by Cindy Dees
The songs they had given her weren’t that bad, really. The problem was with her. Only long years on the road, doing nightly shows when she’d been drunk and wasted and burned out, saved her now. Somewhere along the way, she’d apparently picked up enough professional savvy to deliver a decent show even if her heart was not in it. Who’d have guessed her misspent youth could some in so handy after all?
The day of the show dawned, and she slept in late, praying that she’d sleep through her regularly scheduled bout of breakfast hurling. She would have a busy afternoon. She had a surprisingly large list of things to do, from a quick press conference to last-minute appointments for hair and nails, a massage and stretch by her trainer and then a hearty meal. She never could eat less than four hours before a show. The nerves usually started about then, and she didn’t stand a chance of keeping anything solid down once she started getting keyed up.
Warren was as he always was—vigilant, silent and completely disinterested in her state of mind.
She really missed Austin today of all days. She was half tempted to snatch Warren’s phone out of his hand when Austin’s daily check-in call arrived. She desperately needed to hear his voice. There was nobody else she wanted to share this moment with but him.
She was pathetic, moping over a man who’d probably already forgotten what she looked like. As soon as his three-month promise to keep her safe expired, he would no doubt cut her totally out of his life. And here she was, mooning over him like some lovesick moron.
Oh, wait. She was a lovesick moron.
Austin stepped off the private jet, pausing for a moment to get over the shock of the afternoon heat slamming into him. It felt like he’d stepped into hell’s oven. Damn, Las Vegas was hot in the summer.
He checked his watch quickly. He only had a few hours before Silver was scheduled to perform. Warren’s team of investigators had finally gotten a lead on the elusive Mr. Mark Sampson, and Austin was personally running the guy down before Silver’s show started. It was the least he could do for her.
Hell, it wasn’t hardly enough.
He’d gone over to Sampson’s place the day he walked out on her to have a little man-to-man chat with the guy about stepping up to his obligations and being a man for Silver’s sake. But Sampson had been gone. Not as in out on an errand. As in cleared out. Fled the scene for good.
The Tears of the Quetzal and its thief had disappeared, as well. The goldsmith didn’t remember anything about the man who’d asked for information on the diamond other than having told the guy that he wasn’t allowed to share information about clients’ pieces. The florist shop had received the order for flowers online. Despite getting his own support team’s best computer guys on the trail, they weren’t able to discover anything about the sender. All the trails to Sampson and the diamond went cold all at once. Which was suspicious in and of itself.
Despite Harold’s protests, Austin had gone to the local police and the FBI with everything he’d had. Natalie continued to work on the case as much as she could, but because of conflict of interest issues, her hands were largely tied. A guy named Lex Duncan in the FBI’s jewelry/gem theft division had been brought in on the case, too, and he seemed sharp.
But Austin had an unshakeable, niggling feeling in the back of his mind that it wasn’t enough. His gut said Mark Sampson wasn’t done messing with Silver yet. He snorted. Where she was concerned, though, his instincts hadn’t proven to be worth a hill of beans.
How could he have missed the fact that she and Mark were not only involved but expecting a baby together?
A stab of piercing regret—hell, of uncontrolled jealousy—tore through his gut. It did every time he thought of her holding a baby in her arms. She’d be a beautiful mother. A good one, too. She was funny and fierce and loyal and loving…everything a mother ought to be.
Everything a woman ought to be.
Everything a wife ought to be.
And he’d walked out on her.
But what else could he have done? She was having another man’s baby, for crying out loud. He had no right to encroach on Sampson’s turf like that. It flat out wasn’t honorable to put a move on a pregnant woman. No matter how much he’d wanted Silver for himself, he wouldn’t stoop that low. It was beneath him—and beneath her. She deserved better than that.
But damn, losing her had been like ripping his heart out with a spoon. A dull one. With rust on it.
He’d never been a man who gave his friendship or loyalty easily, let alone his love. But once given, he’d always been the most steadfast of companions, never wavering in his support. But not so with Silver. He hadn’t been strong enough to stand by her in her time of need. He’d been too hurt, too angry, too betrayed to handle being with her.
He’d failed her.
Sure, he’d brought in Warren Bochco, who was arguably the finest bodyguard in the business, so technically he’d kept her safe.
But if he didn’t miss his guess, he’d done a real number on her heart and her head. The woman Warren described to him daily was quiet, withdrawn and impassively cooperative with everyone around her. That wasn’t the sexy firecracker he’d fallen for like a ton of bricks.
He didn’t doubt for a second that her change was all his fault.
He nearly broke down and went to her the day there was a bomb scare at the theater. An anonymous caller said there was a bomb in her dressing room and that she was going to die in a blaze of glory.
If it had been the stalker who’d murdered Candace, it made no sense for the guy to call and warn his intended victim to get out of harm’s way. But what if it had been Sampson? It sounded just like his style. Make a fuss so he could rush in and be the hero.
Austin had played and replayed that first day he’d met Silver over and over in his mind, examining every remembered detail for some evidence of who the stalker was. He had the sneaking feeling he’d seen the guy but not known at the time who he was looking at. This stalker was brazen enough to show himself to the Rothchilds and their would-be protectors.
