Page 5 of The Bodyguard

Angela’s muffled scream reverberated in his head. Sawyer and the shooter rolled. Heavy office chairs scattered around them. Fabric floated like a labyrinthic barrier. He fought to find the PSM and grappled for a handhold.

The shooter moved like water. She twisted and kicked, and Sawyer finally caught her wrist. Their breaths labored. Her breathing was the only sound she made.

His grip tightened. “Let it go.”

She rolled hard. Her head and face covering pulled down. Sawyer didn’t lose his hold. His free hand wrapped around her neck. Adrenaline coursed through his system. The pistol fell from her grasp. He pushed it out of reach.

Behind him, the office door opened.

“Sawyer,” Angela cried.

“Get out of here.” Sawyer flipped the shooter onto her stomach and pinned her legs under his weight. Sweat pricked the back of his neck. “Go.”

“Angela,” Ibrahim snapped.

“Call Jared,” Sawyer demanded.

Angela skirted the perimeter of the upturned office. “Already done.”

He ripped a strip of fabric from the burqa, doubled it over, and wrapped the woman’s hands behind her back. His racing breath slowed. He repeated the process for her feet. Then he noticed the way Angela hovered. “Ange, what are you doing?”

“What do we do about her gun?” Angela asked warily.

“Wedo nothing. Leave it.” Sawyer gave her a stern look, tore another strip of fabric, and tied the shooter to the furniture. He glanced at Angela again. She was too close. Too curious. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I wanted to see…” She crept closer. “The person who wants to kill me.”

Ibrahim stepped to Angela and reached for her shoulder. “Angela.” He half squeezed, half pulled her back. “She doesn’t want to kill you for a reason. You are only a target. A job.”

Sawyer ran his hand over the shooter. The quick pat-down produced a tactical knife strapped to her ankle. “Pham sent her. You know that.” Sawyer redoubled his pat-down, searching for communication gear. “You work alone?”

The woman didn’t reply.

“How the hell she found you, though…” His molars ground. “I’d like to know that.”

Angela broke free of Ibrahim. She inched closer and crouched an arm’s length from the subdued shooter.

“I’m not a target. I’m a person,” Angela said.

“Ange…” Sawyer shook his head. Trying to reason with an assassin wouldn’t be productive. Still, Angela leaned closer as though inspecting an oddity rather than a killer. He tried to elbow her back. “Get back into Ibrahim’s office.”

“Absolutely not.” Angela moved closer.

“Come on.” Sawyer blocked her with an arm. “Get back, Ange.”

“Angela.” The color had drained from Ibrahim’s face. “Listen to him. Come back with me.”

“No.”

Sawyer couldn’t read her expression, but her mascara was smeared under her eyes. The shooting hadn’t made her cry. Angela never cried during therapy—at least, as far as Sawyer knew. He glanced at Ibrahim and back to Angela as she edged in. Her breaths were eerily steady. A cold confidence flared in her dark eyes.

“Angela, can you get an ETA from Boss Man?” Sawyer asked.

“Jared will be here when he’s here.” The unfamiliar edge in her voice made his nerves tingle.

Sawyer touched her elbow. “You okay?”

“That woman tried to kill me.” Angela swatted his hand away and glared daggers at the shooter. “Pham sent you to kill me.”

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