Escorted by the Ranger

by C. J. Miller

  Jack glanced at her, meeting her gaze. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  His stare was intense and she felt it all the way through her. Her stomach tightened and warmth curled through her. “Are you saying you are not a good guy? ’Cause I’m pretty sure my sister wouldn’t let a psychopath watch my back.”

  The jewelry guards were closing and locking the pieces of jewelry into containers, snap, click and lock. The waves beat against the sand and the hum of the heaters was low. Marissa was in her own space with Jack.

  “I know how to do my job. That’s all you need to be concerned about.”

  His tone was brusque. Marissa liked him, which fit a pattern with her. Her ex-husbands had been difficult people. The challenges of complex people intrigued her. Michael had been a musician and his volatile emotions brought intensity to their relationship. She had needed someone more calm and stable. Elliott had been sweet, but he had been possessive. Though his absolute attention and focus on her had made her feel cherished, he’d hated sharing her with the world and given her job, privacy had been in short supply. Marissa wished she could fall for a simple, even-tempered man.

  Though Jack seemed in control of his emotions, she sensed a fire in him. Marissa went for broke. “Have I done something to offend you?” If they were going to be spending time together, better to clear the air.

  “No.”

  It was hard to continue the discussion from a single word. “Then why are you being so abrupt?”

  “I don’t follow,” Jack said. “You hired me to do a job. I’ve done that job. Twice.”

  He had performed well at his job. Most of the people she worked with, Marissa became close to over time. Jack wasn’t having it. “Do I irritate you?” Marissa asked.

  “You’re a client,” Jack said.

  “That’s not an answer,” Marissa said.

  “It is. I don’t have feelings of any type for clients.”

  Marissa’s heart fell and her emotional response told her she had developed a crush on him. Losing her head to someone she had known briefly under difficult circumstances was her specialty. Unlike her past relationships, Jack was bent on freezing her out.

  * * *

  Jack had protected dozens of people over the course of his career and Marissa was one of the most kind and considerate. She didn’t keep distance between herself and who she worked with. She made millions of dollars having her picture taken. Under the traumatic circumstances, she had handled the shoot in New Hampshire well. No complaining about the weather or that she was wearing next to nothing or that she had almost been killed the night before.

  That little bikini she’d worn would haunt him for the rest of his life. He hadn’t seen a woman wear a few scraps of fabric so well. Jewelry held little interest for him, but the way she wore it made it entirely too appealing.

  Marissa was nothing like Lacy. It had been seven years since Lacy had broken his heart and taken off for Los Angeles, hoping to score a job as an actress. The last he had heard, she was working as an assistant in a recording studio. Jack resented that she had thrown away their relationship for a chance to be an actress. She hadn’t studied acting. Hadn’t been in a play. Hadn’t tried out for anything. Moving to Los Angeles and being the lead in a successful television series was the dream. Beautiful, and a head-turner in Springfield, couldn’t compete with the thousands of beautiful, talented women already looking for those roles.

  “You seem upset. Are you upset?” Marissa asked.

  Jack kept boundaries with clients and she pressed them by asking too many questions.

  “Someone attacked you. I’m concerned about who else might figure out where your next job is and try again,” Jack said.

  “Have you worked with other models?” Marissa asked.

  She was digging around about his life and he wished she was more narcissistic. Droning on about herself would be easier. Didn’t most people busy themselves playing games on their phones or texting friends or checking social media updates? Marissa rarely touched her phone. “You are the first model.”

  “How’s that been so far?” Marissa asked.

  “All that matters is that you’re alive and unharmed,” Jack said.

  “Thank you, that is so nice,” Marissa said with a genuine smile.

  He wasn’t aiming to be nice, only honest.

  Marissa played with the hem of her shirt. “There will be a lot of people at Avery’s service. What if one of them is her killer?”

  “It’s possible. But you’ll be safe. You have me.”

  “Have you? I didn’t realize you were mine.” She winked at him and laughed.

  Flirtation must come easily to her. Men probably fell at her feet. “I’m only yours until this is over.”

  Marissa frowned. “Won’t be the first time a man walks away from me.”

  That gave him pause. “I would think you’d have no trouble finding relationships.”

  She smirked. “Finding them isn’t the problem. Making them work is hard. I have terrible luck picking men.”

  He had read she’d been married before. It had gone through his mind that she must be flighty. Unless her ex-husbands had something to do with Avery’s murder, it wasn’t his concern what had happened. “Your sister picked me to help you, so maybe this will work out okay.”

  * * *

  Avery’s memorial service loomed and weighed on Marissa. For now, sleeping soundly wasn’t possible. Her agent had offered to contact her doctor for a prescription for sleeping pills. Not wanting for her thoughts to be cloudy, she’d declined. After showering, she dressed in a black high-neck sheath dress that fell below her knees.

  She slicked her hair into a low bun, twisting her hair and pining it into place. Her makeup was simple and light. The musical jewelry box on her dresser pinged and Marissa’s chest felt tight. Avery had given her the box for Christmas the year before. Marissa hadn’t put jewelry in it and she had considered tossing it after Avery’s betrayal. But it played one of Marissa’s favorite songs and she had felt sentimental about the gift.

