Also by Chris Bradford
The Bodyguard series
Book 1: Recruit
Book 2: Hostage
Book 3: Hijack
Book 4: Ransom
Book 5: Ambush
Book 6: Survival
Book 7: Target
PHILOMEL BOOKS
an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014
Copyright © 2016, 2018 by Chris Bradford.
First American edition published by Philomel Books in 2018. Adapted from Target, originally published in the United Kingdom by Puffin Books in 2016.
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Philomel Books is a registered trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
Ebook ISBN 9781524739386
American edition edited by Brian Geffen.
American edition design by Jennifer Chung.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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CONTENTS
Also by Chris Bradford
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Previously on Bodyguard . . .
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Acknowledgments
To Veronica Hurley, a legendary librarian
WARNING: Do not attempt any of the techniques described within the book without the supervision of a qualified martial arts instructor. These can be highly dangerous moves and result in fatal injuries. The author and publisher take no responsibility for any injuries resulting from attempting these techniques.
“The best bodyguard is the one nobody notices.”
With the rise of teen stars, the intense media focus on celebrity families and a new wave of millionaires and billionaires, adults are no longer the only target for hostage-taking, blackmail and assassination—kids are too.
That’s why they need specialized protection . . .
GUARDIAN
Guardian is a secret close-protection organization that differs from all other security outfits by training and supplying only young bodyguards.
Known as guardians, these highly skilled kids are more effective than the typical adult bodyguard, who can easily draw unwanted attention. Operating invisibly as a child’s constant companion, a guardian provides the greatest possible protection for any high-profile or vulnerable young target.
In a life-threatening situation, a guardian is the final ring of defense.
PREVIOUSLY ON BODYGUARD . . .
When young surf champion Charley Hunter rescues a boy from a deadly shark attack, she attracts more attention than she bargained for. Approached by the enigmatic Colonel Black, she’s offered the opportunity to become a Guardian . . .
“You do realize I’m just a kid,” she told the colonel.
“The best bodyguard is the one nobody notices,” he replied. “That’s why young people like yourself make exceptional bodyguards.”
“But I thought all bodyguards were ripped, muscular guys. I’m a girl, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“That gives you a distinct advantage.”
During the grueling training she undergoes at Guardian Headquarters, however, Charley comes to question that “distinct advantage” . . .
“Did you have to strangle Charley till she blacked out?” cried Blake.
“Steve said don’t hold back,” Jason replied, his tone defensive. “Anyway, it was for her own good.”
“How’s that?”
“If she can’t fight me off, what chance does she have against a real attacker? We’re not playing games here, Blake. There are no second chances. If you get it wrong on an assignment, you’ll be coming home in a body bag. I mean, what was the colonel thinking when he recruited a girl?”
But Charley’s not someone to give in so easily. Overcoming the prejudice and her fellow recruits, she works her way up the ranks to become Guardian’s star bodyguard . . .
Only now, after taking out an attacker in real life, did Charley realize she was no longer a victim—no longer the vulnerable girl she’d been when her friend Kerry was abducted.
Now she was a force to be reckoned with.
With her reputation growing, Charley is hired to protect Ash Wild, the world’s newest teen sensation. But keeping the young rock star safe on tour proves a difficult task . . .
The music stopped and Ash froze in a dramatic pose, one fist raised to the sky.
“In-de-structible!” he cried.
The red dot came to rest in the middle of his chest once more. Ash was oblivious to the threat as he basked in his fans’ applause.
No more encores, thought Charley, recalling the ominous death threat.
With perhaps milliseconds before the shooter pulled the trigger, she dashed onto the stage.
Despite Charley’s valiant attempts, a crazed fan is determined to end Ash’s career permanently . . .
The ingredients had been bought easily and without suspicion. Sugar and a frying pan from the supermarket. Saltpeter from the fertilizer section of a garden center. A small flashlight bulb, a nine-volt battery, a relay switch and some electrical wire from a hardware store. Finally, a large can of Hurtle high-energy drink and a cheap digital watch from a gas station.
All the key components were now in place: a timer, a battery, an igniter and an incendiary mix—small enough to conceal in a backpack.
The bomb was complete.
Ash Wild is not the only target on tour. Charley finds herself in the firing line too . . .
