The 9-Month Bodyguard

by Cindy Dees

  She stared blankly at him, her face a perfect mask that revealed nothing.

  “Talk to me. I can help you, Silver.”

  A sardonic smile finally flitted across her features. “You can’t fix everything, Austin.”

  “Maybe not, but I can damn well try. And I do succeed a whole lot more often than I fail.”

  She replied wistfully, “That must be a nice way to live life. I have a knack for screwing up most of the things I try.”

  “That’s ridiculous. You had a massively successful career once, and you will again. You have a terrific family, and you’re a kind and decent person. I’d say you’ve gotten more right than most people manage to.”

  She shrugged as the door slid open. He stepped out, did his security thing and walked her down to his suite. They stepped inside and he froze, his hand on the light switch. Silver bumped into him from behind.

  “What?” she breathed. “What’s wrong?”

  “Someone’s been in here.”

  “Of course someone has. This is a hotel. The cleaning staff goes in and out of all the rooms.”

  His instinct said it was something else. He pushed her back into the hall and bit out, “Stay here unless that elevator door opens. In that case, dive into the suite and close and lock the door as fast as you can.” God, he wished he weren’t working this detail solo. He could really use a couple more guys to cover her from an attack coming down the hall while he cleared this place.

  Cautiously, he flipped on the lights and spun inside low and fast. He took a quick look around. No one moved. He practically sprinted around the room, checking in closets, under the bar and behind the sofas. A quick check of the bedrooms and bathrooms, a quick circuit around the pool and then back to the front door.

  “Okay, you can come in.” He all but ripped her arm off pulling her into the room, but he was tense as hell at leaving her outside alone like that. “I’ve got to show you some self-defense moves,” he muttered. “Soon.”

  “You can relax, now, Austin. We’re in your room safe and sound, and no one tried to kill me.” She walked farther into the living room. “Oooh, look! Flowers!”

  He hadn’t noticed the elaborate arrangement other than to note that nobody had been hiding behind it when he swept the room.

  She went over and pulled out the small white envelope tucked under a lily the size of his palm. “Let’s see who it’s from.” She opened the envelope, then muffled a cry as she dropped the card onto the table.

  He darted forward, scooping up the card in the same movement that wrapped her in his arms protectively.

  Over her shoulder, he flipped the card over and read the scrawled words, “I’m coming for her. You can’t keep her safe from me.”

  He swore foully and, keeping Silver tucked under his arm, yanked out his cell phone. He punched out the number of the florist printed on the bottom of the card, but there was no answer. He’d have to wait until morning to find out what they could tell him about who’d sent these flowers. He studied the card more closely. The neat handwriting looked exceedingly feminine. Either Silver’s stalker was female, or most likely, a clerk at the florist’s shop had written the note for a phone-in client.

  “Why is this happening to me?” she wailed into his chest.

  “Because you had the misfortune of becoming a Rothchild. Just remember, all this stuff seems aimed at Harold. Whoever’s doing it hates him, not you. It’s nothing personal.”

  “Gee. That’s comforting.”

  “Believe me, it’s better than someone having a vendetta against you directly.”

  Not that hearing something like that did a damned bit of good to stop her from shaking like a leaf in his arms. He suggested gently, “Why don’t you go take a nice hot bath while I make a few phone calls?”

  “To whom?”

  “The police for one. The bell captain’s station for another. Maybe they can tell me something about who delivered these flowers. It’s a long shot, but you never know.”

  “Could you keep the hotel staff out of it? Daddy hears about everything that’s going on around here, and if he knew I was getting these threats, he’d cancel my show for sure.”

  Austin grunted. “It’s not like it’s any surprise to Harold that someone’s gunning for you, darlin’.”

  “Why do you say that? You yourself said he believes the shooting in the lobby yesterday was the random act of a deranged gambler.”

  His reply was somber. “I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

  She studied him a long time. “Are you really as good as you say you are?”

