Strong arms wrapped her in warmth and comfort, and Kacie gave little thought to how it looked to the two LCR operatives on the sofa. She pressed her face against Brennan’s chest, drawing strength.
Finally, she lifted her head, straightened her shoulders. “Okay. Where do we go from here?”
Chapter Twenty-one
Brennan stood under the hot pulsing beat of the shower, hoping it’d give him a few more hours of upright time before he crashed. He had a mountain of things to do today, and sleeping needed to be last on the list.
Kacie was doing some work in her office. With the hollow look in her eyes, though, he wondered just how much she could get accomplished. Still, anything that could get her mind off the shit that was happening for even a few moments was good.
Yesterday had passed in relative quiet. After the night she’d had, Kacie had held up amazingly well and had even managed to get in a couple of naps during the day. Surprising since he’d had a security company there for hours installing a security system and new locks for her doors. With this sophisticated system, even the most experienced intruders would be deterred. And with only he and Kacie having a key to the apartment, she was as safe as he could make her.
Her personal assistant, Tara Greenfield, had stopped by early this morning, and Brennan had taken a few minutes to talk to her. Questioning her without revealing what was going on gave him the leeway to talk to her in a friendly get-to-know-you manner, as opposed to grilling her like she was a suspect.
Tara was young, attractive, with a lively intelligence in her warm brown eyes. Didn’t mean she wasn’t guilty. Normal-looking people did incredibly abnormal deeds every damn day.
She seemed open to all his questions and even teased him that her grandfather had never forgiven Brennan for leaving the Jets. But when Brennan had asked about why she’d left college her senior year and moved back home, she’d given an evasive answer that she’d been homesick. He wasn’t buying it, but without outright accusing her of lying—which he might well do at some point—he couldn’t proceed beyond an understanding nod.
Kacie had insisted on being in the room with them, and while he had no problem with that, as she was Tara’s employer, he had warned her to stay quiet. She’d given him a fiery look, and he’d been so glad to see the flash of temper, it was all he could do not to kiss her soundly. Thankfully, Tara had shown up before he’d gotten too stupid.
As steam loosened the tight muscles in his neck and back, he thought about Justin’s words as he and Riley were leaving the other night. His friend knew him better than anyone. He’d seen the way Brennan was treating Kacie and was concerned. And because they were friends, he’d give Justin latitude he wouldn’t give anyone else. However, when the man had lambasted him for getting too close to a client, it’d taken every ounce of strength not to knock him on his ass.
Getting too close to a client? Shit, yeah, he was close. But that didn’t mean he had feelings for Kacie beyond his job. A young woman who’d done nothing wrong other than to try to live her life and overcome a horrendous event was being tortured by some asshole for unknown reasons. He was pissed and wanted the creep’s ass in a sling. Anyone would.
It was nothing more than that.
A knock on the door barely registered before he heard Kacie calling his name. Whirling around, he was stunned to find her in the middle of the bathroom. Modesty had never been a big concern for him. Hell, he’d been in too many locker rooms with a bunch of sweaty jocks to even think twice about baring it all. Not to mention the stupid-assed underwear ad Vanessa had talked him into doing when he’d been with the Jets.
But there was another reason modesty had no issue here. Kacie had come searching for him. If it was important enough to barge in while he was showering, something major had happened.
“What’s wrong?”
“I got another message.”
“From the same email address?”
“No, this was sent to my Twitter account. Fans or whoever can send me direct messages or tweet me. Most of them are answered by Molly, occasionally by Tara…a few by me.
“What did it say?”
“‘Hey, KC. Did you like my gift?’ With a hashtag about getting what I deserve.”
“Okay, let me dry off and let’s take a look.”
As if she’d just become aware that’d she barged into the bathroom at an inopportune time, her eyes moved from his face and roamed over his body.
Biology was a helluva thing. A gorgeous woman was standing before him, the appreciation on her face a sight no man could ignore or resist. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do about his body’s physical response to the heated interest in her lovely eyes.
A delightful tinge of color rose in her cheeks, and she swallowed hard. “Uh…sorry about barging in…I, um…thought you’d want to know.”
Brennan swallowed a painful laugh, instinctively knowing his amusement would irreparably harm her confidence. If he hadn’t been painfully hard before, he sure as hell was now, because instead of leaving in embarrassment, she continued to stand there and stare. Torn between the need to laugh out loud and the even greater need to pull her close and answer that heat in her eyes with his own, he growled, “Is there something else?”
Going an even deeper shade of red, she took one last lingering all-over-body glance and quickly shook her head. “I’ll…just go.”
The instant she closed the door, Brennan took a second to knock his forehead against the damp tile of the shower, hoping it would pound some sense into him. As pissed as he’d been by Justin’s warning, Brennan knew his friend was right. Getting involved with a client was a dangerous thing to do. And Kacie wasn’t just any client. She had a boatload of hang-ups and fears that he felt ill-equipped to handle.
Now if he could just convince his heart, mind…oh hell, his entire body.
