by C. J. Miller
“How did you know someone was in my room?” Marissa asked, sitting on her bed, legs over the side of the mattress.
“I heard the creaking of floorboards and suspected you were either awake or someone had gotten inside,” Jack said. He had wanted to check on her in either case.
The police had traced the location of the breach to a balcony on the second floor. The perpetrator had climbed to it and slipped inside a guest bedroom by forcing the nails from the outdated lock and opening the sliding glass door.
“You saved my life. Thank you,” Marissa said. When she spoke her gratitude, it sounded almost sensual.
The back of his neck heated. “Glad I could be of service,” Jack said. She must get tired of men staring at her, fantasizing about her, but it was easy to do. Her voice was gentle yet strong and her eyes were expressive.
Marissa rubbed her temples. “I can’t believe this happened. I take precautions. I’m a private person.” She laughed, the soft sound of bells. “I know that sounds crazy, because my picture is everywhere, but I feel like there’s a public me and a private me. The tabloids dig around into my life and my relationships, but few people know me, the real me.”
She didn’t need to justify anything to him. He could understand the need to keep secrets, whether it was because the safety of the country required it or knowing it could harm someone. “Are you telling me there’s something about the real you and Avery that could be bringing this on? Or something in your public life?”
Marissa stood from the bed and walked to her dresser. She fiddled with the photo frames on top of it. “I don’t know. Hard to say.”
“Tell me what the problem could be.”
She threw her hands in the air. “Who have Avery and I angered enough that they’d want to kill me? I have two ex-husbands. I have money, but if I’m dead my brother and sister inherit it all, and I know they didn’t do this. I’ve told the police I don’t know who would want to hurt Avery.”
Jack listened, making a mental note to check on the brother. He would have been investigated before Kit was given her security clearance and closing the loop on him would be straightforward. The ex-husbands could be involved.
“Beyond that, I don’t know. I’ve had a few stalkers, people who send me creepy letters and make threats. Some who are borderline unnerving, like asking me to their prom or out on a date with some aggressive wording, but hard to consider that a real threat.”
“I’ll need to see those letters,” Jack said. Leave no stone unturned.
Marissa sighed. “I’ll ask my PR manager to send them to you. I don’t read them. I quit that form of self-cruelty years ago.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Jack said.
“I’ve never been more glad to be leaving the city,” Marissa said.
Jack hadn’t been given the details of this assignment yet and her travel schedule was news to him. “Where are you going?”
“I’m flying to Seabrook tomorrow morning for a jewelry shoot. Or rather, later this morning. It’s a small coastal town in New Hampshire. I’ve been there before. It’s a charming place,” Marissa said.
“Who else knows your travel plans?” Jack asked. Worry pricked at him.
Two attacks had occurred in a short time frame. Jack knew too well how persistent and devious some people could be. More attacks could be coming.
“My agent. My bodyguards. The people who booked the gig. My stylist. My makeup artist. A few friends,” Marissa said.
“Change the location and tell only the people who need to know,” Jack said.
“Change the location? I can’t do that. Seabrook is the hometown of the jeweler and the inspiration for his designs. A team is on location for the shoot already. A hundred-million dollars in jewelry is being delivered and guarded by a private security firm. The details have been in the works for months.”
Marissa hadn’t had time to fully process what had happened to her. An attempt on her life required extra precautions. “Call your agent. Have him or her get someone else to do the shoot,” Jack said.
Marissa balled her fists and narrowed her eyes. “That’s not possible. My professional reputation is at stake. If I don’t show up to jobs, I won’t be hired for future gigs. The modeling industry is small and everyone knows everyone. Rumors will spread. The designer who wants me to model his jewelry asked for me personally. I won’t let him down.”
“You’re Marissa,” Jack said.
Her hands moved to her hips. “What does that mean?”
Her fame, beauty and success came with benefits. “People will make exceptions for you.”
“I work hard and honor my commitments. I’ve gotten where I am because I’m reliable and responsible.” Hostility dripped from her voice.
He sensed pushing her more would send her over the edge. “I didn’t mean to offend you. We’ll change your flight and hotel. Maybe that will be enough to throw anyone following you off your trail,” Jack said. Most of his previous clients were more calloused. His boss had mentioned that he could use some softening around the edges. This was his opportunity to show he could handle all types of clients.
“I’ll agree to those changes,” Marissa said. She sat again on the bed and looked at her alarm clock. “No point in going back to sleep now.”
Being in her private space, he was aware of a boundary shifting. He shouldn’t linger in her bedroom. It was making him think irrational thoughts, like of how it would feel to touch her or kiss her. “Rest while you can. I’ll make the arrangements.” He left her room, closing the door behind him before he did something he’d regret.
* * *
Marissa tilted her head back and turned it, arching her back. The sun’s rays were beating down on her and the heavy sparkling diamond necklace she was wearing. Despite the brightness, in the crisp New Hampshire air, she was cold. A burnt orange bikini provided little protection from the wind. Outdoor heaters blew to keep goose bumps off her skin. The sounds of the waves rolling onto the beach were melodic and soothing. The beige of the sand swept into snow-dusted dunes and gray-and-tan marbled rocks.