  He looked her dead in the eye. “I’m the very best there is, and no amount of modesty is going to make that any less true. Your father knew exactly the caliber of bodyguard he was getting when he hired me. Believe me, with what I charge for civilian jobs, he knows he’s paying for the best of the best.”

  He hated to be the one to put that haunted look back in her eyes after she’d finally lost it. But there it was again, and it was all his fault. “Go run yourself that bath. I’ve got your back, honey. You’re safe.”

  “Keep telling me that, and maybe in a decade or so I’ll believe you.”

  That was sounding better and better to him. The more time he spent with her, the more tempting she was. Tempting enough to pull him out of the field, though? Away from his men? His mission? His duty?

  Twenty-four hours ago, he’d have said there wasn’t a chance she’d manage that. But now? Guns or the girl? The scales looked pretty even from where he stood.

  He waited until she’d retreated to the master bath to go for a swim in the giant tub there, and then he made his calls. As he’d expected, the bell captain said a local delivery service had dropped off the flowers using its usual delivery driver. The stalker was careful to cover his tracks. Which meant the flowers were no doubt going to turn out to be a dead end.

  And that made him jumpy. Thwarting a psycho killer was one thing. Thwarting a smart psycho killer was another entirely.

  Following his earlier hunch, he fished the Las Vegas yellow pages out of a desk drawer. No listing for a Delvecchio’s Jewelers.

  He looked up other jewelers who advertised making paste replicas of jewelry. The first store didn’t answer, nor the second. But a man at the third store did. It turned out this very store, now part of a national chain, used to be known as Delvecchio’s. When Mr. Delvecchio passed away a few years back, his widow had sold the place. Hot damn.

  Even better, the clerk remembered someone coming into the store recently and asking about a copy of a big purple diamond. The clerk didn’t know the name of the customer, but maybe the store’s goldsmith would know it. He’d be in tomorrow morning. Bingo. Not a home run, but it was a lead. At a minimum, he ought to be able to get some sort of general physical description of the suspect.

  Pleased, Austin hung up the phone. And now, to go extract from Silver whatever secret Sampson was using to force her to pretend to be his girlfriend. She wasn’t avoiding him this time. He was going to get answers out of her and get to the bottom of whatever was going on between them, and that was that.

  The water had turned off a while ago. She ought to be dressed by now. He tested the doorknob to the master suite, and it was unlocked. Perfect. He took a deep breath. Here went nothing. Mentally girded for battle, he turned the knob and stepped inside.

  Curled up in a shaft of moonlight like a contented kitten, Silver lay sleeping in the middle of his bed. He swore under his breath.

  He moved quietly over to her side to look down at her. Her beauty stole his breath clean away. She was one of those women whom it was hard to believe really looked like she did until you got close to her and saw her like this, with no makeup, no fancy hairdo, no artifice. Just the pure, lovely lines of her face kissed by moonbeams.

  As beautiful as she was, lying there, disappointment coursed through him. He really was ready to get to the bottom of this mystery with her.

  Man, she’d crashed fast. Poor kid must
be exhausted after all the morning’s excitement and then facing dinner in the lion’s den. Except she was young and healthy…the day hadn’t been that strenuous. Unless she was finally sleeping well after days or weeks of sleeping poorly. Sampson really did deserve to be run over by a locomotive or two.

  Tomorrow.

  Come hell or high water, Silver would tell him what was going on tomorrow.

  Chapter 12

  Silver was in heaven as she walked down the sidewalk. She was out of the hotel, she was going shopping and best of all, she was with Austin. It was a beautiful, cool morning, likely the last one of the year before the furnace-heat of summer packed in for the next four months. She hadn’t felt sick at breakfast and had chowed down a substantial chunk of Austin’s omelet, which was a relief.

  He’d tried to bring up Mark, but she’d deflected him by gulping down a glass of orange juice, grabbing her purse and announcing that it was time to go. No matter that he was sulking now. Austin could get over it. It was too gorgeous a day to spoil it by thinking about Mark.

