Her Temporary Bodyguard

(Part 12) Chapter Eleven

Swallowing two more aspirin, Jason hoped that they would magically turn the tide and dull the throbbing ache in his head. His reflection showed the parts of skin that the concrete parkade had stolen from his face, but he knew he should consider himself lucky that he'd regained consciousness. The size of the lump on the back of his head suggested that he'd been clocked with a tire iron, or something equally as lethal. For all he knew, it could have been a brick in a pillowcase. What he did understand, however, was that someone had been trying to stop him from leaving L.A. If it had been Johnny B's men they would have put a bullet in his head and dumped him in the nearest river, or dragged him back to the boss to await his place on a meat hook. He rubbed the back of his neck and tried to decide if he had a concussion. His pupils looked normal and he could walk in a straight line, which was good enough for now. He probably shouldn't have driven the whole way to Las Vegas, but when he'd woken up next to his car there hadn't been time to stop at a hospital and get himself checked out, or to book a flight. Logan was counting on him to be there and Jason would not let the man down.

He opened the door to the room he'd booked at Caesar's Palace, taking a step out into the hall only to find himself backing up in retreat as a petite woman barged into him.

"You can't go out there," she declared, pushing the door shut firmly behind them. Jason blinked at her in surprise, wondering if hallucinations were a side effect of being hit out of the head.

"Sweet Jesus, what happened to your face?" She asked, her big brown eyes warm with concern as her hand fluttered to his bruised and scraped cheek.

"My face? Carla, have you looked in the mirror?" Jason cupped the pert little chin in his fingers, angling her face so that he could take in the full effect of the massive bruise that was barely disguised with the make-up she'd applied. The small dark-haired woman carefully extracted herself from his touch and shook her head.

"You can't be here," she told him.

"What are you doing here?" Jason stared stupidly at Johnny B's niece, trying to make his battered brain put all of the pieces together.

"Trying to save your sorry ass," she muttered. "I told you, he knows about you." Jason started to shake his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts and groaned in pain. He sank down onto the bed, pressing his hands to his temples to keep his brains from leaking out of his ears.

"It was you?" He asked a moment later, looking up at her, incredulous. Carla gave a sound of exasperation, rolling her eyes at him. Jason was stunned. He had known that his anonymous source had to be close to Johnny B to be giving him such solid leads, but never would he have thought of one of the blood family, let alone the teenager standing in front of him.

"Why?" It was the only thing he could think to say. All things considered, it was the only relevant information at this moment. Carla sighed and moved to sit beside him on the edge of the bed. She looked so tiny, so young as she sat there that it made his stomach twist in knots to think of all of the risks she had taken to help him.

"My uncle needs to be locked up somewhere where they lose the key," she said with a quiet strength. "You're the only one who can make that happen."

"Me? What makes you think that?" Jason asked her. Carla looked up at him, her dark eyes stormy with a fine rage.

"You're motivated. He had your family killed, remember?"

"I remember," Jason growled, feeling that old anger swell to life again. "But what makes you think that you can trust me? Why would you think that I would take the chance to go up against one of the most powerful mob bosses in the world when I barely managed to escape with my skin intact?"