by J. Kenner
“I really do like the work. And I’m good at it. And there are far too many people in the world who need help.”
I exhale. He’s right about that.
“I’m sorry,” I say after a moment. “For you. For your friends.” I drop my gaze. “And for being a brat who thinks she’s the only one who has a hell-bitch for a guardian angel.”
“But you don’t,” he says, and I look up into those kind, determined eyes. “Not anymore.”
My heart skitters in my chest. “Liam…”
I think he’s going to press me to allow him to play bodyguard. Instead, he changes topics. “How did they find you? Do you know?”
“Ella didn’t tell you?”
He shakes his head.
“Those damn super fan invitations.” I can see he doesn’t understand, so I continue. “Ella’s known from the beginning that I was running, and when I told her I wanted to be sure and never be in a photo, she was totally cool with that. Sometimes reporters would ask, you know? Because no one knows a celebrity like their personal assistant. But she’d always tell them that I’m not a public figure and privacy is important and yada yada.” I trail off with a shrug.
“But somehow a picture got out there?”
“Oh, yeah.” I release a noisy sigh. “You know how we invite fans to the final full rehearsal? Well, we tell them no photography except during the rehearsal performance. Nothing on breaks or behind the scenes. But last week at the LA rehearsal, some clown took a pic when I went on stage during a break to talk to Ella about something that needed to be adjusted before the performance.”
“It got posted on social media, and someone saw it.”
“Right. And since the attack was in the wake of the Gordon bullshit, the connection to me wasn’t even on Ella’s radar.”
“But it was on yours. They recognized your face despite changing your hair when you ran.”
I nod. “I’m not naturally a blond.” I run my fingers through my current strands. “This isn’t really me, either.”
“Well, so far I’ve liked all the versions of you.” His voice is mild, but I think I see a hint of heat in his eyes.
I look away. “Yeah, well, after the attack, I knew I had to go. So I went to see her before the concert. That was when she showed me the photo on Twitter. Someone had tagged her, and it was just random that she saw it. She usually doesn’t pay that much attention to her account. She has a social media team that handles that.”
“So she helped you run. Sent you here.”
I nod.
“And you’re sure they didn’t follow you?”
“Positive.”
“Tell me how you got here?”
I roll my eyes, but comply. “I took a taxi—cash—to the airport in Vegas, then flew to Burbank. Then I took a taxi to LAX and used a pre-paid debit card that Ella gave me to buy a ticket on one airline to Newark and on another airline to Atlanta. Then I took a taxi to a truck stop in Riverside. That’s where I changed my hair. And then another taxi to San Bernardino.”
“Why not the bus?”
I shrug. “Faster.”
He nods, and I continue. “I took one last taxi up here.” I shrug. “If they followed me, I’d call it a miracle.”
“I’m impressed.”
I don’t bother telling him I’ve had a lot of practice. “Wait,” I say, suddenly alarmed. “Could they have followed you?”
“No.” The word is firm. “My route was as random as yours. We’re safe.”
“Okay.” I’m sure my relief is visible.
“Listen, Xena. You’re obviously capable, but you’re still alone, and we don’t know for sure what you’re up against. Let me help you. Think of it as an entirely altruistic act.”
I shake my head. “No. I appreciate it, but no.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want you involved. And I don’t need you. Don’t you get it? They don’t know where I am. I’m going to stay here a couple of days to regroup, and then I’m going to disappear again. Another state. Maybe another country. I have money this time. I saved a lot from working with Ella. And she told me to take some cash from the safe in there,” I add, pointing to the kitchen. “I’m going to—but only because I plan to pay it back.”
He watches me even after I finish talking, studying me like I’m a problem that has to be solved.
“What?” I demand when I can’t stand it anymore.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t agree to that.”
“I’m pretty sure I never asked you to.”
“Xena, be realistic. Someone is after you. Let me help you find them. Take them out. Let me help you fix your life so that you can stop running and looking over your shoulder.”
The very thought sends cold chills coursing up my spine, and I can feel my heart start to skitter with the precursor to a full-blown panic attack. I tell myself to breathe. To count to ten. And as Liam watches me, I slowly calm down.
“Xena?”
I just shake my head, not quite up to forming words yet. The reality would be horrible enough, but just the idea of confronting them terrifies me. I’m not going to tell Liam that. He has no idea how big the monster is. But I do. And I’ve seen enough scary movies to know that sometimes the only way to survive is to get the hell away from the demon.
“No,” I finally say. “I’m sorry, but no.”
He doesn’t answer, but it doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, it’s my decision.
After a moment, he stands. “I’m going to raid Ella’s bar. Do you want a whiskey? Or wine? I bet she has red. You need sleep, and it might help.”
I shake my head. “I don’t drink.”
His brow furrows. “But that night on Ella’s patio…”
“Ella makes sure the parties have non-alcoholic wine for me. It’s easier than explaining.”