  Marissa finished getting dressed, selected her handbag, shoes, a pashmina and a simple necklace. After checking her appearance, she decided she was ready.

  She sucked in her breath at the sight of Jack waiting by the front door. He was wearing a black suit, white shirt and appropriately demure tie. He had shaved and his hair was combed and fell to the tops of his ears.

  “The rest of your security team went ahead. The funeral home has been swept and security is tight. We’ll stay vigilant,” Jack said.

  He offered his arm and she took it, slipping her hand around his elbow and exiting the house with him. The warmth of holding on to him and the security of knowing he was protecting her were a comfort. He smelled of sandalwood, the light fragrance of his aftershave.

  Leaning her head closer, she inhaled. “You smell good.”

  “Thank you. Same goes.”

  He opened her car door, helped her inside and circled to the driver’s seat. It was a basic sedan with dark tinted windows and comfortable leather seats. She had purchased the car for transportation around the city when she wanted to go unnoticed and so there was nothing remarkable about the outside of the car and the inside was comfortable enough to sit for hours when she was stuck in traffic or when driving it to photo shoots closer than a plane ride away.

  “Do you have any suspicions about who might have hurt Avery? I’m not looking for evidence and proof. I want to know who you think might have been involved. I can better protect you if I have an accurate picture of the situation,” Jack said.

  An accurate picture of her life included many volatile characters. Models, photographers, musicians and the occasional brush with professional athletes and actors. Some had built their reputation on being difficult and others liked to make headlin
es. “I don’t know who will show up today. Less successful models were jealous of Avery. She was the face of famous brands and she worked the good gigs.”

  “Like you,” Jack said.

  “Like me, but also different. Avery dealt with problems more directly. When I’m working with someone who doesn’t like me, I ignore it. Avery liked to engage and confront a problem. She would get into screaming matches and a few times, she refused to pose with certain models. Since Avery is more in demand than most others, she was responsible for lost jobs.” Marissa didn’t like to spread gossip, but Avery had worked with younger, less experienced models who had walked off the set in tears and had lost the booking and a six-figure payday.

  “If you see anyone at the memorial who you know had a score to settle with Avery, give me a heads-up. Although it’s unlikely an enemy will show up looking to offer their sincere condolences.”

  But on the off chance he or she did, Jack would be close by. Marissa was used to standing on her own. Even when she had been married, travel and work schedules meant she hadn’t often been in the company of her now ex-husbands. That might have been part of their problem, no real intimacy or sustained closeness.

  Marissa was determined to have loyalty, trust, intimacy and love in her next relationship. She’d move past lust and desire into real, amazing love. Her skin tingled at the thought of Jack as the object of her affection. To pursue Jack was a mistake. She had selected the wrong man time and again and when she next fell for someone, she would make sure it was real and lasting and not a fling.

  * * *

  Marissa hadn’t known Avery to attend religious services of any type, but her memorial service was being held at Saint John’s, a megachurch in downtown New York. The building was constructed of brown and beige bricks in a gothic style that was imposing and dark. Entering the church, Marissa felt she was transported to another place. As historic and unwelcoming as the exterior was, the inside was modern and fresh, the walls painted pale gray and covered in posters and prints about salvation and new life. Coffee and beverages were being served from carts. The memorial service was being held in the main auditorium, which seated three thousand. Chairs had been cleared from the center to allow mourners to mingle.

  On the left stage, a band was setting up. On the center stage were life-size prints detailing the progression of Avery’s career, from age fourteen to the present. Each photograph was angled under the best lighting, as if Avery herself was doing a photo shoot. It was unsettling how lifelike the photographs were.

  The room was adorned in gold trim, the reflection from the metallic accents bouncing light around the room, the shine second only to the scent of flowers. Huge arrangements lined the stage, hung on easels, sat on posts and covered the floor space around the pictures.

  Marissa cringed when she noticed the band’s name. Her ex-husband Michael’s band was performing. Avery’s mother hadn’t mentioned it. Though they had changed names and members over the last fifteen years, Michael was the lead singer and guitarist and proficient on the piano. He was iconic in the music industry. Though she and Michael had been married for about five minutes, it had been dramatic and heartbreaking. Their entire relationship had played out in the tabloids. Marissa had been young and naïve, and had given interviews about her relationship and said far too much. Two months into their relationship, she was claiming to love him and calling him her soul mate. Her words had come back to haunt her during their breakup and subsequent divorce.

  The one detail that had never made it to the public eye was that after their quickie Vegas wedding, the following week, he had tattooed her name on his left posterior. Laser surgery would have removed it by now. Marissa and Michael hadn’t spoken in years and that awkwardness arced between them.

  Marissa bumped into Jack and straightened.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I see an old friend. Not an old friend. Ex-husband. The second one,” Marissa said. She took a deep breath. Standing in a room with Michael shouldn’t be hard. If he was sober, he would respect the space and remain reverent. If he was high, she expected rudeness, possibly some yelling.