Kacie raced back to her office as if her feet were on fire. But hot feet weren’t her concern, it was other places. Secret places she had tried to pretend no longer existed were coming back to life.
She was around nearly naked men several times a week, so often that she rarely paid attention anymore. Occasionally, she’d appreciate a well-built body or impressive eight-pack abs, but she felt no physical impact. After what happened to her, she had assumed that part of her was dead.
“So let’s have a look.”
She’d been so deep in her thinking about Brennan and her stunning reaction to his body, she hadn’t heard him behind her. Telling her nerves to settle was easier said than done. Not only did she have some lunatic wanting to destroy her, her frozen libido was melting like an igloo in the desert.
Unable to say anything remotely coherent, she twisted her laptop around so he could read the message.
Hey, KC! Did you like my gift? #Finallygoingtogetwhatyoudeserve
“Interesting hashtag, huh?”
She tried to sound calm and unaffected. She failed miserably. Questions whirled around in her head, all clamoring for answers that she could not fathom. Had this person actually killed Dr. Curtis? Where did he get the photograph? What did he want to do other than torment her? Ruin her? Extort money? Kill her?
“I didn’t mention this to you before… Noah may have already told you. Harrington recorded everything. What he did to me, what others did to me.”
“Yes, McCall told me.”
She turned to face him, unwilling for him to think she was a coward. “They told me all the recordings were destroyed. They promised me.”
“Who promised you?”
“Skylar. Noah. They all promised.”
“Then they told the truth. Do you remember anyone there taking still shots?”
An unexpected sob broke through her calm façade. She hadn’t even realized she was this close to breaking down, and now here she was about to become a sobbing mess.
Brennan reached out for her, but Kacie backed away from him. If he held her, she’d totally lose it.
“That’s the thing…a blessing, they sai
d. I remember almost nothing. They kept me so drugged I could barely function. Half-starved…drugged. I was delirious.” She shook her head. “That vile picture. I remember nothing about it.”
“Then that is a blessing. I—”
At his hesitation, dread almost consumed her. Was he going to ask about the photograph? About what it revealed?
“Listen…I wasn’t going to tell you this because you’ve had to deal with so much, but you deserve to know. I found more photos than just that one.”
Instead of more alarm, she felt irrational relief. “How many more?” she said weakly.
“Five total. They’re all being checked for prints.”
“They were different…than the one I found?”
“Yes.”
She appreciated Brennan wanting to protect her, but appreciated even more his need to be honest with her.
“Thank you for telling me.”
His eyes gleamed with something like pride. “You’re handling it well.”
She turned away before he could see the truth. One, or a hundred. Did it really matter when a single photograph could destroy her? The one photo she’d seen was hideous, vile, and revealed something about her. The one thing she did remember. The one thing she had never been able to share, even with her therapist. Not even Skylar knew her secret shame.
As if he knew she was trying to hide something from him, Brennan came to stand in front of her.
“Something my mom used to say to me, when things were so dark, was, ‘This too shall pass.’ Which means it will get better.”
Her mouth twisted in a small smile. She appreciated his effort. “Did it help?”
He didn’t answer for a second and then huffed out a laughing breath. “No, not really. Guess it made her feel better to say it, though.”
“Okay…all right.” She straightened her spine. “It’s being dealt with. Lots of bright, talented people are on the case, trying to find this person. I’ve got the Montague press conference today. And then, tomorrow, we leave for Barbados.”
“About that…don’t guess there’s any way to delay that shoot, is there?”
“None. It got canceled last month because of a tropical storm. Weather’s supposed to be perfect. I have a contract…and unless I’m dead, I’m going.”
“Don’t talk like that,” he snapped.
“Sorry, poor choice of words.” She shook herself out of her unhelpful melancholy and focused on what she could control. “Before I forget, you do have a passport, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay…good. We’re set then. So, I’m going to get to work on hiding the dark circles under my eyes. And I’ll let you and the other professionals figure out who’s trying to destroy me.” She gave him her brightest, most practiced smile—projecting a cheeriness she in no way felt. “I think we both have our work cut out for us.”
Brennan sat offstage, behind curtains, watching the press conference on the closed-circuit television he’d requested ahead of time. If he’d shown his face, questions that had nothing to do with Kacie’s new job would have been asked. He was here to protect her, not add fuel to the firestorm of gossip already raging about them.
She sat behind a table along with cosmetic and fashion icon Julian Montague, several of Montague’s executives, and Sandi Winston, a gray-haired, pleasant-faced woman Kacie had introduced as her publicist.
So far the announcement had gone off without a hitch. In broad, sweeping terms, Montague described his vision for his company and how Kacie Dane would be the new Montague It Girl, hopefully for years to come. The newest fragrance, Innocence Revealed, had been designed with Kacie in mind. The newest clothing line, Sweet and Sassy, would carry the tag A Kacie Dane Exclusive by Montague. The new line of cosmetics was created with the intent to make fresh-faced and wholesome a fashion trend.