The hardest task was keeping the sadness out of her eyes. Avery was dead and Marissa wouldn’t have the opportunity to make amends with her. She’d heard people on the set whispering about the murder and her stomach twisted with grief. Clarice was working this event as well and she had much to say on the matter, eager to discuss it and vent some of her sadness. Rumors swirled despite not having any official information on the case.
Marissa’s home intruder had admitted he was hired by someone he didn’t know. He had been sent to kill her. Marissa tried not to let that sink too deeply in to her psyche. Except for the incident with Rob and Avery, Marissa didn’t start trouble with friends or colleagues. Her divorces had been over long ago and any animosity had faded with time.
The wind blew across the water, sending a chill down her spine. Marissa thought of heated things. Soup. Hot chocolate. And Jack, who was standing about four yards away. He was wearing a dark coat that didn’t hide his muscular shape. Strong shoulders and trim hips, his stride was powerful and every movement deliberate. Every few minutes, he changed his position, circling the area. She didn’t believe that trouble had followed her. Jack believed it had. He had negotiated for the shoot to take place a quarter of a mile from the previously planned location. With the additional traffic the crew brought, it wouldn’t be hard to find her.
Marissa felt safer with Jack. Serious, rarely smiling, he moved quickly and thought ahead. He didn’t look at her much, but she found herself looking at him quite a bit. Marissa tried not to be arrogant about her appearance or assume that everyone found her attractive. Her job revolved around her looks and she had lucked out in that department. Most of the men on the set were staring at her. Jack was looking at everything else.
She had traveled from New Y
ork to New Hampshire with Jack and he had kept his questions and comments about her, Avery, the incident in her apartment and the changes to her travel plans.
She sensed she rubbed him the wrong way and wasn’t his type. He would go for a rough-and-tumble woman, salt of the earth, low maintenance. Marissa was the definition of high maintenance. She liked sleep and her beauty products and her fitness regimen. When she was stressed, she liked time at a spa.
Jack wasn’t paying attention to her and it bothered her. Not able to put her finger on why since he wasn’t her type either. He hadn’t shaved this morning, he didn’t go out of his way to be charismatic or charming and he was not interested in her outside of their professional involvement. Dressed appropriately, his clothes lacked a fashion sense, but he wore them well. Dark gray pants and a black T-shirt; a black windbreaker that concealed his gun.
“Marissa, eyes,” the photographer said.
Marissa had been squinting. Jack glanced in her direction. She refocused on showing the jewelry in the best light.
The photographer dropped his camera to his side and sighed. “This is boring. We need a different set. I want to do something daring. Not look like we’re schlepping shopping-mall jewelry.”
He snapped his fingers and pointed. Marissa stood. Three assistants started moving around the boxes and light reflectors.
Clarice jogged over with a plush robe. “Want this?”
Marissa shook her head. It was harder to get warm and then peel off the robe and be freezing again. Anyway, it would smudge her makeup and ruffle her hair. “Thanks, but I’m okay.” The heaters were helping, but her toes were cold and she wiggled them.
“Probably only thirty more minutes with the sun’s rays in the right position,” Clarice said.
They had been on the set for hours. “I hope we have some good shots.”
“Weird on the set today,” Clarice said. “I can’t stop thinking about Avery. She’s on everyone’s mind. It’s hard to focus on other things. Business as usual feels strange.”
“I know what you mean,” Marissa said. It was simultaneously quieter, but with more behind-the-hand whispers.
“Have you heard anything else?” Clarice asked.
Marissa shook her head. “Avery’s mother sent me a message about the memorial service.” The woman didn’t know she and Avery hadn’t been speaking and she had asked Marissa to say a few words about Avery at the service.
“I’ve been asking around, but no one seems to know what happened.” Clarice stared at her hard as if expecting her to reveal an important detail.
“The police will figure it out,” Marissa said. She hoped they would soon. The man who had been inside her town house was denying any involvement in Avery’s murder.
“What about the bodyguard?” Clarice asked.
“Jewelry guards, you mean?” Marissa said. The jewelry had been escorted to the site by two burly looking, highly intimidating men.
“Not them. What about your new bodyguard? What’s his story?” Clarice asked.
“His story?” Marissa asked. She didn’t know much about Jack.
“Is he married or does he have a girlfriend? No wedding ring,” Clarice said.
Marissa hadn’t asked. “He was a referral.” She was curious about him, too. Not her business, but he hadn’t taken personal phone calls on the trip to Seabrook. A wife or girlfriend would call now and then.
“He doesn’t talk to anyone. He looks around and watches,” Clarice said.
“He’s making sure everything and everyone is safe,” Marissa said.
Clarice smiled. “After what happened to Avery, I’m glad for the extra eyes on us. But maybe when he’s off the clock, he would be willing to talk more. When does his shift end?”
