Fast and smooth, that was what they’d taught her in training. Like it was all one movement, graceful, like a dance. The muscles in her legs bunched. She pushed up from the ground, her right hand already reaching down to her gun holster, her mouth already opening to form the words.
“Drop your weapon!”
She’d barked the order before she even realized what was happening. Before her hand dived into the empty holster, before her stomach sank down through her boots, before she could process the fact that she was, quite inexplicably, completely unarmed.
The man started to raise his hands, started to turn, but halfway round saw that her hands were empty. Then he laughed.
“Nice try, sweetheart.”
And his gun was leveled at her. She could have drawn an arrow-straight line from the barrel to her heart. Sweat slid down her back, her stomach clenched, her mouth dried up. So this was how it ended.
His finger tightened on the trigger. His face was nothing more than a blur like he’d been censored out of the film of her murder. She didn’t want to die. Not like this. Not like anything. She didn’t want to just flicker out of life like she’d never mattered.
And though she could see no evidence of it, she could feel the weight of something else. Someone else was dead. Someone else was unprotected. Someone who had been her responsibility. She’d failed again. And now she was going to pay the price.
Sam squeezed her eyes tight shut, opened her mouth, and began to scream long and hard.
She woke with her own scream ringing in her ears. The sheets were soaked with sweat and she was tangled in them. Tangled enough that it took a moment of struggle before she could sit up. Her hand was shaking as she reached for the glass of water on her nightstand.
“Only a dream,” she muttered between gulps of water. “Only a dream.”
It was five long minutes before she could trust herself to get out of bed without her legs buckling under her. Then, with a sigh, she thumbed on the light and began stripping the sweaty sheets from the bed.
A pile of fresh sheets lay already prepared on the dresser. Sam made quick work of the military corners as she re-made the bed.
✽✽✽
The music thrummed through her body, her muscles taut as she flew up into the air and seemingly floated back down to the ground. She fought to make her movements appear effortless, knew she was succeeding, despite the burning in her thighs and the crackling pain in her feet.
Rudy was there, waiting, poised. She trusted in him as she allowed herself to fall, felt the grip of his hands on her waist as he propelled her upwards one last time. The other women fluttered onto the stage, surrounding them as Rudy twirled her sedately around. Ali held the pose, still as stone, revolving like a statue as the music crashed and crashed and finally, resonantly, came to an end. And still she held it, Rudy’s fingers digging into her skin, the whole stage still now, like a breathing painting.
It was a relief when the applause started. It always was. There was always that moment of silence. A moment during which Ali knew the audience was trying to process what they’d seen, where the spell that had hung over the theater all night was being broken, where reality was creeping back in. But it was still a moment she dreaded, that silence hanging there, those few seconds where they could hate her, where they might laugh or jeer. As the clapping started, she finally allowed herself to breathe.
“Fucking brilliant,” Rudy muttered through clenched, grinning teeth as they took their final bow. “Missed that third lift at the beginning of the second act though.”
“No one noticed, we picked it up again,” Ali muttered right back. “We’ll go over it in practice again tomorrow.”
He squeezed her hand and dropped down into a bow, and Ali took deep breaths as she smiled and smiled and smiled.
The envelope was propped up against her dressing room mirror, surrounded by roses and carnations and makeup. It looked heavy, the paper cream and high quality. And Ali barely noticed it at first.
Her body was tired but sparkling with adrenaline still. She knew that she needed to take off her makeup and head home to crawl into bed. But she couldn’t quite persuade herself to sit down, not yet. Her muscles were conditioned to action, and relaxing was difficult.
She picked up the envelope without really thinking about it, her fingers searching for something to do.
“Coming downstairs for a drink?”
She half-turned, still opening the envelope, to see Greta standing in the doorway, still in costume with her bright pink cheeks and smooth blonde bun.
“Sure,” she said. “Why not?”
So much for an early night. Not that she could afford to drink much anyway. A single vodka and tonic was all her strict diet would allow for. She fumbled a card out of the envelope.
“I’ll see you down there then,” Greta was saying.
