When my
muse came up with the proposal for the first book in the Bodyguard series, The
Secretary's Bodyguard, we had no idea it would turn into an eight-book
series. Why did it happen? First, we created the main characters: the bodyguard
Ethan Mahoney, who is as straight, reliable, and brave as a man in this job can
be; his wife Jazmin, also known as Princess; and his soulmate, who is a former
police officer. Second, we needed a sidekick with less pathos, so we created Ryan
Griffith. He’s much younger than Ethan and tough when necessary, but otherwise
acts like a kid.A kid with pranks in his mind. Lots of pranks.
We fell in
love with the characters because of the dynamic between them and their growing
friendship, and we knew we couldn’t stop after one book.
Third came
the secondary characters who appear occasionally but are never central to the
story. Then, there are characters created for each novel.
One such
character is Marcus Kesczynski, whom Ethan describes as Ryan on crystal meth
without the charm. Ethan doesn’t trust or like him and certainly wouldn't
trust him with his wife's life. This is exactly what happens in A Bodyguard
in Bolivia.
Marcus must
take Jazmin away from a bombing site, but he gets shot on the way. They make
it to a CIA safe house, which is the setting I want to introduce you to.
Jazmin came
back, and Marcus realized he’d missed her getting out. She maneuvered the SUV
expertly along the red-stoned pathway up to a garage made for two. She parked
in the center.
“Impressive
house.” She turned the key and pulled it out. “Yours?”
Marcus had
no breath left to answer and shook his head once before he turned slowly and
very carefully opened the door with his left hand. In the meantime, Jazmin had
run to close the gate and was back to lend a hand when he put his feet on the
concrete. He lifted his head. The garden was in good order, palms and bushes
cut back, and the growth of the vines was exactly the way he had described it
to the gardener months before. He had invested some money in workers from the
local congregation. Some had come for free, and as far as he could tell, had
done more than he had asked for. The house windows were clean, the small tables
and chairs on the patio freed from dust, and the plants in their pots watered.
“Key?” Jazmin
pointed toward the broad, dark wooden door.
He shook
his head. “No.” Step by step, they made it toward the canopy-shaded entrance.
His vision blurred, and he took a deep breath before flipping the flower pot at
the wall to the side. Behind it, he pressed the buttons of the security panel,
and the lock snapped back to leave the door open.
“Here we
go.” Marcus failed to grin. The door closed behind them, and he hastened to
push the buttons on the left wall to switch off the in-house alarm.
He led her
through the hall with the white fountain in its center, then to the right to
one of the three bathrooms. His legs felt like jelly, and he counted the steps
across the threshold and toward the next tile on the floor.
“A nice
house.”
“Yeah,
neo-classic Bolivian style.” He sat heavily on a white bench with white
cushions and leant against the wall to his left. He heard his heart beat in his
ears and his shallow breathing. This time, he knew he wouldn’t get a chance to
stay conscious. Whatever had hit the back of his head, the stinging pain added
to his misery.
“First aid
kit? Anything useful?”
Marcus
wanted to ask her so many questions. First would be how she could be so
composed while being abducted and faced with a stranger who was bleeding on the
white furniture in the strictly white-and-gold bathroom while her colleagues
were somewhere in the shattered building. But he had no breath for words, merely
indicated with a nod where she would find the medical supplies.
“Okay.” She
turned around, opened the double mirror doors, and whistled through her teeth.
He wanted
to laugh and couldn’t. The pain was killing him, and he was so weary.
“Did you rob
a hospital?” She quickly chose what she needed and spread it out on the
cupboard in easy reach. “Or have you always been a careful guy? This is nearly
the equipment for a surgery room. Hey, no! Don’t you dare faint!”
“Would
never…” Marcus heard his voice from afar, but a quick slap on his cheek brought
him back to his senses. “Hey, I already feel shitty enough! No need to—”
“I need
your help to get you out of the jacket.” She was already opening buttons to
pull his right arm out of the sleeve and did the same with the holster. Both
pieces fell to the ground, and he realized he couldn’t feel his right arm
anymore. “I have to cut off your shirt and… This looks awful. The bullet grazed
you and left a rough laceration. It’s quite deep and—”
“Oh, great.
An injury of academic value.” He failed to whistle. “Isn’t that awesome?”
“You’re in
shock.” She used scissors to cut the shirt and pull it away. “I’ll do this as
fast as I can. Stay with me, okay?”
Marcus
groaned. He was cold and miserable, and his right shoulder down to his arm was
a screaming mass of agony the moment he made a move. “Saved by the beautiful
assistant. What a lucky bastard I am!”
“Are you a
bastard?”
“I’m the
proverbial bastard like those in the movies.” He looked up at her, and his
voice was raspy. “I did some shitty being-hated-for-all-my-life things
that are…no, I can’t tell. I won’t tell. So don’t ask.”
“I don’t
ask.” She put away the scissors.
Marcus
opened his eyes wide. “You don’t? What kind of woman are you?”
“The one
stanching the bleeding so you keep some blood in your bastard body.” Jazmin
reached for the syringe.
“Morphine?”
His eyes widened when she nodded. “No. No morphine! I’m allergic.”
“Really?
That’s rare. Or were you addicted once?”
He stared
at her, trying and failing to curb his anger. “What are you? A fucking mind
reader?”
“What are
you? Some ungrateful asshole?” Jazmin kept him down when he tried to push her
hand away. “Don’t move.” She put the syringe back, huffing. “If you don’t want
relief from the pain, you need to bite on something before I start.”
“Now you’re
a doctor, too?”
“If you
don’t want to go to a hospital, I’m all you have at the moment. So quit
swearing.” She handed him a washcloth. “Bite.”
“I’ve heard
that said nicer.”
Jazmin
looked at him as if trying to spear him with a spoon. A very blunt spoon.
Marcus knew he should keep his mouth shut.
“This comes
closer and closer to some BDSM movies I watched.”
“Make fun
as much as you like. But the pain’s gonna be insane.” She raised her brows.
“You sure you want it that way?”
Marcus
wanted to sit with her at a beach and slurp martinis. “The ungrateful asshole
doesn’t deserve better.”
“The
asshole is also dumb as cattle.”
He wanted
to see compassion in her eyes, but the moment was over and she was back to
professional mode. She reached for gauze and tweezers. “I said bite.”
Marcus
pressed the washcloth between his teeth and braced for the shocking revelation
of how much pain his nerves could tolerate before his body shut off and called
it a day. The freaky part of his mind wanted to know if Jazmin was smiling—at
least to herself—about his jokes.
****
Find my
books at extasybooks.com
Or via my
website: annraina.com
Follow me
on Instagram: ann_raina_author
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