He shoots.
He scores!
“And the crowd goes wild. Hhaar.”
Tony threw his hands in the air, jumped up and did his best Rocky Balboa impression, but even that got dull after a while. There was no one to watch him.
He went back to his game until a familiar voice spoke on the television, nabbing his attention. He squeezed the crumpled ball in his fist and sat down on the sofa near the door, eyes on the screen. Griffin’s wife, Lilo, stood outside the Cardinal Copy network studio about to give a news report. Her lively brown hair caught a breeze and lifted, but her attractive face was focused, gaze turned inward as she listened to the communication microphone in her ear.
Damn, Griff was lucky to have her for his mate. All of his siblings who had paired up had scored well, but the idea of coupling up—falling in love—was a foreign concept he couldn’t relate to.
Women helped him sate his appetite temporarily, but that was it. He was too hungry... for sex, for pleasure, for conversation, for... more. It was always more with him, and one woman had never been enough for his insatiable urges. He could never have a relationship because soon enough, he got hungry again, and he hated it. Unchecked gluttonous desire eventually turned every taste to cardboard.
But Lilo, she was the center of Griffin’s universe. Lilo had come a long way in the past six months. She used to want to unmask the Deadly Seven, but then she fell in love with one of them. Now Griffin and his wife were inseparable, much like Wyatt and Misha, or Evan and Grace. Max and Sloan were the latest of his family to catch the bug.
On the screen, Lilo was about to cross to another reporter in a neighboring city when a knock came at Tony’s trailer door.
Thank Christ.
Without removing his eyes from the news report, Tony leaned over and opened the door for Max. “Guess who’s about to report?”
Light flashed in as the door rocked open, but no answer to his question. Tony looked over and tensed.
Not Max.
Bailey.
Now, there was a woman he’d happily sate his urges on.
Still standing at the foot of the steps wearing her hot-as-fuck Aviators and a black pantsuit, there was so much more about her that appealed to him. Killer curves. Smooth brown skin. Big eyes. Full rosy lips. Plenty. It was the only word that kept coming to mind. She flicked her jacket open and rested her hands on her hips. Such a casual move, but it drew his attention to the fullness at her chest in a way that made his blood heat.
His mouth watered.
This woman was his bodyguard.
He casually swung his legs around the sofa and stood. He moved toward her, eyes never leaving her face until he ducked to avoid the dolls. At the doorframe, he lifted his arms to grip the top in a pose he knew exhibited the best his rigorous gym schedule had to offer. And then he slid her The Smile. Empire Magazine called it the look of the year. TMZ said it could kill. Cosmo said a bunch of things he probably shouldn’t repeat. He just knew it made life easier.
Except Bailey didn’t react. Not a twitch. Birds flew past in the sky, crickets chirped, and the world kept turning.
After a beat of silence, his grin dropped. He glanced down at himself and patted his chest and abs. “Is this thing on?”
When he glanced up, he caught her sucking her teeth, unimpressed. Right. Well, Plan B, then. Plan A was a long shot, anyway. He smiled again. “We have to stop meeting like this.”
“You hired me.”
“I hired Nightingale. You didn’t have to come. Admit it, when the job came in, you were the first to stick up your hand.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. No one else was available.”
His swagger faltered. He shrugged. “A man has to try.”
She removed her glasses, folded them and used them to point to the dolls behind his head. “Care to explain?”
The torn shirt was beginning to make him feel a little exposed. He hopped down the trailer steps and gestured at the dolls before folding his arms to hide the battered shirt. “Your Honor, may I present Exhibit A; The reason I apparently need a bodyguard.”
“I’m asking who you think did it. Why they did it. Whose wife did you screw this time?”
He covered his heart in mock offense. “Objection. Speculation.”
It was a jest, but a glimmer of tightness constricted his chest and her words from months ago came back to haunt him: I don’t expect you to know anything.
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop them from cutting him. The sad thing was, she’d been right. He knew nothing. He was a smile on a face and a dick on legs. A monkey who danced to someone else’s beat.
“What’s with the lawyer talk?” she asked.
“I might change genres and try a courtroom drama. What do you think?”
“I think you should stick to telling me about the job.”
“Oh, but it’s much more fun pretending to be someone else.”
“What’s wrong with being yourself?”
He plucked at the hem of his shirt, saw his skin through a hole and folded his arms across his stomach to cover it. When he didn’t answer, Bailey stepped into his trailer, leaving him out in the cold. She went to great pains to avoid touching him as she passed and then inspected the dolls with her sunglasses poking, brows puckering. “Do you have a copy of the police report?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“We didn’t make one.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“For a few dolls?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You taking me for a ride, Lazarus?”
“Babe...” He paused just in time, a smirk lifting his lips at the insinuation. He would say more, but that kind of line wouldn’t work on this ice queen. Nothing in his normal arsenal had worked.
Silence.
Their eyes locked.
She did this little confused flinch, shook her head and cleared her throat.
