Safe Harbor

by Christy Barritt

  Dez forced himself to look away before he made her uncomfortable.

  She flashed him a smile and then held up her phone as she walked past, as if to indicate she was talking to somebody.

  Like a dutiful guard, he followed behind her as she headed down the hall. Dez was determined to keep an eye on Bree and this place, no matter the cost. He wasn’t going to mess up again. Losing Daniel had been heart-wrenching enough. It had been Dez’s job to cover him, and he’d failed.

  “What happened is beyond horrible.” Bree’s voice floated back to him as she walked into the living room. “Thank you for your concern.”

  Dez couldn’t hear what was being said on the other line, but, based on Bree’s body language, it wasn’t pleasant. She paused in the living room but didn’t sit. Her body looked too stiff to do so.

  “I’m not really sure why you want to see me now of all times. When I asked you to come see me a couple of months ago, you were too busy and had no room in your schedule.”

  Something else was said, something that had Dez more curious than he should be. He paused near the doorway, trying to remain a comfortable distance away and not invade her privacy.

  “You really want to know what I think?” Bree let out a long breath and licked her lips. “I think you haven’t made the headlines in a long time, and, now that you see what’s happening to me, you see your chance to weasel back into my life. It’s not going to happen.”

  Though the words had a bite, her voice was still soft, like she wanted to be forthright while still being kind. The trait—and effort—was admirable.

  A few minutes later, Bree hit a button on the phone and tossed it on the couch. She sat on one of the blue cushions there and shook her head.

  Dez contemplated if he should even acknowledge that he had heard her side of that conversation. He knew it wasn’t his business, yet . . . Bree looked like she needed someone to talk to.

  He would leave the ball in her court, he decided.

  But curiosity burned inside him.

  Bree Jordan fascinated him . . . and that was something he hadn’t expected. Yet every time he saw her, he couldn’t help but think about how Leah had broken his heart.

  Dez had to remember that . . . because he never wanted to put himself in that position again. Nor could he live with himself if someone else died on his watch.

  Chapter Eleven

  Bree shook her head again, all too aware that Dez had heard her talking to Mike Andrews. Her bodyguard stood near the doorway, a placid look on his face. His job wasn’t to listen to her problems, but she had no one else here for her right now . . . and he’d been kind earlier.

  “Sorry you had to hear that.” She pulled her legs beneath her.

  She stared at the dark sky outside. Mike was on Pacific time, so it wasn’t that late for him. Only 10:30. But here in North Carolina it was 1:30 in the morning, and she was exhausted. Yet she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep yet.

  “That was Mike.” Each recollection of their conversation made her fists tighten at her sides.

  “Mike?”

  She stared at him. She just assumed Dez would know who she was talking about. “Mike Andrews? The professional baseball player for the LA Dodgers?”

  Realization spread through Dez’s eyes. “That Mike Andrews. You’re dating?”

  “We’ve been on again, off again for the past eight months. Our publicist actually set us up. She thought if we dated each other it could do good things for both of our careers.” She frowned as the words left her lips.

  “And has it?”

  “I don’t know if it’s done good things for my career or not, but I know it has done bad things to my psyche.”

  “That didn’t sound like a fun conversation you just had.”

  “After not talking to me for a couple months, he suddenly wants to come here so he can be with me?” Bree shook her head. “I don’t buy that anymore. He just sees this as an opportunity to get more publicity for himself. I can’t believe I wasted so much time with him. But finding love when you’re famous . . . it’s not as easy as one might think.”

  “If there’s one piece of advice I’d give you it’s that when you find the person you’re supposed to be with, you won’t feel as miserable as you look right now. You should be lighting up every time you talk to him.”

  “Lighting up, huh?” She raised an eyebrow. “I like that. But I don’t remember the last time I found myself ‘lighting up’ around a guy.” Mostly she found herself questioning their motives, wondering if schedules could work together, and figuring out excuses why they’d never work out as a couple.

  “You obviously haven’t been around the right guy.” Dez shrugged and offered an almost sly smile.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Bree leaned back, feeling better. “All right, so you know about me and my love life or lack thereof. Now it’s my turn. Are you married?”

  “I am not.” He remained straight-faced.

  “You ever been married?”

  “I have not.”

  He wasn’t going to make this easy, was he? That didn’t deter Bree. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  “I do not.”

  “Well, this conversation has been enlightening. Good talk.” She flashed a wry smile.

  Dez chuckled and shook his head. “Sorry. I’m not one to talk very much about dating. But no, I’m not dating anyone. Yes, I frequently go out on dates. I suppose I’m looking for that one, but I haven’t found her yet. Until I do, I’m having fun.”

  Bree stared at him with all his endearing qualities. He was so good-looking that she almost didn’t want to like the man. But he seemed so authentic that it was hard not to. However, guys like him had always been able to pull one over on her.

  The charming, charismatic ones were her weakness.

  “I’m sure you have broken a lot of hearts by doing that,” she finally said.

