Devil Within (Bodyguard Incorporated Book 1)

by Kali Argent

  He had the most interesting accent, smooth with just a hint of edge. She hadn’t traveled much, but if she had to guess, she’d say he was from Louisiana originally, likely somewhere in the southwest part of the state. Not that she’d be so forward as to ask him, but it was fun to guess.

  “Not to sound rude or anything, but why are all of you here?”

  “Because Rayce is overprotective,” Wren answered as she picked at the nail on her ring finger. “Apparently, he thinks someone is going to try to murder you in the middle of the book signing.”

  “Ignore her.” Ryder rolled his eyes. “After what happened to Rayce’s pickup, and considering everything that’s been going on, we just thought it would be good to have some extra eyes today. That’s all.”

  “Because Rayce thinks you’re going to be murdered,” Wren murmured.

  Overwhelmed and unsure of how to react, Phoebe turned to Rayce. “Okay, what’s going on?”

  “Tucker’s alibi is pretty airtight, so we’re back to assuming the person harassing you is a reader. This seems like the kind of place they’d show up to, maybe make themselves known.” His arms came around her waist again, and he bent until their foreheads pressed together. “Just a little precaution, sugar. You won’t even know they’re here.”

  Phoebe didn’t doubt him. Besides, once the signing began, she’d be too preoccupied to think about him or the rest of her “security.”

  “Doors open in ten minutes,” the convention director called from across the room. “Authors, get to your tables.”

  Debra Mitchell had to be at least seventy, but that didn’t slow her down. With her tightly coiled bun of silver hair and her thick, black-framed glasses, she kind of reminded Phoebe of her high school librarian. She was efficient and organized, and she didn’t have the patience or tolerance for stupidity.

  Most authors were terrified of her. Hell, even some of the readers were. Phoebe had liked her immediately.

  “Okay, that’s my cue.” Pushing up on her toes, she kissed Rayce’s cheek, then swatted at his arm. “You have the list I gave you?”

  He pulled a slip of paper from the back pocket of his jeans and rubbed it between his fingers. “Yep, I’ve got it.”

  “Good. Now, go make yourself useful.”

  Rayce watched Phoebe settle into her seat behind the small table laden with books. He knew she was nervous, he could see it in her eyes, but he admired how professionally she conducted herself.

  When they’d first arrived that morning, she’d been swarmed by eager readers, all wanting to take pictures with her or ask her questions about her books. She’d been patient and gracious, spending nearly two hours in the lobby to make sure everyone who wanted to talk with her had the chance.

  He’d also found it adorable when Phoebe had ended up behind her favorite author while standing in line at the hotel’s café. Once she’d realized, she’d turned to look at him, her mouth open, her eyes as big as saucers. Introductions had been made, pictures taken, and when the other author had confessed that she’d read and enjoyed Phoebe’s first book, he’d thought his girl was going to pass out right there at the counter.

  Once they’d set everything up for the book signing, Phoebe had handed him a piece of paper with several names and titles written on it—a list of books she wanted purchased and signed to add to her collection. Since she couldn’t be up moving around when she was supposed to be meeting readers and signing her own books, she’d turned to him for help. Honestly, he’d rather cut his own foot off than stand in line over and over to buy books, but he couldn’t deny Phoebe anything.

  Besides, she didn’t have to know that he’d already passed the chore off to Wren. As long as the books ended up signed and in her hands before dinner, that was all that mattered.

  As promised, ten minutes later, the double doors of the ballroom opened, and Rayce briefly thought about ducking under one of the tables for cover.

  It didn’t take him long to pinpoint the serious, dedicated fans, the ones with lists like Phoebe’s. They darted from table to table in no discernible pattern, their arms filled with books, and their gazes intense, almost hawkish. Most took a more casual approach, starting at one end of the room and working their way through the maze of tables to the other.

  Every few minutes, he made his way back to Phoebe’s table, just to check in and see if she needed anything. Each time, there had been a line at least ten deep, readers eagerly waiting for their chance to speak with her. Rayce understood the allure. Given the chance, he had no doubt Phoebe could charm the stars from the sky with nothing more than a smile.

