by Livia Grant
Trevor answered the latest question. "Tonight was the red-carpet pre-opening party for Ms. Monroe's newest movie release. We were at The Plaza doing interviews and prepping for the release all day today. We were at The Lincoln Theater from about six to eleven tonight. The people who wanted to keep partying went back to The Plaza and I brought Khloe home."
A fresh commotion near the revolving door to the building drew their attention. Just in time, Trevor pushed Khloe behind him as he jumped in front her, standing between his client and the flashing cameras on the sidewalk outside the building.
How the hell had the media found out about this so quickly? It didn't make sense. Hell, nothing was making sense.
She'd never felt as trapped as she did in that moment. The thought of having her photo splashed across the front of the gossip rags or trending on Twitter made her empty tummy churn. Disheveled, barefoot in a bathrobe. It would be a disaster.
The exit from the building was blocked.
She couldn't stay in the lobby.
Yet returning to her condo terrified her.
She was trapped.
It was Trevor who made the decision on their next move.
"We need to get out of this lobby. Let's go back upstairs," he insisted.
Another cop answered, "The forensic team is still up there working. We can't contaminate the scene."
"Bullshit. We can't stay here. We're sitting ducks for the media." While the police hem-hawed, Trevor turned his back to the front door and started shuffling Khloe towards the elevator. Her mind revolted at the thought of returning to her now soiled apartment, but shouts of her name from bystanders outside urged her into the elevator when the doors opened. Uniformed officers piled in around her and Trevor until she was pressed into the corner. Only Trevor's wall of muscles helped her fend off the claustrophobic panic attack threatening.
She put one foot in front of the other, in a trance, until she got to the threshold of her open door. The yellow and black 'Crime Scene' tape prevented her entry. A half dozen officers were mingling in her kitchen and living room, looking like they'd moved in. The flash of a police camera made her flinch.
Trevor seemed to understand, leaning in to talk softly against her ear. "It'll be okay, Khloe. I won't leave your side."
Her fear was obviously transparent to everyone around her as many pairs of eyes turned towards the celebrity in the room, pity shining bright and she hated it.
Ignoring the warning, Trevor reached to pull the tape away from the doorjamb to allow their entry before leading her to the leather couch near the sliding glass door to the balcony. Before she sat down, a cop warned them, "Don't touch anything if you can help it. We're sweeping your home for fingerprints."
Her guard left her long enough to retrieve a bottle of cold water from her refrigerator, returning and asking her to drink. She'd put the bottle down on the glass-topped coffee table in front of her when a police officer wearing a full-body white protection suit over his street clothes and blue latex gloves stepped into the living room. In his protective clothing, he looked like he'd come straight from the set of a sci-fi movie about a contagious epidemic. The seasoned-looking cop glanced around the crowded space until his eyes met with Khloe. Her pulse increased when he started walking towards her, but her heart lurched when she saw what he held in his hand.
She recognized the purple panties through the plastic baggie with the huge EVIDENCE splashed across the label. The forensic officer stopped to chat with the captain before approaching Trevor and Khloe where they sat.
"Good evening, Ms. Monroe. I'm Officer Effingham. I'd like to ask you a few questions if I may."
He may have asked politely, but the stern look in his eye told her he wasn't really asking for permission to interrogate her further. She managed to nod her reluctant approval.
Khloe used her acting skills to avoid reacting when he held out the plastic bag that held her soiled panties.
"We found these mixed in with your bed sheets. Do these panties belong to you?"
"Yes."
"We're going to send them to the lab for processing with the rest of the evidence, but would you mind sharing with us whose semen is present?"
Her heart lurched and she felt Trevor stiffen beside her. "Actually, I would mind."
"I'm sure you understand we're trying to help you, Ms. Monroe. Avoiding simple questions isn't going to help us solve who broke into your home."
There was nothing simple about his question. An irrational anger took hold of her at Ryder that he wasn't there to help defend why the fuck his cum was in her bed months after he'd deserted her.
The cops near enough to have heard the question stopped to stare, waiting on her answer like they had a right to know jack shit about her sex life.
The cop pressed. "Was your boyfriend here earlier?"
Why the hell does he think she has a boyfriend? Ah yes, the lovely media.
Realizing the cop would out-wait her, she finally folded to answer with a simple, "No."
"Then..."
She cut him off. "It was from earlier, okay?" she replied defensively.
"Tonight?"
"This isn't important."
The captain pressed, "Let us decide what is important."
Anger helped her be brave. "No. I'm telling you he didn't do this."
"How do you know that? We need his name."
"I just know. No names." She held her ground while she felt Trevor's hand subconsciously squeezing her leg through the terrycloth robe.
The cop in charge took over the questioning. "Fine for now, but you'll answer my other questions. Do you have any known enemies you can think of who would have done this?"
"No," she replied.
Trevor jumped in to embellish her answer. "She has received several threatening messages over the last few weeks. They were either sent to her public email address, as a direct message to her twitter account. One was even delivered via U.S. Postal service to her agent's office."
Khloe startled, spinning to look Trevor in the eyes. She hated the guilt she saw there.
"Wait. You didn't tell me about the letter," she complained.