  “I’m always upfront. As soon as I know that a person is not the one for me, I break things off. I think I would be doing a disservice if I kept stringing the ladies along. But how will I know if I like them unless we go out a couple of times?”

  “You sound convincing.” He seemed like the type who had a long line of ladies waiting for him. Was he just using that reasoning as an excuse to justify his actions? In her experience—probably.

  Dez studied her a moment, making no apologies about it. “You sound skeptical.”

  “Let’s just say I’ve been around a lot of players in my life.” Bree rolled her eyes, remembering all the guys who’d wanted to date her just to have a chance in the spotlight. There was nothing like being used to wake you up to the harsh realities of dating.

  Her most recent ex was a case in point. With his baseball career fading, he’d suddenly become interested in accompanying Bree to every media-worthy event she’d attended.

  He’d only wanted to pad his own popularity and to use Bree in the process.

  How could she have been so stupid?

  “Who said I was a player?” Dez looked offended—at least, mockingly so.

  Bree shrugged, determined not to fall for his charm. “You give off that vibe.”

  “Are you talking about your love life or one of the songs that you sing?”

  “Okay, I might sing a song called ‘The Player,’ but since I didn’t write that and I don’t even really like that song, no, that is not what I am talking about. I just get so tired of people using people.” Her voice trailed.

  “I would never want to use somebody.” Dez’s voice turned serious, and Bree knew she had struck a nerve.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that.”

  “It’s no problem.” Dez stood. “I should go check out the rest of the house one more time.”

  As Bree watched him walk away, she felt like she’d just driven a wedge between them. Could you even drive a wedge if you’d only known the person for a few hours? Bree didn’t know. But a sense of regret filled her.

  It was silly, rea
lly. She had much bigger worries to think about right now. Starting with staying alive. That was what she needed to concentrate on.

  Long after Bree went to bed, Dez’s thoughts lingered on their conversation.

  And they lingered on Leah.

  It wasn’t that he was still hung up on the woman. He wasn’t. He had no desire to be with her again.

  But Leah was one of the only women he’d ever let into his life . . . and she’d crushed his heart.

  They’d met right after Dez became a SEAL. She was blonde and beautiful, the life of the party, the woman who lit up a room.

  He’d fallen hard, and he’d fallen fast.

  Dez had known he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, and he’d worked up the nerve to finally tell her that. The anxiety had been strange for Dez. He was always the confident one, the guy who didn’t doubt his abilities.

  Until he met Leah.

  But he bought the ring, and he planned the night. When he’d popped the question . . . she’d laughed.

  Yes, laughed.

  She’d told him she wasn’t looking for anything serious, especially not with a Navy SEAL. She’d assumed he felt the same way—that he’d only wanted a good time.

  Except he hadn’t felt that way.

  As one final jab, she’d muttered something about Dez never being able to support her lifestyle while he was a SEAL. He couldn’t even argue. SEALs didn’t make that much money. It wasn’t a job for someone who wanted to live rich.

  And Leah had.

  Leah had walked out of his life that day with a piece of his heart.

  After losing her . . . Dez had realized he never wanted to put himself in that position again. Ever.

  It was one of the reasons he liked to keep things with women shallow, to not get too close.

  So why was Bree stirring up these feelings inside him? It made no sense.

  She was just like Leah . . .

  That was what he kept telling himself, at least.

  Both Leah and Bree were blonde, thin, beautiful. They turned every head in the room and could capture any heart they wanted.

  It was all the more reason Dez should stay away.

  Too bad that was easier said than done.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dez and Griff had traded shifts at six a.m. so Dez could get a couple hours of shut-eye. It hadn’t mattered. Dez couldn’t sleep, and he’d risen by eight to shower and get ready.

  At least the night had been quiet with no more emergencies.

  As Dez wandered upstairs, he heard music ringing out. Not on a device, however. It was live.

  He paused in the hallway before entering the living room. Sunlight filtered in through high windows, and the smell of coffee floated in the air. But it was Bree that caught his attention.

  She sat on the couch with her guitar. A paper and pen were in front of her as she sang.

  “Your love is like the ocean on a cloudless, sunny day.” Her smooth voice rang out, the kind of voice he could listen to all day.

  This woman had some chops. He had to admit that he’d wondered if her talent was just overproduced, the kind sound engineers could manipulate.

  It wasn’t.

  “And every time I feel it, I feel like I could run away. Run into forever. Run into the unknown. Run into a place where my dreams can be my own.” Bree continued, obviously not hearing him come in.

  The song painted Bree in a different light—again. The woman was constantly surprising him. But this song that Bree sang now was so raw, so natural. There were no pop vibes present, only earthy tones.

  Just as last night, Bree wore casual clothes, no makeup, and her hair had been pulled away from her face. She looked normal—beautiful, but normal.

  It was almost like she was a different person than she was onstage. He’d expected a diva, someone spoiled and demanding.

  But Bree wasn’t like that.

  Dez took a step and cleared his throat, trying not to scare her. Immediately, the song ended, and Bree jerked her head toward him.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said.