  “Hey, Hawk.” Ryder’s voice rang loud and clear through his earpiece. “What’s with the guy taking all the pictures? He seems to be really focused on Phoebe.”

  Standing just to the side of the line in front of Phoebe’s table, Jonas Freeman snapped at least a dozen pictures in the thirty seconds that Rayce watched him.

  “That’s her friend’s brother,” he answered. He still didn’t like the guy, but he didn’t consider him a threat, either. “He’s harmless.”

  “You sure about that?” Tieran asked, chiming into the conversation. “I’ve been watching him since I got here, and he’s not taking pictures of anyone else.”

  Rayce already knew that Jonas had a thing for Phoebe, and he’d mostly come to terms with that. Still, maybe his friends had a point. “I’ll go talk to him.”

  He’d made it exactly two steps when a woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties, with bushy brown hair and expertly arched eyebrows grabbed him by the arm and squealed. Startled by her reaction, he didn’t know if he should hit her or make a run for it.

  “You’re Phoebe Keller’s boyfriend, aren’t you? Oh, wow, you’re even hotter in person.”

  “I…uh…what?” He looked to Phoebe for help, but she had her hand over her mouth, trying to muffle her laughter. “Phoebe, what the hell is going on?”

  “I posted that picture we took on my birthday right before we left my house. You remember? We were adorable.”

  “You posted my picture?” He didn’t even have a social media account, and he didn’t know how he felt about that.

  “Should I not have? I didn’t say your name or anything else.”

  He thought it over quickly and decided he kind of liked that the online world knew Phoebe had someone watching out for her. “No, it’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting to be recognized.”

  She batted her lashes innocently. “Now who’s the celebrity?”

  “You come to book signings with her?” another woman near the middle of the line asked. “That’s so sweet.”

  “He makes me coffee, too,” Phoebe added, throwing fuel on a rapidly growing fire. “Plus, look at all those muscles. Don’t you think he’d look amazing on one of my covers.”

  “Uh, Phoebe, what are you doing?” he demanded when more women began to join the line, their eyes fixed on him as they excitedly shouted their agreement.

  Standing, Phoebe pushed her chair out of the way and sauntered over to him. She circled him like a shark, making two passes before coming to a stop beside him.

  “Phoebe?”

  “Come on, sugar,” she said in a sweet, southern drawl, “show us the goods.”

  Rayce didn’t know what the hell was happening. His sweet, shy little pixie had become a monster. “I will not.”

  “Just take your shirt off,” she whispered as the ladies around them whooped and catcalled. “They’ll love it.”

  “Yeah,” Tieran said into his earpiece, “take it off, Hawk.”

  “What’s the matter?” Ryder asked. “Chicken?”

  He was about to tell them to stop being so childish when someone tugged at the back of his shirt, and the distinct sound of ripping fabric erupted over the shouts around him. Jerking around, he found Wren standing there with a crooked grin and an arched eyebrow, waving a pair of blue scissors at him.

  “Suck it up, Marine,” she taunted. “Get those scraps off and go sell so
me books.”

  “You are all so dead for this.” Even as he spoke, he pulled his ruined T-shirt off, twirled it over his head, and sent it sailing into the loose circle that had formed around them. “Who wants a picture?”

  And like a ninety-yard touchdown run at the end of the fourth quarter, the crowd went wild.

  ~ ~ ~

  Sandwiched between Rayce and Wren at the reader dinner later that night, Phoebe moved her chicken and rice around on her plate with her fork.

  The hotel had transformed one of their conference rooms into a dining hall with seven circular tables covered in white tablecloths. Six of the tables seated eight people, while the seventh had been placed at the back of the room near the double doors and adorned with paperbacks, bookmarks, pens, and other promotional materials from both her and Elena.