Charley knew the pap guy was trying to bait her, but she had to quash any rumors before they got out of hand and drew too much attention to her. “For the record, I’
m not his girlfriend.”
“Then . . . what are you?” panted Gonzo, struggling to keep up with the group.
“PR,” replied Charley, and she raced on.
“And I’m Santa Claus!” he called after her.
And as if the death threats and bomb alerts weren’t enough, the tour seems plagued with near-lethal accidents . . .
Out of the darkness, a large missile-like object plummeted from above. Charley glimpsed it only at the very last second as it flashed past the central screen. There was no time to react.
The spotlight dropped from the lighting rig like a meteor. It smashed into the stage right where Ash was standing. Knocked off his feet by the impact, he crumpled to the floor. The audience fell deathly silent as their idol lay motionless among the debris of shattered glass, splintered wood and twisted metal.
But these accidents have a deadly twist to them . . .
Ash’s laptop pinged as a new message came in. A photo appeared in the browser window of Ash onstage, the blur of a falling spotlight just behind his head.
The caption beneath read:
Accidents don’t just happen.
Charley’s now in a race to unmask the killer in their midst, before it’s too late. But how will she spot a killer in a crowd of 50,000 screaming fans?
1
“Cancel the gig,” insisted the bassist. “In fact, the whole damn tour!”
“No. There’s too much at stake,” said Terry. “We risk losing millions.”
“We risk losing our lives!” the bassist shot back.
The band, tour manager, Big T and Charley were all crammed into Ash’s dressing room backstage at the Nationwide Arena in Columbus. Word had leaked out about the message on Ash’s computer, and the band had been spooked.
“I tell you, it was an accident,” insisted Terry. “Just because some anonymous hater posted a message online claiming he was responsible doesn’t mean it’s true. There’s absolutely no evidence of foul play. This is simply an Internet troll taking advantage of a news story. Now get yourselves ready for the concert.”
Charley kept her mouth shut. She no longer knew what to think. Big T had launched an investigation into the source of the message, but it had so far come up blank. This was suspicious in itself. Yet an examination of the spotlight had pointed to basic mechanical failure of its clamp as the reason for the accident. The fact that the safety chain hadn’t been attached was put down to human error, rather than a premeditated murder attempt. Nor had there been any reason to suspect the bus crash was anything more than an accident. However, following the ominous message, Charley began to wonder if that was really the case.
“Hey, it’s not just Ash out there onstage,” the bassist reminded them, crossing his arms defiantly. “Any one of us could be hurt or killed. So we have a right to say whether we go on or not.”
“Fine,” said Terry. “If you don’t want the gig, we’ll get another bassist in.”
“Well, I hope he wears a crash helmet!” he sneered.
“Terry, you’re missing the point,” the drummer piped up. “We all know about the death threats. Someone has it in for Ash.” He directed his drumstick at Ash, who sat mute in his chair, staring blankly at himself in the mirror as the stylist put the finishing touches on his hair. “Are you willing to gamble with his life, and ours, like this?”
“There is no gamble,” said Terry. “I’ve discussed this with his manager. Someone is playing a cruel game, that’s all. They’re trying to scare Ash, intimidate him—sabotage his career. And we won’t let that happen. Apart from the threats before the tour, it’s all been false alarms. The crew has double-checked everything at this venue. I can assure you, there’ll be no more accidents on this tour.”
“That’s comforting to know,” replied the bassist. “But what about actual attacks on us?”
Terry jabbed a thumb in the direction of the veteran bodyguard. “That’s the job of Big T and his security team to prevent—and I have complete faith that they’ll keep Ash safe.”
The bassist snorted. “That’s all well and good for Ash. But what about us?”
“My security team covers you as well,” said Big T.
Terry glanced impatiently at his watch. “Now, the gig’s going ahead with or without you. What’s it going to be?”
“Surely, it’s my decision!” interrupted Ash. “Whether the show happens or not?”
Everyone in the room turned to him. Dressed in his glittering stage gear, his hair perfectly coiffured, Ash looked more than ready to go onstage. But, having seen him with his defenses down, Charley knew the paralyzing fear that haunted Ash’s every waking moment. In her opinion, he was in no fit state to perform.
While the others in the band had a right to be concerned for their safety, Ash was the real target.
2
Pete was as jittery as any one of the twenty thousand Wildling fans packed into Columbus’s Nationwide Arena. Perhaps even more so because he knew what was coming.