Possessiveness and a hint of jealousy nipped at her. Marissa tried to squash it. Clarice was being friendly. It was in her nature. “Not shift work. He’s been hired to stay with me.”
A puzzled expression crossed Clarice’s face. “All right. I’ll try to get his number and call him. I assume he’ll have time off.”
The photographer clapped his hands and Marissa hurried to the restaged set. Jack could be interested in Clarice. She was sweet and fun. Marissa looked at Jack again.
This time, he wasn’t observing. He was running at her, screaming, “Get down, get down!”
Marissa heard sharp cracks exploding, like fireworks in the sky.
Jack caught her around the waist, throwing her to the ground and covering her with his body.
The cold sand pressed in to her back. Jack had his gun in his hand and was aiming it away from her and the water. Astride her while protecting her with his body, he reached to his other side and pulled out his phone, tapping the screen with his thumb.
“What is the meaning of this?” the photographer asked, marching forward. His hair was standing on end, as if he had run his hand through it too many times.
The squeal of tires from the parking lot.
Marissa struggled to sit. Jack hadn’t moved. The heat of his body burned through her. She wiggled, trying to push him off her.
“He’s gone,” Jack said, rolling to his feet. He slid his phone away and slipped his gun into its holster. He reached for her hand to help her up.
“Who?” the photographer asked. “What is going on?”
The guards for the jewelry and her other two bodyguards had moved. They seemed unsure what to do, waiting for Jack to direct them. He had that type of presence. Confusion was clear on the faces around her. Jack had created a scene. Did he believe there had been a threat? Or had he overreacted to something?
Jack pointed to the crates draped in fabric behind him. Marissa followed his extended hand. Were those bullet holes in the pink-and-purple cloth? Three holes peppered the front.
“What happened?” Marissa asked.
“Two men approached from up the beach. Is anyone hurt?” Jack asked.
A murmur around them of “no” and “we’re fine.”
The photographer’s mouth was hanging open. “Someone shot at me? Does this have to do with Avery?”
Jack cleared his throat. “Two men parked in the lot behind that sand dune. They were waved away by security to move farther down the beach. They circled back on foot. I’m sending a description of the attackers and their car to the police.” He met Marissa’s gaze. “We need to move to a safer location.”
“We need to finish the photo shoot,” the photographer said.
“You’ll have to use one of the pictures you took. You have plenty,” Jack said. He stared, waiting for the photographer to argue.
The photographer sighed. “A worse photographer would be dead in the water, but I’m sure I have something I can use.”
Standing close to her, Jack escorted Marissa to the tent where the security guards for the jewelry helped her remove the million-dollar pieces and place them into protective containers. As they inventoried and inspected each item, Clarice brought her a pair of yoga pants and a zip-up hoodie.
Marissa put them on, along with her sunglasses. “Where to?” she asked Jack.
“I’ll tell you in the car,” Jack said.
He slung an arm over her shoulder and she winced.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I think I have sand burn on my shoulder from when you tackled me,” Marissa said.
Jack faced her, and unzipped her hoodie. Though he had seen her wearing next to nothing a few minutes before, the action struck her as intimate. Her skin prickled and lust sent a warm shiver over her. Jack lifted the fabric off her shoulder and visually examined the scraped skin. “Hope this doesn’t mean you’ll have trouble at other jobs.” He set his hand on her arm and the contact set off a shower of sparks.
The connection and the attraction were strong. His gaze l
ingered on her face and the heat in his eyes felt like a physical touch.
Marissa looked at her shoulder. The skin was red, but it would heal quickly with some ointment. “They can airbrush it out if it shows in pictures.”
“You should call your sister in the car and let her know what happened,” Jack said.
The idea of worrying Kit didn’t thrill her. “Maybe we shouldn’t bother her with this. She’ll worry more.”
“She’ll read about it in my report,” Jack said.
“You’re sending my sister a report?”
“Daily reports under these circumstances are standard.”
“Reports to whom?” Marissa asked. She was increasingly curious about Kit’s work. Jack may give something away.
“Your sister is copied on the reports,” Jack repeated.
“You work for the same company. What company is that?” Marissa asked.
“A car company,” Jack said.
Marissa rolled her eyes. He was giving her the party line, but she had time to work on him. “I’ll call her. Is there someone you need to call?”
They had spent time together and she knew little about him. Usually, she built better rapport with the people in her life.
“No one,” Jack said.
“Wife? Girlfriend?” Marissa asked, thinking of Clarice’s questions.
“No one,” Jack repeated. “I’ll have someone pick up your belongings at the hotel.”
Where would they spend the night? He was being evasive. “I need to be in New York tomorrow. It’s Avery’s memorial service.” She couldn’t miss it, although she was dreading it. She’d need to say goodbye and she wasn’t ready to do that. Part of her was harboring denial.
“I’ll get you there,” Jack said.
Marissa bumped him with her hip. It was like moving against iron. “When you want to be amenable, you’re a good guy.”