He hesitated before admitting, "Bernie and Natalie said you didn't need to know. That it would scare you."
Her voice screeched, "Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Khloe..."
She jerked away from him.
"Don't Khloe me. You work for me, Trevor. Don't you ever forget that, because if you do, you'll be gone." He sat stunned at her uncharacteristic anger until she added, "Got it?"
"I'm sorry." His apology was soft, but audible to everyone in the room that had silenced to witness the altercation.
The captain's next question broke the silence. "Were the messages threatening in nature?"
"Not really. They all have professed their love of Khloe and expressed a desire to spend time with her. Each message included a promise of being together in the future."
The cop wrote a note in his small notepad before asking, "Did you report these messages to the police?"
Trevor answered, "No."
She swung to glare at him again. "Let me guess. Bernie and Natalie didn't think it was a good idea to turn them over to the police?"
Trevor wisely kept his mouth shut.
The captain didn't allow him to dodge the question. "Why would you keep something this critical hidden?"
Trevor went on defense. "We protect more than her person. Things like this have a way of going public fast. We sent the messages off to an independent investigator to track down who is behind them."
"And?" The officer raised his brow like an impatient parent.
"The investigation hasn't nailed down any leads yet."
"Do you have anyone you've noticed hanging around Ms. Monroe or acting aggressive around her?"
Trevor's agitation at being interrogated was showing. "You have no clue how hard it is to keep a celebrity like Khloe safe. Every time she goes anywhere in public she is swamped by
fans wanting photos of her. Autographs. To touch her." He turned towards her to accuse, "And then you do shit like tonight when you let those teenagers jump the stanchions and crowd you. I've told you over and over to stop letting fans get that close. They were waiting for you in the lobby when I got back there."
"Explain to me again why you didn't go back to the hotel?" the cop pressed her again.
"I told you. I was tired, and I wanted to sleep in my own bed."
"If you two aren't an item, are you seeing someone else?"
She hesitated. She hated the idea of lying to the police, but she equally hated the idea of pissing off the producers of Dirty Business who had insisted she and Dean hide their defunct relationship status until after the movie had been out for a few weeks.
"Yes."
When she didn't expound, he pressed her. "I'll need his name, Ms. Monroe."
"Dean Reynolds. My co-star on the soon to be released movie." She used her actress skills to her advantage to hide her disdain for her ex.
"And where is Mr. Reynolds?"
"He wanted to party with friends, and like I said, I was tired."
"I'm wondering why he isn't here to comfort you instead of your bodyguard?" That was a great question.
"Why does this matter? Dean didn't do this."
"We'll need to interview him and everyone else close to you."
"That's crazy. You need to focus on finding who broke into my house. My home."
"Oh, rest assured. We'll do that too, but we need to be thorough. This is a high profile case."
"No shit. I live a high profile life."
"I'm going to need a list of everyone who has a key to your condo along with the timing of when you were here last and can confirm the photos and threats were not in your bathroom. That will help us narrow our timeline down. The building has tight security, with surveillance cameras, so with any luck we should be able to get a photo of the perpetrator's entrance into your home."
She was close to losing her shit. Thankfully, Trevor sensed it and stood. "Are we about done here? I'd like to get Khloe out of here. She can't stay here tonight, obviously."
She bit her tongue. She didn't want to go back to the hotel, but only then did she realize she would never feel comfortable in her own home again. Some asshole had broken in and violated her private space, ruining what was supposed to be one of the best days of her life.
Surprisingly, the captain didn't try to stop them from leaving. "That's fine, but I need you to share your contact information and don't either of you leave town. We'll want to talk with you again tomorrow after we have a chance to evaluate the evidence. Are you going back to The Plaza?"
Trevor had pulled out a business card with his contact info on it, handing it over while answering, "We won't be going back there. The paparazzi will be expecting her there. I called her assistant, Ricky. He's securing alternate accommodations. I'll let you know where we end up."
Khloe was fading fast. All remnants of the adrenaline spike from earlier had worn off. All she wanted was to closet herself somewhere safe. A place where she could cry in private. She allowed Trevor to leave her parked on her couch while he went back to her bedroom and grabbed up a duffle bag with a change of clothes. She could hear him arguing with another police officer who didn't want him to disturb anything, but Trevor insisted that Khloe Monroe would not be gallivanting around Manhattan without taking the most basic belongings.
The next thirty minutes were a blur for her as she let Trevor help her put on a pair of flip-flops before escorting her down to the lobby. She was relieved when they turned away from the front doors, heading down the hallway to the back door. Her personal assistant, Ricky, was waiting at the exit, looking worried.
They didn't speak as Trevor opened the door to the back alley of the building. Khloe wasn't surprised to find a Town Car waiting for them. Trevor opened the back door for her and then urged her, "Hurry up. There are photographers hanging around."
He didn't have to tell her twice. She dove into the car with Trevor and Ricky following, slamming the door as they saw two men running towards the car.
"Get us out of here!" Trevor shouted to Johnson who slammed on the gas, almost running over the photographers before they dove out of the way.
Ricky looked as shaken as she felt. To his credit, he didn't ask her stupid questions.