I’m not sure he realizes it, but he takes a step closer to me.
“Funny.” That’s all he says, but his expression suggests that there’s a lot more thought behind the word.
“What?”
“It’s just—I thought you were a little drunk that night.”
“Oh.” And I must be more tired than I realize, because I can’t stop what comes out of my mouth next. “You made me feel a little drunk.” I meet his eyes, then look down, a tiny smile tugging at my mouth. Why I’m smiling, though, I don’t know. God knows I’ve just revealed more to this man than I ever thought I would. And definitely more than I should.
I bite my lower lip. We’d both stayed in check that night, even though we both wanted so much more. Neither of us had said so, but it was in the air, so thick and potent it’s a wonder the other guests didn’t notice.
It occurs to me that I won’t be seeing him again, because after tonight he’ll be gone, and in a few days, I’ll disappear and become someone else. But tonight…
Tonight there’s no risk of exposing myself. Of getting in too deep with someone I can’t have.
He clears his throat. “Right. Well, I still want that whiskey.” He starts to take a step, and before I have time to think about what I’m doing, I reach for his hand.
He stops, turning to look at me, and I pull myself up. He’s right there, my hand in his, his other on my back, holding me steady, though how it got there, I really don’t know.
That hint of a flame I’d seen earlier in his eyes is a blaze now, and I melt under the heat of it. I want this, dammit. This night. This man. Not because I have no choice. Not because I’m trying to survive.
I want it for me. Me.
Because he’ll be gone tomorrow, and I’ll be on the run. And I want to take this moment with me. Something real and wild to fire my strength. And something warm and tender to soothe my soul.
I see hesitation in his eyes, and I can hear his unspoken words. We shouldn’t.
“Yes,” I whisper. “We should.”
For a moment, the world stops turning and the only thing happening in the entire universe is the two of us l
ooking into each other’s eyes. Then he groans, and in one bold move pulls me closer and crushes his mouth against mine.
I cling to him, melting against him as I part my lips, welcoming the delicious assault of this kiss I feel all through me, making me tingle all the way to my toes and bringing to life parts of me I thought were dead forever.
All too soon, he pulls away, his questioning eyes searching my face.
“Yes,” I whisper, but my word is swallowed by the flash of light that fills the room, the heavy pounding against the wooden front door, and the sharp pain in my arm as Liam yanks me violently down to the floor.
Chapter Eight
A scream shatters the air, and in the same moment that Liam closes his hand over my mouth, I realize it’s coming from me.
He’s looking at me hard, and I nod, hoping he understands that I’ve gotten myself under control. Slowly, he takes his hand off my mouth. “It’s them,” I say, as if he hasn’t already figured that out all on his own. “They must have followed you.”
I hear the accusation in my voice, but I don’t care. Damn him for coming here, and damn Ella for sending him. I love her for caring, but they’re both going to get me killed.
“They didn’t follow me,” he says. “Believe me when I say I know how to hide my tracks, and I know how to tell when I’m being tailed.”
“Well, it wasn’t me.” I have no idea why I’m arguing about this, except that it pisses me off. I was supposed to have a chance to relax.
“I believe you,” he says.
“Then how—”
“Right now, it doesn’t matter.”
“What was the light?”
“Headlights, I think. Maybe a high power flashlight.”
“Why haven’t they come in?”
“They must know about the alarm. It’s wired to 911?”
I nod. The siren won’t disturb neighbors since there are none, but the little police station that serves this part of the San Bernardino Mountains is only one block over. The cops could be here in no time, and they can block the only way off the street even faster than that.
With a start, I realize our intruder—intruders?—must know that.
“Wait here.” He stays low as he heads back to the door. He flips the light switch to off, leaving the room illuminated only by the thin blue light of the electronics and the faint glow of moonlight coming in through the windows.
He grabs my tiny Ruger from the table, then comes back to my side. “Do you know how to use this?” he asks when he returns.
I lift a brow. “Point and pull the trigger?”
I can tell from his face that he doesn’t appreciate the sarcasm, so I pull back the slide to reveal that there’s a round in the chamber, then pop out the magazine before I expel the bullet. I shove the bullet back into the magazine, click the magazine into place, then once again pull the slide back to chamber the round.
“Yeah,” I say. “I know how to use it.”
He nods, then reaches under his jacket and pulls out a much larger black gun. I think it’s a Glock, but wouldn’t swear to it. Suddenly, I’m feeling better about our chances.
“Do you trust me to get us out of here?”
“Yes,” I say, meaning it wholeheartedly.
He glances around the room, sees the backpack I use as a purse, and asks if I have a compact.
“Um, maybe?” I start to crawl over there but he holds me back, then goes himself, returning with the pack. I rummage through it, find a small gold compact that Ella gave me one Christmas, and pass it to him.