  Along the longest, unencumbered wall, tables had been arranged with hotplates and warmers filled with a smorgasbord of fruits, vegetables, meats, starches, and desserts. At Rayce’s urging, she’d tried a little of everything, except for the things she absolutely knew she hated, like peas. To her surprise, it had all been amazing, but now, with a full stomach and her adrenaline ebbing, she just wanted some quiet to recharge.

  “Everything okay?” Rayce whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

  “I’m fine.” She smiled weakly. “Just tired.”

  After his little show during the book signing, Rayce had retreated to their room for a fresh shirt. Honestly, she hadn’t expected him to return. She didn’t know what had possessed her to offer him up like a piece of meat like that, but it had been so much damn fun. Once he’d loosened up, he’d spent nearly an hour taking pictures with readers, and even signing his own autographs.

  The readers had loved it. The other authors had loved it. Hell, Rayce was all anyone had been talking about for hours now, and she enjoyed knowing he was all hers.

  “You were kind of amazing today.”

  Rayce grunted. “You know Ryder and Tieran are never going to let me live that down, right?”

  “Where are they anyway?”

  “They left right after the signing, but they told me to tell you that they’ll be back in the morning.”

  A devious thought came to mind. “Maybe next time, I can talk them into joining you.”

  Under the table, his hand settled on her thigh, and he squeezed affectionately. “There will not be a ‘next time.’ Not ever.”

  Covering his hand with her own, she linked their fingers together and laughed. “I guess I’ll just have to settle for private shows.”

  “I think that can be arranged.” Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to her temple. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I could pull the fire alarm,” Wren suggested, and from her expression, she was completely serious.

  Phoebe snorted. “Really, guys, I’m fine. A little caffeine, and I’ll be right as rain.”

  Wren nodded and pushed away from the table. “I’ll go find a server.”

  “Is she always like that?” Phoebe asked, watching Wren hurry across the dining room with purposeful strides.

  Rayce shrugged as he tipped his beer to his lips. “Pretty much. She likes you, so you might as well get used to it.”

  At the table behind her, a group of readers were engaged in a lively debate about Elena’s newest release in her most popular series. Phoebe knew enough about the stories from her discussions with Elena, but honestly, she never read her friend’s books. She’d tried once, when they’d first met, but even though she loved Elena and supported her unconditionally, she just hadn’t been able to get into the story.

  Of course, she felt horribly guilty about it, especially when Elena would ask what she’d thought about a particular scene, and Phoebe would end up lying through her teeth. Her friend had amassed an enormous following of readers who loved her characters, her worlds, and her writing style. Phoebe just wasn’t one of them.

  “I need to find a man like that,” one reader said to the rest of the group.

  Another woman sighed wistfully. “Wouldn’t it be great if Sunnyvale, Texas was a real place?”

  Phoebe stiffened, and blood roared in her ears.

  “Oh, it is!” the first reader answered. “I looked it up. The street that Jacie lives on in Dead Ringer? Fairfield Lane? It’s real, too!”

  Bile churned in Phoebe’s stomach, threatening to bubble into her throat. She must have heard wrong. Elena would never do that, not to her.

  “Do you know those people?” Rayce whispered, his voice tense, tight. “Why are they talking about where you live?”

  “They’re not.” Phoebe swallowed around the lump in her throat. “They’re talking about one of Elena’s books.”

  Darkness descended over Rayce’s visage, and his eyes clouded with barely contained fury. The expression passed as quickly as it had come, and when he turned to the table behind them, it was with a bright and ingratiating smile.

  “Excuse me, ladies,” he said in his smooth baritone. “I couldn’t help but overhear.”

  The group of women instantly quieted, all eyes turning to look at him.

  “Are you a fan?” the woman who had looked into the veracity of Sunnyvale asked.

  “Oh, absolutely. Actually, I was wondering if you could settle an argument for us.”

  While Rayce spoke with the women behind them, Phoebe shifted in her seat, staring across the room to the table nearest the front where Elena sat with her brother and another group of readers. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. There was no way her best friend would have used not just the town where she lived in a book, but her exact fucking street as well.