But Ali was already lost in the words, trying to get them to make sense and then praying that they didn’t make sense at all.
“I said, I’ll see you down there,” Greta said again.
But those evil, hateful, horrible words were still there, swimming around in front of her eyes and making her incapable of answering, of saying anything, doing anything. Her hand began to shake.
“What?” asked Greta’s voice from far away. “Ali? What is it?”
And hands were taking the card away, dragging it from her fingers. A heartbeat of stillness, then those same hands were on her skin, helping her towards a chair, sitting her down, pushing a bottle of water into her hand.
“I’ll get Jean-Luc,” whispered Greta, scurrying away.
Why her? What had she ever done to deserve words like those? She could almost laugh. The idea was laughable. She was a dancer, she’d never hurt a soul. She’d never been scandalous, she’d never done anything that could warrant this kind of attention.
Okay, so she’d had her share of crazed fans. Especially after she’d agreed to go on that TV show. Winning Dance of the Stars had been fantastic for her career, for bringing a little attention back to ballet as an art-form. But it had also led to a fair amount of unwanted attention. Nothing like this though. Never anything like this.
It was a relief when Jean-Luc swept into the room in a cloud of cologne. He took one look at the letter then shouted for security before pulling Ali up into his arms.
“Do not worry, little one,” he murmured, his French accent soothing and melodic. “We will find who did this.”
She let him hold her for a second only before pulling away. Having the company’s director take her into his arms wasn’t exactly how she wanted to end this evening. She’d worked hard never to give Jean-Luc the wrong idea.
“I’ll need a car to take me home,” she said abruptly.
Her voice didn’t shake and she was secretly proud of the fact.
“Bien,” said Jean-Luc.
Behind him, Greta smiled at her. “I’ll come with, if you want?”
Ali took a deep breath then shook her head. No. This was nothing. Some idiot trying to scare her. She wasn’t going to let it get to her. She had a life to live, after all.
✽✽✽
Jonas pounded around the corner of the track, sweat gleaming and making his buzz-cut hair sparkle in the morning light. Gritting her teeth, Sam put on a burst of speed and rounded the corner herself. Breath tore at her lungs and she was grateful that Jonas slowed his pace as she caught up.
“So, you up for it?” he asked.
“Ugh,” grunted Sam. Her lack of breath wouldn’t allow for anything more.
“It’s a job, Sam. And you need it. After what happened on the Allingham job, you need every break that you can get.”
“I know, I know.”
She was finally gulping down oxygen, her legs burning.
“I can refer them to someone else if you like?”
She managed to swallow, then sniffed. “Nah, I’ll take a look, see what’s what.”
It was nice of Jonas to recommend her for the job. P
robably nicer than she deserved. Still, he’d always been nice. They’d served together, and it had been Jonas who’d been the first to jump to her defense, the first to have her back, the first to call her after they’d both come back home safe and left the army. The sound of his voice on that morning, when she’d been missing the structure and comradery of her squad, had been more life-saving than he knew. And, of course, it had been Jonas that had got her into the private security gig.
“Why does a ballerina need a bodyguard?” she asked, as they jogged down the straight.
“Death threats is all I know,” answered Jonas.
He sped up and Sam groaned but forced herself to keep pace with him.
“Any more nightmares?”
He’d reached their water bottles first and tossed hers over as they began their last circuit, walking now to cool down. Sam said nothing. Jonas was the only one that knew, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit last night’s weakness in the cold light of morning.
“You know,” Jonas said. “You came out of the army, came back from Afghanistan, a hell of a lot better and luckier than most people I know.”
“I know.”
And she did know. She’d been lucky. Seriously lucky.
“But this whole Allingham thing, it’s got to you, Sam.”
She snorted, took a long drink of water, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“A guy got shot whilst I was supposed to be protecting him,” she said. “No, not just a guy. One of America’s favorite actors, one of the most familiar faces in the country. I was responsible for him, and he was downed on my watch.”
Jonas took a deep breath and blew it out. “You should see someone,” he said. “Get a little help. You know your insurance will cover it. Only the best for vets, you know that.”
