Page 35 of The Bodyguard and His Bunny

Gunther

Because I was behind him when I knocked him out, I don’t recognize the man until I reach down to check his pulse.

One of the fellas that rounded me up two weeks ago for my special assignment from the big boss drooled on my hallway carpet.

He’s alive, if unconscious, and now tied to a kitchen chair.

I have so many questions. Firstly, how did he get through the gate, and why did none of the house alarms go off? The trust-no-one part of my brain sends a wave of panic through me, wanting to accuse Sara of letting him in. I irrationally wonder if she’s in cahoots with the guy; she did say she likes to memorize passcodes. But that makes no sense based on what I know in my heart, and I tamp down that ridiculous thought.

I keep an eye on him while Sara watches Chutney deliver babies under my bed. Guess I’ll have to have a new carpet installed after today. So what.

Sara can move all the rabbits she wants into my house, and they can have all the babies if it means Sara’s happy.

Well, one step at a time. We will be having a chat about neutering them.

The big fella tied up in my kitchen comes to, finally.

“Good morning. How about you tell me what’s going on, and I won’t tell Ms. Dunne that you broke into my house and put your hands on my girl…my special assignment.”

The man scoffs. “I don’t have to say a damn thing to your dumb ass.”

“Dumb? Pal, you’re the one who made the mistake of walking into my house uninvited,” I reply. I pick up my phone and dial the office. “This should be fun,” I add.

The big guy just waits patiently, almost bored.

Weirdly, he’s watching me call his boss and is not even worried about it.

When my call to the same number that Ms. Dunne has been using to call me for updates at least four times daily goes straight to voicemail, I hang up.

“Let me guess, she didn’t answer.”

“No. How did you know she wouldn’t?” I ask.

The guy isn’t talking, but I can wait him out.

“Four healthy babies!” Sara squeaks from down the hall. “So far! Mamma is doing great!”

“Good job, Chutney!” I call down the hall, then return to the thug in my kitchen. “Do you hear that? I should be enjoying this moment with my girlfriend instead of staring at your ugly mug. Why did the boss of Sentinel send you to steal a damn rabbit? What’s so special about it? What is Sentinel into?”

He looks at me and huffs a derisive laugh.

“Can you tell me how you got into my house without setting off the alarms?”

“Those are trade secrets. You don’t get access to the really fun hacking tools until you’ve paid your dues, rookie.”

A loud knock sounds on the front door, and it does not sound like the knock of my neighbor Mrs. Palmieri, so I ignore it.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” asks the big fella, who won’t even tell me his name. I’ve already searched him, and he’s not carrying any I.D.

“Oh no, you’re my top priority, brother,” I say, walking behind him to fetch a knife from the block. I’m not actually going to injure the guy, but I know how to scare the shit out of him.

But as I move across the kitchen, something catches my eye in the window overlooking the backyard. A black S.U.V. is parked in front of the garage door, and a man stands at my back door. Black sunglasses, earpiece, windbreaker with a familiar logo. Secret Service.

Um, what the fuck?

I immediately open the back door, and half a dozen official-looking folks sweep in with hands on their sidearms.

“Out of the way!”

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