Read The Socialite and the Bodyguard Online
Authors: Dana Marton
The Socialite and the Bodyguard (2 page)
He focused back on her, fixed her with a glare that was probably supposed to put her in her place.
His short hair was near-black, his eyes dark gold whiskey. The two-inch scar along his jawline gave him a fierce look. The sleeves of his black T-shirt stretched across impressive biceps. He had
Semper Fi
tattooed on one and some sort of a shield on the other.
“I’m a bodyguard, Miss Landon,” he was saying. “I’m
not
a pet detective.”
And I’m not an airhead blonde,
she wanted to tell him, but didn’t. Nobody ever believed her anyway.
“There are a few things I’m going to need from you.” He moved on. “A copy of your employee files, with pictures. A list of close associates. Your schedule for the past month. Your hour-by-hour schedule for the next four days of the show. The threats. The originals if the police didn’t take them.”
“I didn’t call the police.”
The police had done nothing when she’d gone to them for help about her parents’ and her brother’s deaths.
Accidents
. She hated that word with a hot red passion, but that was all they would tell her. They sure weren’t going to bother themselves about her pet.
“You can have a list of my employees with their pictures, but not their employee files. That would be a breach of confidentiality.”
He glared, obviously not liking that she pushed back. Tough for him. She expected a better plan for Tsini’s protection than him harassing her employees.
Other than Greg and her uncle, she had barely any family left. Her staff was her family. They looked out
for her, took care of her, defended her from the paparazzi and kept her secrets. She trusted them implicitly and she wasn’t going to hand them over for any sort of interrogation by Mr. Hot and Overzealous here.
Wilder kept going with the narrow-eyed look. If he thought he could browbeat her into doing whatever he wanted, he was setting himself up for steep disappointment.
“You do that so well, Mr. Wilder. Do they teach mean looks in pet-detective school?” she began, then decided to stop there. She shouldn’t antagonize him. But she knew that he’d judged her and judged her unfairly from the moment he’d set eyes on her, probably from the moment he’d taken on the job, or before. She resented it and felt some perverse need to put him in his place. Stupid. She needed to let go of that. Whatever he thought of her, he’d come to help.
Still, every inch of him exuded how much he didn’t want to be here. The restraint that kept him in his seat was admirable. “Miss Landon—”
“Kayla.”
“All I want is to figure out where the threats came from. It would make my job easier.”
He was hired to keep an eye on Tsini for the next four days. Was he going above and beyond to impress her, or did he really care?
He didn’t look as if her good opinion mattered one whit to him, for sure. But how could he care? He didn’t know her and hadn’t even met Tsini yet.
“I like doing my job as well as I can,” he said.
That was it, then. A dedicated man. Her father would have liked him.
Tsini chose that moment to wander out of her bedroom and mosey in. She went straight to the stranger in the room and gave him a few cursory sniffs.
“And this would be my job?” He looked the standard poodle over.
“We prefer to call her Tsini.” Kayla petted her when Tsini finally made her way to the pod chair. Her gleaming white hair was done in show clip, ready for the competition. They were leaving for Vegas in the morning. “Aren’t you pretty today?”
Nash leaned back on the couch, watching the two of them. “So how much would one of these fancy things run a person?”
Not much at all. She’d rescued the abused poodle from a shelter. Some despicable breeder had been shut down just days before and about two dozen purebred poodles had ended up crammed into the already overcrowded cages. Kayla had gone there for a guard dog—right after her older brother’s death. But then she’d seen Tsini with her badly broken leg, the cutest puppy that ever lived, and when she’d been told that the surgery to reset it would cost too much so she’d have to be put down, Kayla had snapped her up quicker than the ASPCA guy could ask for her autograph.
She’d paid for the surgeries, rehabilitation and regular grooming, wanting to erase the frightened, sick mess Tsini had been. And she had succeeded at least in this one thing in her life.
Tsini had turned out to be a real girl. She liked to look
pretty and liked to show it off. And it was a pleasure to take her to shows and let her. After Kayla tracked down and obtained the dog’s papers.
None of that would interest Nash who’d strutted into her home with his thinly veiled prejudices, determined to believe her a spoiled brat. “Tsini is priceless,” she said.
She reached for the star-shaped wireless phone on the see-through acrylic coffee table and rang her office as Tsini settled in at her feet. Her secretary picked up on the second ring.
“Could you please send over my schedule for the last month and the next four days? The official schedule of the dog show, too? Thanks.”
She hung up then walked over to the built-in cabinetry that was camouflaged in the wall paneling. She pressed a panel and a deep drawer slid out. She pulled out the plastic bag inside and carried it back to Nash, tossed it on his lap.
Tsini had followed her there and back, taking her time to resettle again. She was a sweet, good-natured dog. Unconditional love. Complete acceptance.
Nash opened the bag with care then pulled out the contents. “What’s this?”
She leaned down for Tsini, lifted her up and hugged her close as even the last bit of her good mood for the day disappeared. “The last
message
I got. Day before yesterday.”
It still gave her shivers.
Nash looked the thing over. “Did a note come with it?”
“No.”
“So basically this is your death threat?” He did his best not to laugh. Someone sends her an electric-blue fur coat and she runs crying for help. Women.
The job was looking easier by the minute. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Some challenge would have at least kept him from being bored to death.
Maybe she could put the damned coat on, not that there was much of it, just a strip of back and the sleeves. He thought, but wasn’t sure, that they called this sort of thing a bolero jacket. Partially completed clothing seemed to be her thing. There had to be parts missing from the dress she wore. The white silk clung to curves that were made to tempt a man. Tempt him and drive him mad.
She had a perfect figure, which the paparazzi loved, big blue eyes and silky blond hair that tumbled down all the way to her pert little behind.
Temptation in a designer dress, if outside appear
ances were all a man cared about. But he’d been burned one time too many to be taken in by any of that.
He’d been burned and Bobby was dead. He pushed that thought away, still not ready to deal with it. He’d done many stupid things in his life, but for this one, for “Pounder”—Bobby Smith had been a wizard with heavy artillery—Nash would never forgive himself.
He watched dispassionately as Kayla Landon’s luscious, hot-pink, glazed lips tightened.
“That coat is made of dog fur.” She emphasized the last two words. “Same breed as Tsini, dyed blue. The decoration around the neckline is exactly the same as the collar Tsini has.”
Okay, he could see that now. He dropped the thing back into the bag. He had friends who could go over it for any clues, although he didn’t hold out much hope for anything usable. Likely everyone and their PR manager had already had their hands on it. Kayla Landon worked with a large staff.
“How would you feel—” her blue eyes flashed “—if someone sent you a coat made of human skin with tattoos exactly like yours?”
Point taken. He glanced at Tsini at Kayla’s feet, then back at the blue coat, then at Kayla again.
And got seriously ticked when he saw the lines of concern around her eyes, and the fear behind them. And he knew in that instant what he’d stepped in the middle of here.
This wasn’t about the dog.
The threats were about her. Someone wanted to scare her. And if the bastard was anything like some Nash had
had to deal with in the past, harming her would be the next step. Only, her incompetent bodyguards had been too busy brushing lint off their designer suits to realize that. He’d seen them and wasn’t impressed. They’d let him into the penthouse on his word. Nobody had checked that he was who he’d claimed to be. Amateurs, the both of them.
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.
S
HE 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.