Tony rejoined her in the trailer, squeezed by and collected his wallet and cell from the tiny dining table. He shoved it in his rear pocket and then retrieved his skateboard from its spot near the sofa. His Ducati was at the lot, and it was a ten-minute walk to get there. He preferred to use the board for the journey; nobody stopped to talk to you when you skated.
He reached for the TV remote. Lilo was saying something about water catchments being inexplicably drained around the tri-state area, but he switched it off. It was an interstate issue. Feds would handle it. One day the Deadly Seven envisioned themselves being split across the world, to help in any way they could, but not today. Not yet. Not until after the Syndicate was eliminated. Since the Syndicate were close by, Tony’s family would stay local for now.
Bailey pulled her gaze from the dolls and began a slow scan of his trailer, pausing when her eyes touched the double bed, and then again when she caught the personal gym attached in a conjoined trailer.
“Did the stalker touch anything else?” she asked.
“I’m going to stop you there. Calling it a stalker is overkill. It’s probably Sloan’s retaliation for the time I locked her and Max in an elevator together.”
“Heard about that. Didn’t think Max was holding a grudge, though. Didn’t think Sloan was either.” She glanced at him and quickly looked away.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She straightened her spine and then turned her unwavering gaze back to him. “I thought what you did was nice, actually.”
Nice?
The weight of her stare buzzed against his skin. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
Heat flooded his cheeks. “I didn’t play match-maker, if that’s what you’re thinking. They were being annoying. I wanted it to stop. That’s all.”
“Right.” She rolled her lips to try to hide an obvious smile. “Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t think the dolls are Sloan’s doing.”
Still scowling, Tony averted his gaze. It didn’t matter who the prankster was. If
anyone seriously thought about taking him on, they were in for a surprise. Just let them come. He may be a little rusty around the edges, but he knew how to protect himself.
Suddenly the trailer air became stifling, and he had to get out of there. He jogged down the steps and plonked his skateboard down, stopping it expertly with a boot. With a furtive look down Trailer Row, he checked for oncoming foot traffic. The majority of production had finished months ago, and today’s take was only a make-up session. Most actors had gone home shortly after the final scene take, and the only staff left were preparing for the party. Food carts were gone or shifted. It was a ghost town.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Bailey asked, doing that hands-on hips thing, looking down at him from the doorway, all traces of softness gone.
“I’m leaving. I have a party to get ready for.”
Her lips pursed. “Get inside. We’re not done.”
“Babe, we’re going,” he stated. “I got places to be.”
“Don’t call me babe. It’s Bailey. And I said, get your ass back in here, Lazarus. We need to talk about this. I need to know what I’m up against before we go parading you in the streets. Then I need to update your producer.”
“It’s Trailer Row. It’s hardly a street, and you can call Donatello on the way.”
A shout from further down the laneway drew Tony’s attention as a male co-star on his way out waved. “See you tonight, Tones.”
“You want to air your dirty laundry in public, be my guest,” Bailey hissed. “I can talk about it down there.”
She had a point. He’d thought everyone was gone, but obviously not.
“Fine.” He stomped on the skateboard tail to flick up the top and grab. Then he went back inside.
Bailey slammed the door behind him. “Sit.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Take this seriously. You have dolls hanging from your ceiling. Not just hanging, but with blood painted on them.”
“The blood’s not on my doll,” he joked.
“Why on earth wouldn’t the studio call the police?”
Fiery eyes pinned him, giving him a taste of that x-ray attention again. He held back a squirm. This was ridiculous. He was better than squirming under a lady’s attention. With a forced exhale, he loosened up.
“Guess they don’t want another scandal,” he answered.
“We need to find out who did this, or you’ll be a sitting duck. You’ll permanently need a bodyguard. Is that what you want?” He opened his mouth and she shut him down, continuing to berate him like a child. “Don’t answer that. I’ll answer for you. No. You don’t want a long-term bodyguard, because next time, it won’t be me, it will be Tom-Tom or Daymo if you refuse to act like an adult.”
He leaned back and rested an arm lengthwise over the top of the sofa. “All right, Scooby-Doo. What do you suggest?”
A muscle in her cheek twitched. “The stalker had access to your trailer. I’ll need the studio records of who’s been allowed on the lot. We can start there.”
“Sloan can get in anywhere without a trace. You know that, right? So if it was her, you wouldn’t know, anyway.”
“And exactly how does she manage to do that?”
The world thought Sloan was a slacker gamer, not a hacking and tech-wise vigilante. He’d said too much.
“I meant, she’s family. I’ve given her an all-access pass to the set,” he fibbed.
“There will still be records. We’ll ask her too. Anything else I need to know?” She pulled out her cell phone and began to take notes. “Disgruntled colleagues. Crazed fans?”
He rolled his eyes. “They all love me.”
“Right. Because that’s so believable.”
That was the last straw. He didn’t need this crap. He didn’t need a fucking bodyguard. He straightened, tensed, and instead of shrinking away, she blocked his exit at the door with a challenge in her eyes.
“You have something to say to me, Lazarus?”
Long seconds passed. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You don’t like me, Bailey. Be honest.”