"I booked us a suite at the Marriott under my name. I alerted their security and they are waiting for us to arrive at the loading dock and will escort us up through the back of house to avoid any unwanted attention. We can regroup there."
Since she was still in her bathrobe, she was grateful for the VIP arrangements.
Khloe let herself be hustled through the bowels of the huge hotel, led by a pack of men who she had to trust to keep her safe. By the time they were unlocking the door to the suite, she felt ready to collapse. She hadn't had enough to eat that day and the trauma of her last few hours had drained the last ounce of her energy. When she stumbled against the loveseat inside the expansive living space, Trevor was there, scooping her up and carrying her towards the bedroom.
They didn't speak as he pulled back the covers to lay her down. Their eyes met as he stood over her.
"I'm so sorry, Khloe. I feel like this was my fault."
Her brain knew she shouldn't blame her bodyguard, but she didn't have the energy for any more talk. She wanted to be alone. When she didn't answer him, Trevor pulled the covers up and turned to leave her.
Only when he was at the door did the panic hit her. "Trevor!"
He turned back towards her, expectantly before she added. "You'll sleep on the couch out there, won't you? I mean... I... I don't want to be alone."
"I'm not gonna leave your side again until we catch the bastard."
After he'd left, she let the tears she'd been holding back fall. Khloe rolled to bury her face into the pillow, hoping to muffle the sound of her sobs.
Even knowing her guard was outside the bedroom door, she'd never felt as lonely as she did as she cried herself into an exhausted sleep.
Chapter 5
"You look like shit."
He hadn't even sat down yet and his boss was starting in on him.
"Thanks. That's what happens when you have to beat it back to Langley at the butt-crack of dawn." Ryder gladly took the tall cup of coffee offered by Brandon Webster's personal assistant before she quietly left, closing the door on the top-secret meeting about to begin.
They'd landed at the U.S. Military base in Germany just after the sun came up last Friday. He'd spent less than twenty-four hours on the ground being debriefed before being summoned back to Langley for this early Sunday morning emergency meeting.
He'd been in this office dozens of times over the years, but this was the first time every chair around the long conference table was full. The fact that this many bigwigs had come in on the weekend gave him a hint of what to expect. There wasn't enough coffee in the world to fortify him for the shit-storm coming.
Fuck me. This is gonna be a long ass day.
He didn't recognize most people in the room, but it was his boss's boss, George Fortin, who asked the first question before Ryder had even taken his first sip of caffeine.
"I don't need to remind everyone that this meeting is classified. Nothing said here leaves without my authorization." All heads nodded before he added, "Who the hell authorized you to terminate Viktor Volkov, Helms? Do you realize the trouble you've brought down on the agency with this stunt, not to mention the years of deep cover you've burned in the space of one night?"
He'd expected the question, but he hadn't planned on having an audience for his debrief. The sound of the agency stenographer typing away in the corner of the room reminded him he was on record, but he wasn't really worried. He'd had enough time to evaluate his actions on his last night in Russia, and he'd decided he wouldn't change anything that had happened other than possibly wishing he'd taken a shot at Artel Volkov before leaving. The world would be a much b
etter place with that asshole six-feet under.
"As you know, sir, I'm authorized to use all tools at my disposal when faced with life and death situations. I made the best decision I could in the moment and I stand behind every action I took."
"That's easy for you to say, Helms. You don't have to deal with the fallout. Do you know I got a call from Director Ryan last night wanting to know what the fuck happened with the Volkovs?"
"Did you give him my regards?" Ryder deadpanned, taking his first sip of coffee, unwilling to let these assholes who pushed paper for a living second guess his decision from the safety of their cushy D.C. offices.
"Do you think this is funny, Agent Helms?"
"No, sir. I was there, and I can safely tell you there is nothing funny about this situation."
"So why don't you start by telling me how Viktor Volkov got dead?"
"Well it starts with pointing out that Maggie Marshall and her two young children are alive."
"Surely there was some way to accomplish their rescue without burning years of work and starting World War three by offing one of the most powerful men in a country that is not exactly on friendly terms with us right now."
Ryder fought to keep his voice steady through his growing anger. "First, it insults me to insinuate I wouldn't have thought of the consequences, particularly since I've had a front row seat to the power of the Volkov Bratva. More importantly, I've more than proven I'm able to evaluate risks and balance them with the desired outcome of my mission. If I hadn't taken action when I did, an innocent American woman and her two young daughters would be dead. Call me old-fashioned, but I thought we were going to the trouble of infiltrating one of the most powerful crime families on the globe to protect American lives."
The only man in a three-piece suit who'd sat silently at the other end of the table broke in, saying, "No one is denying you did a brave thing saving the Marshall family. We need to understand why you killed Viktor Volkov in the process."
Ryder chuckled. "I think you have been out of the field a little too long, sir." He was giving the men around the table the benefit of the doubt. He didn't have a clue if any of them other than Webster had served a day undercover or not. "We aren't factory workers. We have to make things up as we go. Gauge risks and weigh potential outcomes; making snap decisions with the information we have in the moment. I've reviewed the mission from every angle and I stand behind my actions."