  And then there was the shopping. She had the perfect excuse to buy a whole new wardrobe—her upcoming show and renewed public image—and she got to go shopping for it with a gorgeous hunk who couldn’t take his eyes off her. Oh sure, Austin’s assessing gaze moved all over the place like it always did, but every time she stepped out of a dressing room to model something new, his gaze snapped to her and he drank in the sight of her hungrily. It was sweet balm for a girl’s ego.

  “What do you think of this one, Austin? Is it country enough for you?”

  He frowned. “You’re actually planning to pay for a pair of jeans that beat up? Those have more holes than cloth.”

  “Aren’t they great?”

  He studied her legs intently. “Turn around. Let me see what they do for your caboose.”

  She turned around, the part in question burning at the idea of him blatantly ogling it. She seriously hoped he liked what he saw. All those hours at the gym had to be good for something, after all.

  “Buy them,” he said decisively. “But lose that shirt. I like the white one you had on two shirts ago better. It’s sexier.”

  The shirt he liked was a sheer cotton knit so fine you could all but see through it. It buttoned up to a high collar but then fell in soft, figure flattering drapes. Now that he mentioned it, the shirt’s very demureness had added to its overall sexiness. It was more understated than she was used to but with the right belt, and paired with these edgy jeans…

  She nodded to the clerk who scurried off to fetch the shirt in question out of the reject pile.

  Silver studied Austin curiously. “Any other recommendations, oh great guru of fashion?”

  He shrugged. “I’m only the bag-schlepping guy today.”

  “And a fine job you’re doing hauling around my bags, too,” she laughed. “But you are a guy. You know what looks good on a woman, right?”

  One corner of his mouth turned up. “I know what looks good on you.”

  “Do tell.”

  She listened in amusement and growing respect as he shredded her fashion choices with painfully accurate comments about what looked good—and not good—on her and why. Before he was done, she’d exchanged nearly half of her original choices for other ones. It wasn’t that she blindly bought what he told her to. It was the fact that he made such sensible arguments for what complimented her and what fit the image of a hip, but definitely grown up, star.

  At the end of the spree, she stood back and took a hard look at the hanging rack of clothes that had passed muster with him. She had to admit that he’d done well. She’d wear anything on that rack with pride and know she looked not only hot in it but also mature. Chic. That was the difference. She’d tried to duplicate her pop-star, early twenties clothes, and he’d chosen things fitting not for a girl but for a woman. A sexy one, thankfully.

  “You know, Austin, if you ever get tired of throwing yourself in front of bullets, you’d make a fine fashion stylist.”

  He laughed heartily at that. “The only fashion I can fit folks out in is the latest bulletproof vest.”

  “You did great with me.”

  He shrugged. “That’s different. I’ve made a thorough study of your body, and I happen to give a damn about how you look.”

  That made her stare. “Why?”

  A hint of red climbed his neck. He harrumphed uncomfortably before finally coming back with, “Hey, I have a rep to maintain. Any woman I’m seen with in public, client or otherwise, has to uphold my usual standards.”

  She rolled her eyes, amused. “That is such a lie. But I’m having fun and you’re behaving nicely for a man dragged along on a shopping trip, so I’ll let you off the hook this time.”

  He rolled his eyes back at her as she pulled out her wallet to pay for her latest additions to the haul.

  She vaguely heard some sort of commotion behind her and felt Austin slip into place at her back as she signed the credit card receipt. As the clerk separated the copies and thanked her profusely for the business, Silver murmured without turning around, “Everything okay back there?”

  “Looks like we’ve been spotted. Either that or a whole bunch of skanky guys with cameras are out for a morning stroll and just happen to be mobbing the sidewalk in front of this store.”

  She peeked around him. “What do they want with me today? I’m just out shopping for some clothes. That’s hardly tabloid-worthy news.” She punctuated her disgust with a muttered oath.

