Page 4 of The Bodyguard and His Bunny

Two things I realize: Sara is no teenager. She’s in her mid-20s at least, past the typical age where any older folks should still be fretting about whether she’ll attend college. Second: she’s utterly stunning. From her scuffed combat boots to the baggy black cardigan she wears over her bibs to the light brown braid that hangs over her shoulder, she is…something.

Is she my type? Not at all.

She exudes chaos.

And me? I’m attracted to chaos. In the Navy, I loved nothing more than helping a bunch of sloppy enlistees get their act together.

I don’t like chaos to intrude on my personal life, though. Try explaining that to the deep ache in my chest as she walks away.

I follow her at a distance and watch her jaywalk against the light, clutching her cardigan close around her. After three or four blocks, she goes into a community center on Ninth Street.

The bus stop is occupied with people, and there are no park benches here, so I have to watch from down the block. And I wait for what feels like hours. Because of my training, I can stand, hike, or swim for long periods without fatigue. But mentally? I’m not okay. What is she doing in there? And why do I feel like a big baby missing his favorite lovey?

What is it about Sara that I find so appealing?

Her eyes? Her confidence? How her full lips twisted like she was deeply thinking about something when she walked past me?

The longer I wait for her to exit the community center, the more I am unsettled. Untethered. Tidy on the outside, but a fucking mess inside.

Waiting for Sara has scraped away all my starch. All that’s left of me is a charged electron waiting for his other half. She’s my atom, and she doesn’t even know it.

Let’s just hope I don’t fuck this up and make something explode.

CHAPTER2

Two weeks later

Sara

“Ah, shit. There he is. Again.”

I sigh heavily into my phone as I peek through the cheap blinds of my flat.

“Flat” is a generous word for what this place is. This building is not up to code in any way, shape, or form. The only faucet I have leaks, and I’m pretty sure I’ll get some brain-eating bacteria if I drink the water from it. I admit it; I live in a dump, perhaps one step away from out-and-out squatting.

The rent is cheap, though, and it’s all I can afford without dipping into what’s left of my trust fund. And I don’t dare dip into it, not with the specter of my sainted mother hanging over my head.

I’m determined to make her proud of me, dammit, and I will do it on my own. Without the help that comes with being an office furniture heiress or family in high places.

“Who there is?” Dahlia, my partner in crime—literally—asks on the other end of the phone.

I don’t want to scare her, but I have to tell somebody. “So, this absolute stuffed shirt with a bulletproof vest has been tailing me for weeks now.”

She gasps. “Sara! Call the cops.”

I groan. “No. That’s all I need, more attention from law enforcement. Besides, he hasn’t done anything illegal. He hasn’t accosted me or tried to get into my apartment. He hasn’t even come within ten feet of me, actually. And I still think it could be my imagination that he keeps popping up everywhere I go.”

Dahlia hums. “Do you think Expert Chemical sent someone after you to get the bunnies back?”

The bunnies. We started out by rescuing five, and now we have twelve. Not including the pregnant, fluffy, tan one in my arms at the moment. I look down at Chutney, and she looks up at me with her big dark eyes and twitches her nose. Weeks ago, she was afraid of her own shadow, and now she burrows into my chest every second I’m home. I’m told it’s not normal for rabbits to like being held this much, so I guess Chutney is my special girl. I’m good with that.

“If a giant chemical company was going to send some thugs to get their abused rabbits back, they would have done it by now.”

“True. By the way,” Dahlia continues, and my stomach lurches because I know what’s coming. “…have you thought about what we’re going to do with…all of them?”

Guilt surges through me. I thought by now I’d have a plan. Turns out, when you act on instinct to rescue animals from a testing facility because that’s what your heart wants to do, you should probably have a specific plan in place ahead of time.

“Yes, I’ve thought about it.”

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