Her jaw tightened and Tony saw the truth in her eyes. It was more than not liking him. She didn’t respect him. Suddenly, the fight went out of him and he sighed. Just get this over with.
“There was a note,” he admitted and found the scrunched paper ball to hand to her.
She opened it. “It says ‘I know.’ That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
She folded it and put it in her pocket. “You have a secret. Someone knows. They don’t like it.”
“You want your Scooby snack now?”
Attentive eyes laced with suspicion weighed on him.
He was done. “I don’t need a nosy babysitter. I can take care of myself.”
He moved for the door, but she stopped his exit with her body. The pure retribution in her eyes cut him to the core.
“I am not a babysitter. I am a trained security specialist. Eleven years serving my country, which far outranks your drop in the ocean.”
His three collective years of training with the SEALs and the SAS (both Australian and UK) was a public fact and she knew it. He’d completed all in record time. It helped build his action-hero credibility. Granted, the public didn’t know about the four other years traveling the world, learning the Art of War, or his old nighttime escapades bringing the city’s worst to justice. They didn’t know about his training by one of the most lethal women in the world—his mother, a deadly assassin.
She continued. “I’m the bodyguard. I make the rules. Everywhere you go, I go first. Understood?”
Her scrutiny made him realize he was supposed to be acting like the dumb playboy actor. The one who hated responsibilities. The one incapable of being one of the Deadly Seven. Without another word, he reached around her, got in her personal space like only a narcissistic actor would, then opened the door and used his body to get by.
She let him.
“Bodyguards don’t investigate,” he pointed out. “You guard.”
The fidget of her fingers told him he’d hit her right in the squirming spot, just like she’d done with him earlier. She didn’t like being told not to investigate. She thought she was better than a bodyguard.
“You coming?” he asked over his shoulder. He put his skateboard down, planted a foot to stop it rolling and waited for her. He should be used to people ordering him around by now.
She shut the trailer door and, after giving a searching look around, gestured down the alley in the direction of the parking lot. “Let’s go.”
Watching her stride away, he felt a growing hollow in his stomach... a hunger forming. There was nothing he could do but follow.
Much to Tony’s chagrin, Bailey insisted she drive him back to his place in her SUV, meaning his bike had to stay at the studio lot. The woman was serious about the bodyguard business. When they’d arrived, she made him stay in the car until she exited first and checked their surroundings—even though they were in the private Lazarus House underground garage. They took the civilian elevator up to his level, and then she checked the corridor leading to his apartment before she let him out of the lift.
“Alright,” she said, waving him out. “Let’s go.”
His lips twitched. “Are you sure it’s safe?”
She shot him an apathetic stare. A thrill tripped in his stomach.
“Which room is yours?” she asked and then checked her watch as though she had somewhere better to be.
“On the left.”
He followed her down the hall. There were only two doors. The one on the right belonged to Griffin and Lilo. Each apartment was penthouse sized and took up one half of the building. Of course, the top floor was the real penthouse. That belonged to his eldest sibling, Parker, and spanned the entire expanse of the building, complete with a pool and jacuzzi on his balcony.
Bailey held out her palm. “Keys.�
�
Don’t think so. He ignored her and wrapped his hand around the knob.
“Stop,” she snapped.
“Christ. I can open my own door.”
“It’s unlocked?”
“Yeah, of course.”
She waved him aside. “Let me go in first.”
“This is private property. No one gets in but the family. And maybe the cleaner, but she’s had a background check.” A very extensive check. Plus she was paid handsomely for her exclusivity and silence.
Her black brow arched indignantly. “I go in first.”
He took a step back, palms up.
“Wait here.” She unclipped her firearm and released it from the holster. Then she nudged the door open and proceeded with caution.
Tony waited in the hallway, hands in pockets, leaning his head against the wall. This bodyguard schtick was getting old. With nothing to do but wait, he focused on Griffin’s door and pushed out his sixth sense to feel for the sin of gluttony. Nothing. Didn’t mean there was no one home, but most likely the happily married couple were still at work. They were both workaholics.
His neck itched. Come to think of it, his chest itched too. The fake blood had caked on his skin. Normally he’d be out of makeup by now. He sniffed under his arm and jerked back. Yep. Shower needed pronto.
“Clear,” came Bailey’s voice from inside his place.
Perfect timing. He dragged his shirt over his head and entered his apartment. The decor was slick designer chic. White tiles contrasted with granite features. Potted plants were placed at random intervals around the space, including a daisy bush near the balcony he used more than the open-plan kitchen. An acoustic guitar leaned against the wall in the living room. But the pièce de résistance was the theater room—two level cinema seating, sunken floor, wall to wall projector screen, and a surround sound system. When they’d built the building years ago, he’d knocked out the spare bedroom to make the theater bigger.
Shower.
Right. He scrunched up his shirt and then popped the top button on his jeans as he toed off his boots. He almost got to his bedroom door before he heard her.
“What are you doing?” she squeaked.
He pivoted, a slow smile forming on his lips. Bailey was near the kitchen, a hip leaning on the bench, head cocked, lips pursed, and eyes wary of his naked chest.
Gluttony Page 3