  “That’s right,” Rayce was saying when she tuned back into the conversation. “You see, Phoebe says Jacie’s house has black shutters. I say blue.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to say, but you’re both wrong.” A young woman—probably no older than twenty-five—sat up a little straighter and pushed her dark, wavy locks back from her face. “There aren’t any shutters on Jacie’s house, not that are mentioned in the book anyway.”

  “I’m not sure the outside is ever actually described,” another reader interjected. “Just the inside.”

  “Well, the porch was,” a woman sitting at Phoebe’s table said quietly, shyly. “There’s a bench near the window where Jacie likes to read, and a dragonfly wind chime hanging from the awning.”

  Phoebe hadn’t thought it could get any worse. She’d just been proven wrong.

  “Please excuse me.” Throwing her green cloth napkin onto the table, she stood, trying like hell to keep the anger from showing on her face.

  “Ah, I guess we’re leaving.” Rayce offered the women another devastating smile. “Good evening, ladies.”

  A few people called her name as she wound her way through the tables, but Phoebe acknowledged them with a wave and kept walking. When she reached the front of the room, Elena appeared to be deep in conversation about the current trends and what genres seemed to be selling best at the moment. Normally, Phoebe wouldn’t be so rude, but right then, she just didn’t give a damn.

  “I’m sorry, but I need to borrow Elena for a few minutes.”

  Elena looked over her shoulder, clearly annoyed at the interruption. “Can’t it wait?”

  Holding her head high and her shoulders back, Phoebe stared back at her friend unblinkingly. “We need to talk. Now.”

  Apparently, she wasn’t doing a great job of keeping a calm, impassive expression, because Elena frowned, deep worry lines forming across her forehead, and nodded. Without waiting to see if she’d follow, Phoebe turned on her heels and marched out of the dining room to pace the hallway outside the doors.

  “Hey.” Catching her by the elbow on her next pass, Rayce pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “Deep breath, sugar. You’re okay.”

  “What the hell?” Elena demanded, stomping down the hall toward them, Jonas following right behind her. “What’s so damn important that it couldn’t wait?�
�

  “For weeks now, someone has been following me, messing with me, sending me creepy emails, and leaving creepier gifts. They destroyed Rayce’s truck…threatened him.” Once the damn broke, Phoebe couldn’t stop. Her words rushed out, tumbling over each other, anger filling every syllable. “All this time, I kept wondering how this guy found me. How did he know where I live?”

  “Phoebe, I don’t—”

  “Come to find out,” Rayce said, raising his voice to speak over Elena, “you basically drew him a fucking map.”

  “Me?” She seemed genuinely surprised by the accusation. “What did I do?”

  “Sunnyvale? Fairfield Lane? The bench, the wind chimes.” Rayce ticked them off on his fingers. “Why didn’t you just list her damn address while you were at it? Or did you? I didn’t quite get that far in the interrogation.”

  “I didn’t…I just…oh, god.” Moisture welled in Elena’s eyes, tears glistening along her lower lashes. “Phoebe, I’m so sorry. I never thought anyone would actually look up Sunnyvale on a damn map, let alone your street.”

  “Why?” Phoebe whispered. “Why would you do that?”

  “I just used the first thing that came to mind. Phoebe, I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

  “No, you really didn’t,” Rayce said, interrupting again.

  Wincing, Elena continued. “My editor was on my ass about descriptions and details, and I just thought it would be easier to write a place I knew well.”

  “Why not write your place?” Rayce argued. “Why not your town? Your street?”

  “I…”

  “Because that would be reckless, right?” He advanced on her, his voice rising with every word. “That would be dangerous.”

  “El?” Jonas looked at his sister as if he’d never seen her before. “What did you do?”

  Phoebe had never seen her friend look so small, so helpless. Tears streaked down her cheeks, and she turned, looking from one person to the next, searching for an ally.

  “I thought you knew. I mean, you never said anything.”

  “I didn’t read the book.” Her stomach cramped painfully at the admission.

  “I’m sorry.” Elena’s shoulders rounded, and she seemed to draw into herself. “I’m really sorry, Phoebe.”