Montague was putting a lot on the line. Brennan understood why Kacie had insisted she had to alert Montague about the threats against her and the possibility of exposure. Even though Kacie had been an innocent victim, the media could spin what happened to her in a thousand different ways. Brennan knew from bitter experience how one tiny thread of doubt could be woven into an entire blanket of cruel innuendos and suppositions.
He admired the way Julian Montague stood behind Kacie when he learned about her attack, and her real name. That said a lot about the man and his integrity.
Other than what he’d read online, Brennan knew very little about Montague. The man was purported to be a genius, and not only in designing, and was reportedly very hands-on with the daily operation of his many businesses.
He remembered that Vanessa had tried to attract the designer’s attention years ago and failed. Just one of the many failures that had led to so many damn problems for them.
Brennan studied the sea of faces in the audience. He’d been trained to detect danger in expressions and body language. Always expecting shit to happen gave him a hyper-alert sensitivity.
No one stood out as being evil or bent on any agenda other than learning about the Montague campaign and Kacie’s upcoming location shoots. Brennan allowed his shoulders a small, incremental easing. Keeping one ear open to the questions being asked and his eyes focused on the audience, he let his mind wander to the coming meeting he and Kacie had later today.
The Kacie Dane Foundation was located in Midtown. Kacie had told him she worked out of the center infrequently, preferring to stay behind the scenes, allowing her excellent staff to handle the day-to-day operations of the charity. Though she was the driving force behind it, and unapologetically used her celebrity status to garner attention as well as funding, she’d freely admitted that she had absolutely no training in regards to how to run a charity or how to counsel the young women who came to the center. She’d told him that being a victim of physical abuse and rape didn’t qualify her to know what to do to help others.
He liked that about her. Liked that she understood her limits but did everything within her power to help others any way she could. There were way too many things he liked about her. Probably the only thing he didn’t like was that she was a successful, sought-after model who was only going to get more famous. Brennan didn’t belong in her world, and the minute he knew the danger was over and she was safe, he was out of here. This was not the kind of life he ever wanted again.
And there was another reason he and Kacie could never match. He would be hell on her career. Yeah, he’d found a few people in New York who didn’t hate his guts, but he was still one of the most disliked sports figures in the country. He’d made the mistake of reading an article not too long ago that had included a poll ranking the most hated athletes in the sports world. He’d been number three on the list.
It didn’t matter that he had never even been a suspect in the kidnapping and death of his son. Because he had refused to give interviews or even discuss what happened, the media had called in “expert” after “expert” to analyze his state of mind, posing hypotheticals that put him at the center of the kidnapping plot. Added with Vanessa’s parents’ claims of abuse and neglect, and Brennan couldn’t have ended up looking more guilty.
No, he liked Kacie way too much to taint what would be—once the lunatic tormenting her was caught—a long, successful, and scandal-free career for her. He was here to do a job, then he’d be out of her life forever.
Today’s meeting would give him the chance to personally meet her staff. Along with his specialized training, he had an ingrained bullshit detector. If he met the person behind these “attacks” on Kacie, he felt sure he’d be able to perceive something off. And even if he couldn’t, he wanted to get a look at her employees. Each person, no matter how small their connection to Kacie, was under scrutiny. No one was above suspicion.
A slight, sudden movement in the audience caught his eye. Was someone sitting behind that tall woman, second row from the back? Brennan leaned forward. Yeah, he definitely saw movement, but the person appeared to be hunkered down in his seat. Why would anyone
do such a thing unless he was there for nefarious reasons?
Brennan stood, about to head to the back of the conference room. If he could, he would extricate the guy without too much disruption. If he couldn’t, so be it. Kacie’s safety trumped causing a scene.
A hand shot out from behind the woman, and Brennan went for his gun beneath his jacket. He stopped in mid-movement when he realized the man had his hand up to ask a question. Still not convinced that there wasn’t a threat, Brennan kept his hand on his Glock. The guy was acting strangely.
The moderator called on the man, and the instant he stood, Brennan knew why the prick had been hiding. Carlton Lorrance. Hell, he couldn’t shoot the guy for being an asshole, could he?
“Congratulations on the new gig, Kacie. In light of your reputation as being the face of wholesome innocence, I was wondering why you’re dating a man many people believe murdered his son and his wife?”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Kacie wanted to groan, loud and long. It had all been going so well. The announcement had gone off like a dream, and the questions being asked had been as smooth as if Julian Montague had written them himself.
Now this. What was this guy’s problem?
She glanced over at the fashion mogul, who wasn’t bothering to hide his fury that his press conference had been hijacked by a petty, malicious man who clearly wanted to make news that had nothing to do with fashion.
Before she could come up with an appropriate comeback, Julian gave a response that any diva worth her salt would have loved to have come up with.
“Excuse me, but what does that have to do with my designs? This conference is to talk about me—not Ms. Dane’s private affairs. Am. I. Clear?”
Carlton Lorrance shrank back into his seat as if his legs had given out on him.
Julian glanced over at the moderator. “I’ll allow one more pertinent question.”
Thankfully, someone up front asked a question about the timing for the first magazine ad. Julian answered the question, and at last the press conference was over.
Chance Encounter Page 15