While the mental exercise had revealed no hint of the stalker’s identity, something else significant eventually had come to him. Sampson had not been alarmed when the first attack had happened on Silver—the guy who’d jumped her out of the blue. Sampson’s only real reaction had been fury that he hadn’t been the guy at her side to heroically protect her.
Bubba knew the attack was going to happen.
Given Sampson’s comments about getting the girl and laughing all the way to the bank and given that Silver clearly hadn’t agreed to marry the guy even though she was carrying his baby, his guess was that Sampson had decided to apply a little extracurricular pressure to get her to turn to him for protection.
Except Sampson’s plan had backfired. Harold had thrown the guy a nasty curveball and hired Austin to protect Silver. When she felt threatened, she’d turned to him and not to Sampson.
But it had been more than that between them, dammit. There’d been something special there. They’d almost had it all.
Swearing under his breath, Austin took the suitcase the copilot handed down to him. He headed across the sweltering ramp for the car he’d arranged to have meet the plane.
That second attack in the hotel lobby—the shooting—had scared the living hell out of Sampson. The guy had flatly panicked. He clearly hadn’t been expecting that attack. Austin was convinced the shooting had been the work of the real stalker.
The only question that remained to be answered was whether or not Sampson and the shooter were in league with each other. More than one partnership-in-crime had suffered a case of crossed wires before. It was possible that Sampson’s crone wasn’t supposed to take that shot, or not at that time and place.
The fastest way to find that out was to go to the source directly. And that meant finding and talking to Sampson. Forcefully, if necessary.
Austin’s gut said the guy hadn’t left the local area. Silver was the guy’s golden goose, and he didn’t see Sampson
walking away from her without making one last effort to get his hooks into her.
The one silver lining to the whole mess—pun intended—was that she hadn’t made any attempt as far as Warren could tell to contact the guy. She hadn’t even mentioned Sampson, in fact.
While Austin was privately relieved that the scum bucket was apparently out of her life, intellectually he wished for her sake that the guy would’ve stepped up to the plate and been there for her. Lord knew, she had a lot to deal with right now, and she could’ve used a strong shoulder to lean on.
Like his.
Damn, damn, damn.
He punched the address Warren’s guys had obtained for Sampson into the car’s GPS system. It was supposedly a dive on the unlucky side of town where a guy matching Sampson’s description had been spotted entering and exiting over the past few days. If Austin got lucky, he could have this whole mess quietly cleaned up and out of the way before Silver’s big night.
Some parting gift. But it wasn’t like he could do any more for her. He’d pretty much cut off his chances of that when he’d walked away from her. For the thousandth time, he reminded himself it had been the right and noble thing to do. And for the thousand-and-first time, he thought grimly that if losing the woman he loved was the price of his honor…it wasn’t worth it.
Silver looked up hopefully as her dressing room door opened. Her hopes wilted when it was only Saul and her mother. Harold, Natalie, Conner and various other relatives had stopped by to wish her luck.
“Ready, Silver Girl?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Break a leg, kiddo,” her mother added.
“I thought that only applied to actors.”
Anna grinned. “I dunno. Just don’t actually do it, eh? You’ve got six more shows to do.”
After those, she looked forward to sharing her baby news with her mother. Recently, she’d been feeling a deeper bond with Anna as becoming a mother herself became more real in her mind.
Silver turned back to the makeup artist who was just finishing applying the heavy-duty, waterproof makeup she needed so as not to sweat it off during the first dance number.
Saul continued to hover. “How are you feeling?”
She frowned at his reflection in the mirror. There was no way he knew she was pregnant. But it almost sounded like…“I’m fine. Nervous. Okay. Sick to my stomach and thinking about bolting. My hands won’t stop shaking, my knees are knocking, and my teeth are about to start chattering. But I always get that way before a show.”
He nodded sagely. “I recall. But I see you’re not taking chemical measures to calm yourself this time.”
She laughed. “I keep telling you—I’m not that irresponsible kid anymore.”
He came over and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Believe me, I’ve noticed. And the change suits you. I’ve put the word out in the biz that you were an angel to work with on this show. I made sure your label knows it, too.”
She blinked up at him through sudden tears. Whether it was stray eyeliner or emotion putting them in her eyes, she wasn’t sure. Either way, she murmured, “Thanks, Saul.” A pause, then she asked quietly, “Are we square, then?”
He gave her a long, considering look. “Yeah. We’re square.”
Well, at least one relationship in her life was back on track. Speaking of which, she asked, “Any messages for me? Any visitors?”
“Your father tried to come backstage again. I told him you were too busy getting ready.”
“Bless you, Saul.”
The older man grinned at her knowingly.
“Anyone else?”
“Like that young man of yours? No.”
She didn’t have the guts to ask him which young man he was referring to—Mark or Austin. The one she could do without. The other…
A stagehand poked his head in the open door. “Ten minutes, Miss Rothchild.”
She couldn’t do this. Not without Austin. He was her strength. She was weak and frightened and incomplete without him.
“Where’s Warren?” she called out suddenly. “I need Warren!”