  “Oh, you’re fine.” Her shoulders relaxed. “I was just playing around.”

  “What was that song?” Dez asked, moving closer.

  “It’s just a little ditty I’ve been working on, as they say.” She flashed him a soft, almost sad smile.

  “Well, you should keep playing with it. It sounds really good.”

  She shrugged, put the guitar down by her side, and grabbed the cup of coffee she’d left on the table. “I’m not sure that my manager will agree with that.”

  She’d said that last night also. Their issues must run deep.

  “What does he know?” Dez grabbed a cup of coffee before lowering himself into the chair across from her.

  “Apparently, he knows a lot. He’s a star maker, after all. That’s what people call him.”

  “So he doesn’t let you do any of your own stuff?” He took a sip of his coffee.

  “No, he says the stuff I write doesn’t fit my brand.” She shrugged and twisted her lips, as if holding back a diatribe that revealed her true feelings.

  “How does that even work? I don’t know a lot about the music industry, but aren’t you your own brand?”

  She picked up her guitar again and ran her fingers down the strings, a frown on her face. “In theory. At least, I always envisioned that I would be. But Emerson discovered me and groomed me for this position. I had been singing at state fairs and church camps. But he saw something in me and paid out of his pocket to make me who I am today.”

  Something about the way Bree said the words made it sound like it wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

  “So he discovered you, groomed you, and eventually you got a record contract?”

  She nodded. “Yes, that’s the way it worked for me. There was a time when I felt like the luckiest girl in the whole world.”

  “And now?”

  Bree shrugged, a far-off look in her eyes as she hugged the guitar against her. “I don’t know. I’m trying to embrace what I’ve been given. But part of me feels like I’ve given up too much.”

  “What do you mean?” Dez couldn’t seem to stop asking the questions. Hearing Bree’s story was fascinating—and disconcerting at the same time.

  She frowned and loosened her hold on the guitar. “I mean, when I decided to accept his offer, I was eighteen years old. Old enough to make my own choices. But my parents didn’t agree with what I was doing. They thought Emerson would corrupt me and that all of this was a mistake. Long story short, they gave me an ultimatum. If I decided to continue on with Emerson, they didn’t want anything to do with me.”

  Dez blanched as he tried to put himself in her shoes. “That’s harsh.”

  She shrugged, a sad look on her face. “I don’t think they really ever expected me to walk away from them. They probably figured I loved my brother and sisters too much. I miss them terribly. But my parents won’t let them have anything to do with me. It’s been six years since I left.”

  He could see the pain etched into her eyes, hear the sorrow in her voice. The sacrifices she’d made to get to where she was today were greater than he’d ever imagined. “Why did your parents think your manager was such a bad guy?”

  “They’d seen some of the other acts that he discovered and created. Most of the girls ended up wearing skimpy outfits, doing provocative dances, and singing about things that were not wholesome, let’s just say. They didn’t want me to become that person.”

  “From what I can tell, you’re not that person.”

  “I’ve chosen my battles. There are things I compromised on. Things like the kind of songs I sing. But there were other things that I couldn’t compromise on, especially knowing I was setting an example for not only my siblings but for other young people out there.”

  “Seems like they would admire you for that.”

  She shrugged again. “I would like to think they would, but, as the saying goes, I made
my bed and now I have to lie in it.”

  That’s not what Dez thought about her story. More surprises kept popping up concerning Bree. She was nothing like Dez had expected, nor was this assignment.

  As much as he would like to sit here all day and chat, pretending like this was just a casual hangout, Dez knew it was anything but. There was still a killer out there, and, whoever this person was, he had his sights set on Bree.

  Bree pushed a stray hair behind her ear. She hadn’t intended on opening up to Dez like she did. There was something about him that made him easy to talk to.

  At one time in her life, if she’d seen someone as good-looking as Dez, she would have been intimidated by him. At the least, she would have assumed he was superficial.

  But Dez was proving to be the opposite of what she’d thought. He wasn’t just brawny, he was a good listener.

  Bree mentally shook her head. She couldn’t let her thoughts go there. Dez was hired help, for goodness sake. He was probably just listening because it was his job.

  Yet, in her line of work, there were very few people who really wanted to get to know her for her. Most people wanted to befriend Bree for who they thought she should be or what she could do for them. But the lack of close relationships in her life was beginning to take its toll.

  Last night before going to bed, she’d talked to her assistant, Karen. Bree had numerous other messages from people trying to check on her. The outpouring of support was heartwarming, and she was thankful for it.

  Karen had asked if she was coming back to LA soon. Bree had said no. She had no desire to go back to the grind. She’d rather stay here, where the ocean was soothing to her soul.

  Bree let out a breath and glanced back at Dez. “Any updates?”

  “I did talk to Cassidy—make that the Police Chief Chambers. They learned more about the victim. His name was Kyle Thompson, and he was from a small town in Louisiana. Apparently, he gave up his job in order to follow you from concert to concert.”