go around her," he snapped tersely.

"She is just a child," the driver said, smiling indulgently at the little girl and waving.

"You're getting paid to follow orders," Michael said, pressing the barrel of the gun to the man's temple. "Go around her. Now."

"You Americans, you worry too much."

Michael ignored the comment and settled back down in his seat, making a mental note to tell Marcos not to use the limo driver again. At the hotel he ordered Taggart to stay with the couple while he checked the room out to make sure it was safe.

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Maria dropped down on the couch, exhausted from wrestling the desk from the office to the living room. She didn't know why men seemed to be incapable of buying furniture that was attractive, functional, and easy to move.

The bed had been fairly easy to move once she had come up with the idea of using the plastic that had been covering it to make a path from the shop to the deck. The mattress and box spring had slid right along and hadn't given her one bit of trouble. She had no illusions about the rest of the furniture and she hadn't yet figured out how she was going to get it into the house.

It would've been much simpler if Michael had just agreed to moving the office furniture out; she would've been more than happy to help him switch the furniture out, but he was so damn stubborn that now she was doing it all by herself. Her Michael was stubborn, too stubborn for his own good most of the time, but he never would've put her in the position where she'd have to move furniture by herself.

Of course, it helped that in addition to Michael she'd had Kyle and Max too; there had never been a shortage of guys around when they had needed to move anything heavy. And most of the time she had been able to avoid the heavy lifting altogether, which had been fine with her. She sighed and stretched, switching her thoughts before she had the opportunity to get pulled too deep into them.

She sat up and reached for the remote, unable to put off checking the news any longer. The reporter was grim as he spoke of violence and casualties in the region but he wasn't reporting from inside the city so Maria took that as a good sign. She watched for a while longer before turning the television off and wandering into the kitchen for a late afternoon snack.