by Dana Marton
Not my problem, his brand-new resolution smacked him upside the head the next moment. He’d been hired to protect the dog. He wasn’t here to solve all of Kayla Landon’s problems.
That held him back for about thirty seconds. Then his mind crept back to the issue again.
Someone was out there with Kayla in his sights. Nash watched her closely, as analytically as he had ever considered any mission.
There was a vulnerability about her that didn’t come through on the television screen or show in her frequent pictures in the tabloids. Predictably, he found himself responding.
Don’t go there.
He was a sucker for women in jeopardy—his one weakness. Hadn’t he just gotten into trouble over that? Exactly how he’d ended up with the damned “pet-detective” assignment in the first place.
If he sank any lower, he’d be doing cat shows next.
He’d shoot himself first, he decided.
He couldn’t afford to get involved in Kayla Landon’s life chin-deep. Welkins would have his head on a platter. But he could do two things for her, at the very least: the first was to convince her that she was in a lot more danger than her dog, the second was to put the fear of God into her bodyguards so they would step up their vigilance. While protecting the poodle and navigating the Vegas Dog Show. All this in the next four days, which was the duration of his assignment.
And during that time, Kayla would be in an environment that was impossible to control, even discounting the media circus that was bound to follow her around. Best thing would be to convince her not to go to the show, but he had nothing save his instincts to take to her, and she had no reason to trust him.
Hell, it would probably take four days just to convince her that she was in any kind of danger. Media-darling socialite. She probably thought the whole world loved her.
He watched as she bent to kiss the dog’s head, caught the curve of a breast, dropped his gaze only to land on her mile-long legs.
A target who didn’t know she was in danger. A woman who was definitely tempting him on a raw, primal level, but who came with a “strictly forbidden” sticker.
“I’m a little worried that a new person will throw off the team,” she said.
Great. She didn’t even want him there.
“I wish there were another solution.”
He wished for the simplicity of armed combat. He didn’t think it’d be prudent to tell her that.
SHE HATED that she would feel rattled under his scrutiny. As a businesswoman, Kayla had fought her way through a top-notch MBA, then into a corner office at Landon Enterprises at last. As a public persona, since people seemed fascinated with her, she’d been dragged through the tabloids over and over again. She had her protective shields firmly in place on every level. She didn’t like the fact that Nash Wilder was able to get to her with a glance.
“Don’t worry about anything. I’m going to take care of this,” he said.
“Excellent,” Kayla told him, all snooty like he would expect. Sometimes that was easiest. “That’s what I’m paying you for.” She flashed a saccharine smile.
And watched his Adam’s apple bob up, then down.
She was getting to him, too. And how childish was it to gain pleasure from that? She needed to get away from him, away from his penetrating gaze. She wished they would call her to the kitchen.
“I’d prefer if we took the Landon jet to Vegas,” he said, focusing back on the work at hand. Apparently, he’d read the detailed file her secretary had sent over to Welkins’s office.
“The team is flying commercial. First class. I already have the tickets.” The corporate jet would be too easily set up for another accident if her parents’ and brother’s murderer decided to use the opportunity to take her out.
Whoever the bastard was, she didn’t think he would blow up a passenger jet and kill hundreds of people just to get to her.
Greg’s voice filtered in from the den. She glanced that way. Back already? She wished Nash would finish their question-and-answer session so she could talk to her brother. But Greg seemed to be leaving again with a quick wave to her. He’d probably come back for something he’d forgotten. He was often absentminded.
“The corporate jet would give me a smaller environment to control. It’d make my job easier,” Nash was saying.
Obviously, he expected her to rearrange her life to his specifications. She knew bodyguards like that. Her aunt had fallen prey to a similar man when Kayla had been a teenager. The guy had come in, made Aunt Carmella completely paranoid, got her to where she wouldn’t trust anyone but him. She ended up leaving Uncle Al and marrying that man. He left her after a year, taking half of the family fortune with him.
“Your job is to protect Tsini. My job is to live my life, not to make yours easy,” she spelled it out for Nash.
He considered her with a lazy look that she was pretty sure hid fury. “As you pointed out before, you’re paying me to protect you—” He cleared his throat. “Your dog. Are you going to fight me on everything I recommend?”
He didn’t seem like a guy who was used to taking no for an answer. He probably scared the breath out of the average person. He would have scared the breath out of her, too, if her life hadn’t been in constant jeopardy in the past year.
She flashed her best debutante-millionaire-heiress smile. “Of course not, just when we don’t agree.” Then she thought, shouldn’t have said that.
He looked in control, but she wasn’t sure whether it was the kind of control that would easily snap. For all she knew, he was getting ready to strangle her for standing up to him. Her father had been like that. Bore no opposition from anyone. How quickly she’d forgotten.
But Nash threw his head back and laughed.
The sound was warm and genuine, reached right across the distance between them. The harsh lines of his face crinkled into a look of mirth. Not staring with her jaw hanging open took effort. The man was beyond belief good-looking.
