by Dee J. Adams
“If you could sign here,” he said, handing over the clipboard. He pointed to a line in the middle of the page and Julie scribbled her name. He took a look when she handed it back and a slow grin curved his lips as his eyes widened. “Julie Fraser,” he said. “Hey, you were great in Dangerous Race. I loved that movie.”
She smiled and nodded. “Thanks.”
“Even my girlfriend liked it and she hates racing.”
Julie nodded again. She’d heard the same thing hundreds of times. “Glad you both enjoyed it.”
He stood there another few seconds smiling and a three-letter word jumped into Julie’s Head. Tip.
She reached for her purse on the entry table and whipped out a five dollar bill. “Here you go. Thank you.” She handed him the cash as Troy pulled up. “Oh, my friend is here. I told him he could pull up since there’s no parking on the street.”
The delivery guy got her message and nodded as he walked backward toward the truck. “Sure. Sorry about that. Nice to meet you,” he said with a farewell wave.
Julie waved back as he pulled out and Troy pulled in.
This incident only proved what an enormous idiot she really was. She’d opened the door without checking. Her sniper with a gun could’ve been waiting for her instead of a deliveryman with flowers. Giant ass flowers. That obviously, once again, were not from Troy. Because he clearly would’ve brought them himself right now.
He got out of a gorgeous black BMW. Apparently bodyguards made good money. “Hey,” he said as he walked closer. Wearing dark jeans, black boots, sunglasses and black T-shirt, he looked more like a biker than a bodyguard. He glanced over his shoulder at the disappearing delivery truck. “Flowers from Ari?” he asked.
She laughed. “I doubt it.” Maybe if she’d put out, but he wasn’t going to woo her with flowers. He was using his movie.
“Did you find the place okay?”
He studied the citronella candle on the wrought iron porch table and nodded. “No problems.” He removed his sunglasses, and his very clear once-over from head to toe sent a thrill of victory through her blood. Her skin tingled as if he’d touched her physically.
Score one for her fashion sense.
“Great.” Her palms got sweaty. She clapped them together once. “Okay then...let me show you the house.” She opened the door wider. “This way.” Duh. God, when was the last time she’d been so nervous around a man? She couldn’t even remember. Come to think of it, she’d never been this nervous around a man. Excited, yes, happy and expectant, yes, but not this palm sweat/parched mouth nervous.
Troy followed her into the house and stopped in the foyer. “Nice place,” he said, taking a slow look around. He absorbed everything. She could see his mind working as he scanned the open floor plan. The entry opened up into one of two great rooms. This more formal space had a ten-seat, marble-and-glass topped dining room table off to the left. Along the right wall, a white low-back thick-cushioned sofa and chairs sat around another glass-and-marble coffee table. She loved the talks and parties she’d had in this room. It might be a formal living space, but she used it as much as her den in the back of the house. The tranquility of this room always calmed her after a hectic day.
“Where would you like to start?” she asked.
He hooked his sunglasses in his T-shirt collar and looked at her. Whoa, he had the sexiest eyes, so dark and intense. “Which way is the bedroom?”
She felt herself flush a million shades of red and swallowed hard. “Uh, down there.” She pointed down the long hallway.
Troy glanced in that direction and back at her. He gestured down the hall. “Lead the way.”
Julie nodded and started forward, her heart pounding frenetically. It was probably for the best that they start in her bedroom because ending in her bedroom might be a bad thing. Or a good thing.
She walked into her bedroom and stepped aside. Troy stopped at the door and took it in. She tried to see the room from his eyes. She had a California king-sized bed with a large cherry headboard. A brown-and-turquoise comforter decorated a bed loaded with lots of fluffy pillows. Thick beige carpeting cushioned their feet. A matching armoire and chest of drawers each took up space on their own walls, and a big overstuffed chair and ottoman filled the corner spot under the window.
Troy walked straight to the French doors that looked out to the narrow backyard. He checked the doorknob and the edges and grunted, then stalked to the other side of the room and turned the corner. The whole right end of the house compromised the master suite. Julie had taken the four-bedroom home and made it a three-bedroom when she’d knocked down a wall and made one large bedroom into a combination closet and bathroom. This was her favorite part of the whole place. Her heaven. After fourteen or sixteen hours on the set, she liked to come home and relax in her hot tub with dozens of candles throwing soft light around the tan walls, travertine tile and marble.
Seeing Troy in this space only made her jittery. He brought an element that had been missing for years. Lucas had spent a significant amount of time here, but he’d always kept his own place. He’d accused her house of being too girly, but had never suggested buying a place for them to share. That should’ve been a big clue.
Her gaze roamed to the tub and she had a vision of Troy surrounded by bubbles and waiting for her to join him. She’d get in the warm water and he’d pull her against him. He’d be hard, but he’d take his time with her. Tease her. He’d kiss her softly, whisper the things he’d want to do to her and she’d—
“Julie,” Troy said, waving a hand in front of her face. “You okay?”
Embarrassed, she snapped to attention. “Yes, I’m fine. Sorry. Just thinking about... things. Did you say something?” Did it suddenly get hot in here?