This time he’d managed to get a standing ticket and, after a fair bit of pushing and shoving, was in prime position right beside the neck of the guitar stage. The atmosphere in the arena was highly charged. After the tragic and abrupt end to the Pittsburgh show, Ash’s fans were even more desperate to see him. Rumors had been flying that the concert would be canceled at the last minute, and a barely suppressed panic had spread among the audience. Some fans had even resorted to praying in groups for Ash’s delivery onto the stage.
Thirty minutes later than scheduled, the house lights dimmed and the countdown began.
The audience screamed in delight. Pete enthusiastically joined in with the countdown, barely able to hear himself above the noise. His gut tightened as the opening explosion rumbled from the speakers, and he had to shield his eyes from the blinding cascade of red and gold sparks. His own heart seemed to beat in unison with the intro’s rhythm. Then he felt a rush of exhilaration as the winged silhouette flitted from screen to screen before being consumed by flames.
INDESTRUCTIBLE . . . IMPOSSIBLE? . . . I’M POSSIBLE!
Ash shot up from the toaster lift and landed on the stage. Not as perfectly as in New York, thought Pete, but still an impressive entrance.
Immediately Ash took two strides forward before thrusting a fist into the air. “What’s up, Columbus?”
The audience roared their approval, relieved and overjoyed to see their idol. After a swift, almost unconscious glance upward, Ash struck the opening chord to “Easier,” and the band kicked in.
Pete sang along to every word. He watched Ash dance across the stage, his eyes never wavering from his idol. Even after a couple of shows, Pete was beginning to recognize some of his routines. But he could tell Ash wasn’t as self-assured as in previous gigs. His performance seemed a little “tight,” and every so often, the rock star would look nervously up at the lighting rig. That was to be expected, though, considering Pittsburgh.
Pete’s arm started itching. He tried not to scratch the scabbing skin underneath the bandage; otherwise he’d damage his new tattoo.
Midway through the gig, a dark-haired girl with freckles stood on his foot. She was thirteen, maybe fourteen, and chewing gum voraciously. She shot him an apologetic smile, then did a double take. The girl opened her mouth and said something. But Pete couldn’t hear her over the noise of the band and screaming fans. He leaned closer, and she shouted in his ear, “I said, you look just like Ash. Has anyone told you that before?”
“No,” he replied, shaking his head.
“Well, you do!”
Pete grinned. He’d made an extra-special effort to resemble his hero. He’d even managed to find some clothes that matched the ones Ash wore. And it pleased him every time some fan mentioned the similarity.
All through the next set of songs, Pete was aware that the girl kept sneaking peeks at him. She’d “bump” ag
ainst him, her bare arms touching his. With so many people crowded around, it was impossible not to be in contact with one another, but the girl seemed to be doing it on purpose. He caught her eye and responded with the Ash Wild trademark smile he’d been practicing every night in the mirror. She coyly looked away, but remained close.
As the girl continued to flirt with him, Pete thought to himself that he would kill to have Ash’s life.
3
The Columbus gig proceeded without a hitch. Although the band knew that Ash’s performance wasn’t as slick as usual and a couple of times he missed his cues, his fans were too delirious to notice. Over the course of the following Louisville, Nashville and Charlotte dates, Ash’s confidence gradually returned, and by the time the tour reached Atlanta, he was fully back on form—the spotlight incident little more than a bad memory.
But Charley hadn’t forgotten. Nor had Big T. Security had been quietly stepped up, and everyone on the team was in a permanent state of Code Yellow. The tour schedule was punishing: early starts, late finishes and periods of mind-numbing inactivity followed by sudden bursts of chaos; long journeys, multiple locations and different hotel rooms every night. After only a week, Charley was shattered with the effects of tour fatigue. She became worried that in her exhausted state she might make another error of judgment, overlook a threat or simply not react in time to an attack. Thankfully, there had been no further incidents or threats made since Pittsburgh. But whether that was due to the security team’s diligence or the fact that the maniac fan was biding his or her time, they didn’t know. They simply had to stay alert, day and night, hour upon hour, minute by minute.
On arrival at the five-star Mandarin Oriental Hotel in Miami, Big T gave Charley her key card and a spare key card for Ash’s suite. “Security-check his room, then get some rest,” he ordered. “You look exhausted.”
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