“You’re not like I expected,” he said, his demeanor turning friendlier.
“And you think you know all about me now after what, five minutes?” She didn’t want to admit that he was quickly disarming her.
“I know that spunk and a sense of humor rarely accompany an empty head.”
Score one for Nash. He was more observant than ninety-nine percent of the people she usually met.
“Imagine that.” She couldn’t help the sarcasm, but for the first time in a long time, she wanted to.
He didn’t seem to take offense. “I want you on your own plane because I can control a ten-person team easier than I can a commercial flight with hundreds on it.” He considered her for a long moment, the look on his face turning serious. Then he seemed to have reached a decision at last and leaned forward, his voice dropping as he said, “I think you’re in danger.”
The slew of emotions that washed through her was bewildering. She’d been saying that for how long now? And nobody had ever believed her.
He was a complete stranger. She didn’t trust him yet, might never trust him. He was the last person she wanted knowing about her personal problems. He could easily take them to the press. Confidentiality clauses tended to be forgotten when tabloids offered tens of thousands of dollars for any gossip about her.
She wanted to act as though she didn’t know what he was talking about.
Failing that, she wanted to act like “yeah, I’m in danger, but I’m cool with that.”
Failing that—She would have wanted to do anything but what she did do.
She burst into tears.
In front of a total outsider.
Who was probably beginning to think she was certifiable.
She didn’t dare look up at him. God, she was a mess.
“Five-minute warning,” Fisk, her agent, called out behind her.
She didn’t turn, only lifted a hand to indicate that she heard him.
“All right, guys, let’s get this party started. She’s coming in a sec
,” he said to the producer in the kitchen as he walked back.
Nash was by her side the second Fisk left the den.
“We’re going to talk someplace private,” he said, then took her hand and gently pulled her up from the pod chair.
The line of potted palms between the living room and the den kept them out of sight of the staff as he led her to her bedroom, his hand at the small of her back as if he were her escort at some posh party, walking her down the red carpet.
He steered her to her reading chaise, plucked the box of tissues off the bookshelf and dropped it in her lap, then went back and, after letting Tsini in, closed the door.
She blew her nose then drew Tsini onto her lap.
He stood between her and the door, scanning her bedroom. He made no disparaging remarks, although the place currently looked like a movie set. Her uncle’s interior decorator had had it redone a week ago, in time for a magazine shoot. The cooking show was making a major promo push, highlighting their special angle that the celebs would be filmed in their homes, some for the first time. Her bookshelves and chaise had had to be taken out for the pictures. They’d finally gotten dragged back that morning, after she’d repeatedly asked.
“I think there are things you need to tell me.” Nash stood tall and strong, as if standing between her and the world.
At the moment, the thought was incredibly comforting, even if it was only a fantasy.
“We don’t have much time before they call you, so go ahead.” His voice was steady, his gaze attentive, his demeanor calm. His stance radiated self-confidence.
The power structure had shifted between them. When he’d shown up, she was the boss and he was a hired man. Now he was—
She couldn’t find the right word, but the man was clearly in his element.
“Do you know who’s after you?” he asked.
“Tsini—”
“You,” he corrected with a stubborn look.
She shook her head.
“Other than the death threats involving the dog—” He looked at Tsini. “And I want all of them, with the exact circumstances of how and when they were received. What else happened?”
Here came the part where she told him, and he would think her crazy, just as the police had.
“I felt at times that I was being followed.” She waited for him to roll his eyes.
He listened without giving his opinion away. “What else?”
She drew a deep breath. “A couple of times, I thought someone might have been in the apartment when we were all out. Things were out of place. I don’t think it was Angie, the woman who cleans.”
“You asked?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll talk to her. I want to talk to your whole staff.”
Just what she didn’t need. “Mike and Dave are going to hate that.”
Her bodyguards were protective of her and their jobs. They’d been with her for close to three years.
“What extra security measures have they put in place since you told them all this?” Nash’s gaze was direct, his tone honed steel.
Point taken. Mike and Dave agreed with the police that the stress of the paparazzi was getting to her. They all thought she was getting paranoid as a result of living under constant stress.
Still, Mike and Dave were not going to let Nash walk all over their work and start to interfere. Yes, she was probably in danger. But she had a strategy and she was working it. And, so far, nothing had happened.
Except that now she was getting those death threats for Tsini. Which really was unacceptable.
“Maybe you could snoop around under the radar. Without them noticing that you’re checking into things.” She didn’t need a power struggle among her staff.
He lifted a dark eyebrow. Here came the part where he would demand full command, she thought. Alpha male was written all over the man.
For a long second, he just watched her. Then he surprised her by saying, “All right. I can do that.”
DAMN, he was in so much trouble here. He hadn’t been inside Kayla Landon’s penthouse for a full hour yet and he was already getting sucked in, getting involved on what felt suspiciously like a personal level. Nash scratched the underside of his chin.