  He glanced back at her, grinning. “I didn’t know you knew that word. Shame on you, Miss Rothchild.”

  “I know worse words, and they all apply to that pack of hyenas out there.” She looked over at the clerk. “Is there a back way out of here?”

  “No, I’m sorry. That’s the only exit.”

  “Great,” she muttered. “Looks like we get to go swimming with the sharks.”

  “How aggressive do you want me to be with these guys?” Austin asked.

  “What are the options?”

  “We can pose nicely and let them have their pictures, then we invite them to let us through, so we can clear out as quickly as we can. Then there’s the jacket-over-your-head, no-pictures-today-please approach. Which gets a picture of you with your coat over your head printed on the front of a tabloid anyway. Then there’s the one where I go out first and threaten to start cracking skulls if they don’t back off. They’ll use their telephoto lenses and get their pictures anyway, but they won’t be directly in your face about it.”

  She sighed. “What do you recommend?”

  “Do you recognize any of those guys?”

  She studied the crowd of photographers and tipsters. “Actually, I know most of them. It’s the usual gang.”

  He winced. “As much as I hate to say it, given that your father doesn’t want you to get splashed all over the tabloid headlines, you probably ought to take the polite and cooperative approach. And at least that way they’ll choose the more complimentary pictures of you to publish. Good Lord willing, some other poor schmuck celebrity will land in a scandal this week and you won’t get the tabloid covers.”

  She appreciated his feeble attempt at humor. It was a kind gesture. “You’ll stick close to me?”

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way, darlin’. And a word of warning. If I see anything that looks remotely like a threat out of any of them, I’m going to pull you out of there at lightning speed.”

  “Got it,” she said with a smile.

  “Your hair and makeup perfect?” he murmured.

  She checked herself over in one of the many mirrors placed around the boutique and made a few adjustments. This was just like the good old days. Except back then, Candace would’ve barged out, started a brawl, blamed Silver for it and enjoyed watching Silver get accused all over the tabloids of throwing a tantrum at the press.

  Eternally grateful for Austin’s level head, she nodded her readiness at him.

  He nodded back. “Let’s do
this, then. I’ll go first. Stick close behind me while I talk to them.”

  Resolutely, she followed him to the front door.

  Austin gestured for her to stay in the shadows while he addressed the reporters. “Miss Rothchild will be happy to pose for you for five minutes, but then she’s got an appointment. Is that fair, guys?”

  A murmur of surprise passed through the crowd. Poor guys weren’t used to her cooperating with them. She hoped it took every last bit of fun out of them doing their jobs.

  She took a single step forward, and the paparazzi immediately started pushing and shoving one another, all the while snapping pictures of her. What was up with that? They acted like they were in a full feeding frenzy. She hadn’t done anything to merit this kind of enthusiasm! They acted like a million-dollar sale rode on them getting the best shot of her.

  And then they started to shout out questions. “Is it true? Are you pregnant? How far along are you, Silver? Show us your baby bump!”

  They shouted other questions about yesterday’s shooting and the Tears of the Quetzal, but all of those faded away in the face of her shock.

  How in the world…

  A vaguely familiar face leered at her—swarthy, dark haired and dark eyed, his gaze burning with maniacal enjoyment at this attack on her. Was he the guy who’d jumped at her in the casino two days ago?

  He shouted maliciously, “Who’s the father of your baby, Silver?”

  Her brain shut down. Completely.

  An overwhelming urge to flee overtook her. She looked left and right in panic. Nowhere to go. Bodies and camera lenses and flashbulbs hemmed her in on all sides, pressing closer and closer to her. She was cornered. Trapped!

  “No. No, it’s not true!” she cried. This was exactly the sort of scandal her father had forbidden her to fall into. Her scheme with Mark would be exposed. Harold would yank the gig out from under her. She’d lose everything and everyone who’d given her this second chance. Even Austin. Especially Austin.