“I asked where the alarm pad is,” he said.
“It’s in the hallway. We passed it on the way here.”
Troy nodded as he watched her. His eyebrows quirked before he left the room and strode down the hallway. Julie followed, mortified beyond belief that he’d caught her daydreaming about having sex with him.
Chapter Eight
Troy had seen only one room, but he already hated the layout of the house. There were a lot of French doors and large picture windows. He knew next to nothing about alarm systems but didn’t plan on sharing that. Chalk up another lie. He felt the need to shower off the grime, but it was internal. No amount of soap and water could clean his guilty conscience. He folded down the cover of the alarm pad and stared at it.
“What’s the response time with the security company?” he asked.
“Uh...” Julie didn’t seem to have an answer. “A few minutes, I guess.”
He turned to her. “You mean you don’t know?”
“I’ve never needed them, except for a couple of maintenance calls. The alarm’s never gone off. They haven’t had to be here.” She tipped her head. “Actually, I need to call them again because the five is sticking.” She pushed the five and nothing happened. “The number should come up on the panel, but it won’t. It takes me some futzing to get it to work.”
Futzing. “You shouldn’t have to ‘futz’ with your keypad,” he said. He made a mental note to find out how many patrols the company had and what they reported as their response time.
After going through the whole house, Troy ended up back where he started, in the foyer. Those damn flowers smelled like a whole florist shop and made him feel insignificant because some other sap had sent them.
“If those aren’t from Ari, who are they from?” he asked. None of his business, but he felt compelled to ask anyway. He wanted to know how many men she had in her life. It might actually clear up the whole Ari situation. On the other hand, it might muddy it up.
“I don’t know,” Julie said reaching for the card stuck within the arrangement. She opened the small envelope and took out the card. Her brows furrowed as she read it.
Troy didn’t like the look on her face. “What?” he said, reaching for the note. “What�
��s it say?” Tension crawled up his back. He hated that sensation.
She handed him the card and looked out the side window at the front door, scanning the street. “I got a note like that in the hospital,” she told him. “He wrote something very similar and signed it the same way. Allen.”
Troy had kept his eyes on her, but now he looked down and read the card.
To my precious Julie,
I’m so thrilled your recovery is complete. I hope these roses bring you as much happiness as you’ve brought me. I promise, we’ll be together soon and I vow that no man will ever hurt you again.
My undying love, Allen
Troy read it a second time. That creepy crawly sensation he had along his back doubled in intensity. “You said you got something similar in the hospital?” he asked. “Did you keep the card?”
She nodded. “I planned to, but the police asked if I’d received any unusual fan mail and they ended up taking anything that could be construed as suspect. My mother told me early on to keep all the creepy ones in case any of them turned out to be...a...” She tried to find a way to soften the potential slam of a stalker, amazing Troy with her compassion for the crazies in the world.
“Psycho?” he said, finding the most appropriate word, be it politically correct or not.
Julie nodded with a roll of her eyes. “Yes,” she agreed reluctantly. “But not everyone is psycho. Some people are very nice and very lonely and they reach out to people who make them...feel.” Her face turned a shade or two darker before she cleared her throat.
“How much mail did they take?” he asked.
“Just a couple of big shoe boxes full. Not that much. I have bins full of cards and letters in my garage.” Her eyes widened at his surprised stare. “I haven’t saved every bit of mail over the years,” she insisted. “Just the ones that either touched me or—” she shook her head and shrugged, “—gave me the creeps.”
“Did you get anything creepy after the shooting?” he asked.
“One nasty one came, but it could’ve been someone who just hated my movies.”
“Do you remember what it said?”
She shuddered. “I doubt I’ll ever forget it. It said, ‘You should have died. We’d be better off without you.’ And it was signed, ‘A.’ The police were very interested in that one.” She snatched the card and waved it around. “You know, this seems silly. I mean the guy sending the flowers might be a little creepy, but he doesn’t mean any harm.” She turned as she replaced the card in the bouquet.
Troy looked at it from over her shoulder. Her perfume slammed him in a sweet assault and nearly distracted him.
Suddenly she spun, her eyes wide with panic. “The house! How did he find my address? How does he know where I live?” She ran her hands through her hair and paced next to the table. “Oh, wow. I didn’t think of that until just now. I opened the door to him,” she groaned.
“You what?” Troy said. “What do you mean you opened the door to him?”
“He rang the bell and I thought it was you. I opened the door without checking and it was the deliveryman. It could’ve been anyone.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Troy nodded. “Besides that being a lesson learned, it’s time to call the cops.”
“What?” Her face contorted and her brows pulled together. “Really? Maybe we’re overreacting. He didn’t threaten me. Neither did the other guy really,” she said, clearly trying to find a bright side. “He just wishes I was dead.”
Troy rolled his eyes, more exasperated than ever. “You think this is funny?”
“No!” She sobered and sighed. “Look, when I get nervous, I sling jokes, okay. Call it a defense mechanism or whatever. Do I think any of this is funny? No. But do I think either one of these guys tried to shoot me? I don’t know, but I doubt it. Besides,” she blurted, “Allen sent the first note after the shooting. He wouldn’t shoot me just to send a note to tell me to have a quick recovery if he’d pulled the trigger.”