  “Could he have anything to do with this?” Jack asked.

  Her exes didn’t care enough to lash out at her. They gained nothing from killing Avery and then targeting her. Their divorces were final. Based on what she had seen, they had moved on with their lives.

  “My ex-husband didn’t kill Avery.”

  “Did he know Avery?” Jack asked.

  She and Avery had been friends for decades. “Yes, but they got along with her.”

  “Tell me about your ex-husbands,” he said.

  She gestured around. “Here?” She didn’t want to talk about them. It made her feel silly at her age to be married and divorced—twice. The first time, she had been young, naïve and looking for something stable and real and Elliott had been grounded and calm. The second time, she had been caught up in a wild affair. Michael had swept her off her feet.

  “Or elsewhere and later. Your call.”

  She wanted to put off the inevitable, indefinitely, but Kit may have already told him some of the more sordid details. For that matter, an internet search would fill in the blanks. “The first is a bar owner in Chicago. Elliott and I were married for three years. He hated my travel and after a while, it bothered him that I was too recognizable and that meant we rarely had privacy. The second is Michael, who is over there. He and I traveled too much to see each other enough to make it work. Opposite schedules.” To list her marriages in those simplified terms, she felt like they were part of some past life. Each had affected her and every time, she had believed in love and forever.

  A piano played a familiar tune and Marissa tried not to stare. Michael was seated at the piano bench, warming up for what Marissa expected would be a big performance. Michael didn’t do small.

  “We don’t need to stress about this. Say goodbye to Avery now and give yourself this time to focus on her,” Jack said. “Do you want me to keep him away from you?”

  That wasn’t necessary though having Jack at her side gave her a bump in feeling safe. “I can handle Michael.” Marissa had enjoyed the distraction of the conversation. The situation was overwhelming. As she walked through the room, she sensed Jack at her back.

  “Marissa!” Ambrose’s voice. She spun on her heel and he wrapped her in a tight hug. Ambrose was slender and tall, with curly dark hair he kept cut short. It was graying around the temples. His eyes were blue and narrow and he rarely smiled.

  “Ambrose, hi,” Marissa said. “How are you doing with all this?”

  Ambrose squeezed her hands in his. “Worried about you. It’s a huge shock. I’ve been lying low and trying to process it. Do you know I’ve spoken with the police three times?”

  “I’ve spoken to them, too,” Marissa said.

  “I see you’ve acquired a sexy new bodyguard. Tell me you’re having an affair with him,” Ambrose said, looking over Marissa’s shoulder and lifting his eyebrows in interest.

  Jack folded his arms across his chest. Though it was not likely his intention, his pumped biceps and forearms flexed beneath his suit jacket. The position was enticing and made her think irrational thoughts, like about running her hand along his arm.

  “Of course I’m not,” Marissa said.

  “Disappointing,” Ambrose said.

  Conversation became impossible as Michael’s band—the current formation calling themselves Silver Sundays—began a song. The lyrics, while not specifically using Avery’s name, were about a beautiful woman whose life was cut short, but who lived forever in roses. They could have played a traditional song or a religious song. Marissa had a hard time keeping her composure through the poignant lyrics. She took a deep breath.

  Jack took a step closer. Marissa didn’t lean on hi
m, but they were standing close enough that the fabric of her dress brushed his pants leg. Reaching for his hand wouldn’t be appropriate. Instead, she clasped her hands together in front of her.

  When the song ended, Avery’s mother joined Silver Sundays on the stage and spoke about her daughter. Her voice broke several times as she delivered a loving tribute. “And now, I have asked Avery’s friend Father Franklin to pray with us.”

  Father Franklin, the rector at an Episcopalian church in midtown, walked onto the stage. It had been years since Marissa had spoken to him. He hadn’t changed much, though he was carrying a few extra pounds around the middle and his hair was grayer than it had been. His skin was dark from the sun and his deep set eyes warm and welcoming. People felt at ease around Father Franklin, making his church one of the most popular in his neighborhood.

  Marissa had introduced Avery and Father Franklin years before when Avery had needed someone to speak to whom she could trust. Marissa hadn’t realized that Avery had kept the relationship going. Avery had been better at keeping people in her life, at least, everyone except Marissa. It was Marissa who had trouble holding on to relationships.

  After his heartfelt prayers, Father Franklin stepped away and Avery’s mother again addressed the crowd.

  “Avery has a few friends who wanted to speak about her. Marissa? Are you here?”

  Heads turned in her direction. She didn’t know how many people knew about her falling out with Avery. It had run through the rumor mill. Marissa was angry with herself for not patching things up with Avery sooner.

  Then she was standing on the stage. She hadn’t been aware she had walked up the three steps, the maroon carpet soft under her shoes. A few hundred eyes on her, including Jack’s. He was standing to her left off stage, glancing at her and looking around the room. If he wasn’t there, she might have fallen apart.

  Michael was behind her and he moved closer, standing to her right, his guitar slung around his shoulder and resting on his hip. He was watching and waiting. Though they had two feet of space between them, she felt his support. This was their first face-to-face meeting in years and she was surprised he was being friendly.