She grunted.
“Think about it, Sam.”
Another grunt. She could see him shaking his head from the corner of her eye, could see his half-grin as he decided to let the subject drop for now.
“So, about that job?”
“I told you, I’ll go take a look.”
Her voice was kinder this time, less spiky. It was a miracle that anyone was willing to employ her after what happened with Jake Allingham. She was lucky on plenty of counts, and doubly lucky that she had someone like Jonas to look out for her.
“They’re expecting you at eleven thirty,” he said. “Don’t be late.”
“As if.”
She flashed him a grin and then capped her water bottle. The morning was cool and bright, but it was going to be a hot, smoggy LA kind of day. She could already feel the beginning of heat in the air. Still grinning she took off, feet pounding down the track.
“Last one back pays for coffee,” she shouted over her shoulder.
✽✽✽
“Well, what is it?”
Ali knew that she sounded brusque, angry even, that her voice had a screeching tone. And she knew that her attitude bugged the hell out of Jean-Luc. But just at the moment, she didn’t particularly care. She was spoiling for a fight. A close to sleepless night, a line so long at the coffee shop that she hadn’t had her morning espresso, and now this.
“Take a seat,” Jean-Luc purred.
He wasn’t going to rise to her. She narrowed her eyes.
“What the hell could be so important that you pull me out of morning practice?” she spat. “You know as well as I do that we need to work on that third lift for the second act. Want your show to crumble around your ears? Think tumbling dancers is the way to please the audience? Huh?”
He leaned back in his chair, steepling his long fingers, his hair making graceful waves around his face. He’d been a dancer once too, one of the best. Which made it hard to argue with him when he laid down the law about what would and wouldn’t happen in his company.
“Alena, you know as well as I do that you perform the lift wonderfully. It is Rudy that needs the practice, and he can practice just as well with one of the others.”
He always used her full name and it irritated her.
“So what do you want then?”
“We are to have a little visitor, you and I. I think this will be helpful. I want only the best for you, Alena.”
“A visitor?”
He smiled in a self-satisfied kind of way that made him look almost wolf-ish.
“A visitor,” he agreed. “Your new bodyguard.”
She didn’t have time to speak, didn’t have time to even think about what the word meant, before there was a knock on the door and it opened. And standing there was a woman. Compact, was the first word that came to mind. Compact with deep olive skin and fine bones, short dark hair slicked back of her face, hard green eyes the dark color of old bottle glass. And Ali found herself swallowing whatever she’d been planning on saying. Her pulse was racing and she was damned if she knew why.
✽✽✽
She was going to go in and be all business. Short, professional, to the point. That was the plan. She’d given the assistant a firm, dry handshake. She was feeling in full control of the situation. And then that door opened.
There was a man, she registered briefly. Sitting behind a desk, his hair longer than it should be, almost feminine looking. But he was swiftly dismissed.
It was the woman that took her attention, the woman that pulled at her gaze, that forced her eyes to stare, that made her heart throb in her chest and a familiar but unwanted warmth pool in her stomach.
She was lithe and thin, with muscles sculpted under her pale skin. Her blonde hair was piled messily on top of her head, her tights had holes and sweat still gleamed on her body. A fine-boned nose and eyes of the darkest blue she’d ever seen. Eyelashes so long that they had to be fake, except Sam knew instinctively that they weren’t.
She swallowed, her mouth dry. She wanted to reach out and shake hands, wanted to introduce herself, wanted to make only the best impression. But she couldn’t. Because she also wanted to take the woman and bend her over the desk and do unspeakable things to her. She wanted to intertwine their legs, wanted to push herself against that strongly muscled thigh, wanted to...
“Good morning.”
It was the man that spoke. Sam blinked away the pictures in her head. The job. The job was the important part. She cleared her throat.
“Sam Weaver,” she said. “Weaver Security. I’m the bodyguard.”
Her voice was shaking and she wanted to disappear right through the floor. Those blue eyes stared right through her and Sam cursed her stupid hormones.
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