Troy raised his eyebrows. “He could’ve done it and sent the flowers anyway. But go ahead, I’m dying to hear your logic for the other guy.”
“Wouldn’t he have sent another letter after missing me on the balcony?” She lifted one brow like he was the one lacking cognitive brain cells.
She did have a point, but not enough to change his course of action. “Not necessarily. Look, we call the cops because,” he said, lifting a finger, “Allen has now sent you two cards.” He raised up a second finger. “He knows where you live and—” he ticked off a third finger, “—I don’t like it.”
There were a lot of things he didn’t like. He didn’t like that Allen could’ve also sent the other note and just signed it A. Nor did he like the location of the property or the security on the house. He especially didn’t like that she might be having an affair with Ari, but he was trying his damnedest to keep that on the back burner. He especially didn’t like how he could picture her naked in that hot tub waiting for him to join her.
Something pinged in his head and he backtracked his train of thought. The property, security...what was the other thing?
Ari.
Whose name started with an A.
Troy read the card a third time. We’ll be together soon. Hadn’t that been Ari’s goal all along? Was he somehow trying to scare Julie into his arms by using a completely different name? The guy certainly had enough money to pay someone to kill her. But if she died, Ari wouldn’t be together soon with her. Then again he would have great publicity once his next film came out if he told the press that he’d contracted Julie to be the star.
An hour later, after sitting on hold, getting the runaround from the desk cop and waiting for a detective most of that time, his frustration might’ve strangled him. “I don’t believe this,” he said hanging up the phone.
“What’d they say?” Julie asked from her spot on the other side of the granite counter in her kitchen.
“They said there was no overt threat with the cards and flowers. They can’t be sure the gunman was after you, but they’ll do some drive-bys to check on you here. The investigation is focused on the crime scene and your fan mail.” Which meant her safety lay in her hands. And his.
“Okay.” She seemed resigned, but then she wasn’t convinced this guy posed a threat.
“How much do you love this house?” Troy asked as he rummaged through the paper at the end of the counter. He found the real estate section and whipped it out.
“I love it. Why?” Her tone screamed caution. So did her narrow-eyed gaze.
He slapped the section in front of her, his mood as serious as the attempts on her life. “I’m sure you’ll love something new just as much. It’s time to go house hunting.”
* * *
Three days later, Julie, her mom, Abbey and Cal sat in Julie’s living room enjoying a rare afternoon of girl time. Abbey had stopped at Starbucks on her way in and they all happily sipped their drinks of choice. Julie’s former stunt double had introduced her to chai lattes and she’d become addicted to them.
“Tell me again who this bodyguard guy thinks he is?” Cal tucked herself into the corner of Julie’s comfortable sofa and sipped her frap. She’d made it very clear she wasn’t a fan of Troy Mills.
“Cal.” Julie sat at other end of the sofa. She used her warning tone. The one that said get off my back.
“I’m serious. He thinks he can stroll through your house and tell you to move and you’ll just jump right out and buy a new house? Get real. I thought I liked this guy for saving your life, but—”
“Twice,” Julie’s mom amended from the overstuffed chair across from the sofa. “He saved her life twice.”
“Not true,” Cal said, glancing at Elena. “She saved her own life the second time when she spun on the guy.” She shook her head and glared at Julie. “My point is that he can’t come in here and tell you how to live your life.”
Elena sipped her green tea. “Maybe not, but I think he’s probably right about this,” she said, her voice
full of the worry of a mother. “You lived here longer than I thought you would.”
Julie looked at her mother, never having any idea she felt that way. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that when you bought this house, I had a little nervous wiggle in my stomach that it was too close to the street and a potential hazard if you got too famous.” She shrugged. “Guess what?”
“You got too famous,” Abbey said, answering the question. She’d been fairly quiet up until now, listening to the conversation as she absently scrounged in her purse for something.
“Great.” Julie peered at her mother over her own cup. “You think I should move too.”
Elena sighed. “I think I’d feel better knowing you lived in a gated estate.”
“But I like that I know my neighbors,” Julie protested. It was one of the things that made her feel normal and kept her grounded in reality instead of the craziness of the often-ridiculous world of show business.
“I know.” Elena sighed. “But sometimes we have to do things we don’t necessarily want to do in order to...you know...” She shrugged again. “I don’t know. I just think he’s probably right.”
Cal lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “I think he’s a pain in the ass. I don’t even know why you called the guy. You pay a security company to watch your house. You should’ve called them.”
“All they’re going to do is pitch me more of what they’re selling.”
“That sounds like Troy Mills talking,” Cal replied drily.
Julie scowled. Just because Cal had guessed right didn’t make Troy’s assumption wrong. She ignored her best friend. “Abbey, will you work up a list of realtors for me.” Her assistant jotted down the order on her ever-present notepad and Julie continued, “Until then, does anyone want to drive around with me this weekend just to see what’s out there?”
Cal and Elena exchanged glances. Abbey went back to burying her head in her bag.