The tall man stepped inside her room immediately. He must’ve been standing guard just outside. “What’s the problem, ma’am?” he bit out.
“Everyone else, out. I need to speak to my bodyguard alone.”
The crowded space emptied quickly, leaving behind an island of quiet amidst the last-minute chaos.
“What’s up, Miss Rothchild?”
“I need your cell phone.”
He blinked at that and actually looked faintly surprised. “May I ask why?”
“I need to make a phone call.”
He glanced at her crystal encrusted cell phone, sparkling conspicuously on the corner of her dressing table. “What’s wrong with your phone?”
“Please, Warren. I’ve never asked you for anything before. Do me this favor.”
Frowning, he pulled it out and handed it to her. She stared down at its unfamiliar face in dismay. “How do I retrieve your recently received calls?”
Comprehension broke across his face. And then a grin. “’Bout damn time you two got over what’s been going on between you.”
Her jaw dropped. In the first place, Warren never smiled. And in the second place, he knew about the two of them?
In answer to her unspoken question he rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see how miserable you two are apart. You’ve been moping around like a zombie ever since I took over for him, and he’s not in much better shape.”
Okay, that put her jaw on the floor. “He’s upset?”
Warren actually laughed. A rumbling sound from deep in his chest. “He’s a bloody wreck. Gimme that phone. I’ll get him on the horn for you.”
Thank God. She was actually light-headed with relief at the idea of finally getting to talk to Austin again. Whatever it took—pleading, begging, crawling on her hands and knees—she had to get him back. She couldn’t live without him.
The revelation broke over her, cool and refreshing, and as inevitable as spring following winter. She loved him.
And that was exactly what she was going to tell him.
The apartment door opened, and Austin went on full battle alert behind the wheel of his car. His hand drifted to the door handle. The guy looked like Sampson. Maybe a little slimmer than before. If he took off that baseball hat, Austin could be sure. As soon as Bubba turned back to the door to lock it, Austin slid out of the vehicle quietly. He moved fast and low across the parking lot toward his target, ducking between cars and using a tall cactus for cover.
Sampson turned and walked the opposite direction. Perfect. Austin put on a burst of speed to close the final gap. It would’ve been a piece of cake, except his cell phone rang just then. Sampson threw a startled look over his shoulder and took off like a jackrabbit.
Swearing, Austin ignored his phone and gave chase. The bastard wasn’t getting away from him this time, no sir. With Silver’s face firmly in mind, Austin gave chase. It really wasn’t much of a chase. His superior fitness, training and motivation made short work of the distance between them. Austin made a flying leap and tackled Sampson in a move his high school football coach would have been proud of. In short order, he straddled Sampson, who was facedown in a patch of dried-out grass with one arm cranked up high between his shoulder blades.
Swearing erupted beneath him as Sampson struggled against the restraint. The baseball hat flew off, and Austin looked down grimly at the profile, half-ground into the grass.
It was not Sampson.
“Who the hell are you?” Austin burst out.
“Who the hell are you?” the guy snarled back.
“Name’s Dearing. What’s yours?”
“Call me Dingo.”
Austin let up a little on the guy’s twisted arm. “I’m looking for a guy named Mark Sampson. Ever heard of him, Dingo?”
“That son of a bitch. I’ll kill him myself if I ever catch up with him…” The guy devolved i
nto a spate of angry curses.
Surprised, Austin demanded, “What did he do to you?”
“Stiffed me on a deal. I did some…jobs…for him, and he was gonna pay me ten grand for the package. I came over here to his place to collect, but the bastard’s skipped out on me again.”
Austin squeezed his eyelids shut in frustration. “Any idea where he’s gone?”
“You think I’d be here if I did?”
“What kind of job did you do for him?” Austin asked.
The guy’s chattiness evaporated in an instant. “Just a job,” he muttered.
Something illegal, obviously. Ten grand worth of illegal. Which meant it was something major. Possibly dangerous. Like, oh, stalking Silver? “Ever heard of a girl named Silver Rothchild?” Austin asked darkly.
Dingo lurched violently beneath him, struggling frantically to free himself. Austin nodded to himself. Uh-huh. Exactly what he’d thought.
“Sampson paid you to harass her, didn’t he?”
Dingo went perfectly still this time. Like a deer in a hunter’s headlights.
Oh yeah. He’d nailed this one spot on. Given some time and some…gentle…persuasion, this guy would no doubt sing and give him all he needed to put Sampson away for a good long time. But time was the one thing Austin didn’t have right now. “I’ll pay you ten grand to tell me where he is.”
The guy sighed. “Man, I’d tell you in a second if I knew.”
Austin reached into his jacket and pulled out a plastic strip. He looped it deftly around the guy’s wrists and gave a yank.
“Oww! What are you doing?”
Austin pushed to his feet and quickly gave the same treatment to the guy’s ankles. “I’m making sure you’re still here when the cops get here.”
“Aww, man. I swear. I don’t know where Sampson is.”
This guy didn’t strike Austin as being sophisticated enough to be the stalker who’d murdered Candace, stolen the Tears of the Quetzal and shot at Silver. But that wasn’t up to him to decide.