At least he had taken her suggestion. That was something. He was protecting the client without completely taking over her life. Welkins would be proud of him.
“I don’t want any of my staff interrogated or inconvenienced,” Kayla was saying.
On the other hand, she did need to face reality.
“Do you want to stay alive?” Sometimes a man had to put things bluntly.
She paled. And something else. It was as if she wasn’t all that surprised by the severity of her situation. He noted the way she sat—stiff, on guard even in her own bedroom—and wondered what else was going on that he didn’t know about, what else had happened that she wasn’t telling him.
“You really think my life is in immediate danger?” She seemed to be holding her breath as she waited for the answer. She was so beautiful, those big blue eyes hanging on him.
For a moment, his mind went blank. Not good.
He focused back on her question. “Someone wants to scare you. His desire to harm you in other ways is not that huge a leap. The fur coat is disturbing. This guy could be a psycho.” He drew a deep breath and brought up the issue that had been on his mind for the last ten minutes. “Tell me about the deaths of your parents and your brother.”
She blinked, hesitating a moment before she started. “Two years ago, my parents died in a car accident. My father had just gotten a new Porsche. The police said he was driving way too fast. Probably testing its power and all that.” Her full lips trembled.
Some lips.
He wasn’t going to notice them. He lifted his gaze to her eyes. “What else?”
“Last year my brother died in a skiing accident. Smashed into a tree and broke his neck. His blood alcohol levels were pretty high. He was on a slope that had been shut down due to dangerous conditions.” She pressed those tempting lips into a thin line. “He was always a daredevil.”
He took in the information, turned it over in his brain. It wasn’t all new to him. He’d heard the stories at the time, although he’d paid little attention. Then the facts had come back again when he’d run a quick background check on her. Police reports were cut and dry. Nothing there had piqued his instincts.
Was it unusual to have two lethal accidents in a family within two years? Maybe. But the Landon family wasn’t exactly average. Most people didn’t drive superpowered Porsches. Most people didn’t have the kind of pull to have a closed slope open for their private night-skiing pleasure. You could do a hell of a lot more with money than without, and some of those things were dangerous.
Back when he’d thought this was nothing bigger than some idiot fan trying to get Kayla’s attention by sending her dog death threats, he hadn’t seen any connection to the family deaths. But she clearly thought there was a connection and she was rattled. And after he’d seen that blue fur coat, he did get that cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. His instincts said there was something more here than what showed on the surface.
“My father wasn’t a reckless driver. Lance was never a heavy drinker,” she added in a soft voice.
And she would know them best. The uneasy feeling in his gut grew. What she’d just told him changed everything. “If someone’s after your family,” he told her, “then both you and your brother are in danger.”
She surprised him by slumping back in the chaise and saying, “I know that.”
“HOW WAS your day?” Kayla asked Greg over dinner.
Her brother ignored her for a moment, doing Sudoku on the side, next to his plate.
She didn’t tell him to put it away. He wouldn’t. He had a thing about that. Always had to finish what he started.
Her back ached from being on her feet all day. Sitting up straight and looking upbeat took effort. And she still had other commitments, a busi
ness meeting over drinks at a popular restaurant nearby, although she’d cut way back on going out since the threatening notes began to arrive for Tsini. She didn’t want to leave the dog alone in the apartment in the evenings.
“Boring, like work always is.” Greg finished the puzzle at last and closed the book, then meticulously arranged and rearranged his utensils and his napkin until they were lined up with military precision.
“Do you want me to talk to Uncle Al about that?”
Lance, their older brother, had been a director at the company. Their father had made Kayla financial consultant when she’d received her MBA. He’d put Greg in Human Resources, where he’d said his younger son would do the least damage. Greg was entering old employee files into the computer system, an insult to the twenty-five-year-old with a degree in Organizational Management.
Uncle Al had immediately moved Kayla up in the ranks after their parents’ death, to the appropriate level for her education and experience, but had left Greg in HR. Which Greg hated.
“I’m fine.” He tugged on his Eagles jersey, a gift she’d recently gotten him, signed by the whole team. “I don’t want any more family arguments about this.”
Neither did she. God knew, they’d had plenty of that in the past. She hadn’t always seen eye-to-eye with her father. But she missed him now that he was gone, and she wished she could take some of those fights back. She’d grown up a lot in the past two years. Maybe they could have discussions now on a different level. Maybe she could make him see reason. Maybe she could engineer some sort of true relationship between him and Greg.
But her father was gone, and she couldn’t take back anything they’d said to each other. It was too late to make anything better. She would have felt guilty even if she didn’t think that she might have played a role in their parents’ and brother’s death, something she hadn’t told Nash.
The man had thrown her for a loop on more than one level. He was fast. Lightning. In every way. Caught on immediately. And he was hot beyond words, although that part she was going to ignore if it killed her.