With the compact in his left hand and the pistol in his right, he creeps to the window by the front door as I hold my breath. He uses the compact to look outside, then slowly lowers it. Then he holds up a finger before miming a steering wheel.
One guy and a car. Got it.
I point to the back door, and he goes there next, repeating the process and holding up another finger. Fuck.
He comes back to me. “It’s too dark to get a good look, but I think they’re the same goons from Vegas. Does Ella use some sort of front porch camera? If so, we might have a solid image of his face now.”
I shrug.
“I’ll find out later,” Liam says. “Right now, we need to get out of here, because sooner or later they’re going to hack the alarm code or decide to say screw it and come in anyway. They’re heavily armed.”
I decide not to ask what that means. If they have rocket launchers or automatic weapons, I really don’t want to know.
“There’s a little cellar under the kitchen,” I say. “But it opens up right by the back door.”
“Bathroom window?”
“Oh!” How could I forget the bathroom? “Better than that. The wall looks like the side of the house, but it folds back, so that you can actually sit in the jetted tub during the snow. Or take a shower in the outdoors if you’re feeling adventurous.” It was the one renovation that Ella put in after buying the place, and I think it was freaking brilliant.
“Make sure you have your phone and put on your backpack. Do you need to grab anything else?”
“I’m good. I’ve traveled light for years.”
He aims a curious look at me, but says nothing other than, “Carry the Ruger and don’t accidentally shoot me.”
I nod, nervous enough to not smirk at his smart aleck remark. Because unfortunately, he’s right about that particular risk.
“Stay low and lead the way.”
I nod, then start to scramble that way, not breathing until we’re finally inside the small space. Since the entire back wall by the sunken whirlpool tub and rain-style shower opens, there is no window, just a skylight. And that means as soon as we close the door behind us, we can relax. For a second, at least.
“How does it open?” Liam asks.
I stand and step on the wide ledge that runs along the foot of the tub. “This button unlocks it. Then you fold it back and slide it into the wall.”
“Noisy?”
I wince. “Not that you’d normally care about. But today…”
He nods, understanding. “Too bad there’s not much wind. The sound of the leaves might camouflage it. Doesn’t matter. It’s our shot, and we’re taking it.”
I nod in agreement even though I’m nervous as shit.
“The wall opens onto the porch I noticed when I arrived?” he asks. “With the lounge chairs and the fire pit?”
“Right. Once the wall is tucked away, the entire bathroom is an outdoor space.” The toilet, thankfully, is in its own tiny room.
He looks around the space, then aims a wry grin at me. “A shame we have to bolt. This bathroom could have been an interesting part of our evening.”
Despite my fear, I laugh. “Promise me we’ll live to have a rain check.”
But he doesn’t answer, and for a moment, we simply look at each other. Then he clears his throat and points toward the tub again. “There were stairs on both sides of the patio, right? And about an eight inch drop off the long end?”
“Um, yeah,” I say, impressed by his memory.
“What about the alarm. Is it silent? Or does it blare?”
“It blares.”
He looks around, then frowns.
“What?”
“No keypad in here to disarm it. We could have you go back into the other room to take care of that, but I think I actually want it to blare—I assume it’s loud.”
“Apparently. Ella told me not to forget my code because the alarm is earsplitting.”
“Okay, okay.” He’s talking to himself, obviously mulling something. “This can work.” He pulls some tissues from a dispenser by the sink, then steps onto the ledge and hands me one. “Rip it up and plug your ears.”
“Huh?”
“Trust me,” he says, and since I do, I comply without any more questions.
As soon as his own ears are plugged, he looks at my gun, then his own. I know what he’s going to say even before he says it. “We can solve this problem right now.
They’re going to be out of commission for at least a few seconds when the alarm blares. They won’t be expecting it. We can take them out before they come after us. And they will come after us.”
Cold fear washes over me. As much as I want them dead—as much as I want this nightmare to end—it’s too dangerous. For one, they surely aren’t the only two after me. Like cockroaches, if I kill two, four more will replace them.
But more than that, what if I miss and my target takes Liam out? Or me? And if we do get away, then what? We’re going to leave Ella to deal with my mess? Bodies in her yard that she’ll have to explain?
I shake my head slowly, then tell him all of that. I expect him to argue. To go all hard ass macho on me and tell me it’s time to Rambo this shit.
But he doesn’t. On the contrary, he nods slowly. “You’re right.” He rubs his shaved scalp, then sighs. “The fact is, we’ve only seen two, but there might be more. We’re getting out, getting away, and regrouping. You understand?”
I nod. “But what about calling for back-up?” I don’t suggest the cops. They’d investigate us as much as the bad guys, and I don’t want to be under that microscope. “The SSA. You have guys, right?”
“We’re a long way from LA, even by chopper. And pulling in the Sheriff’s department would take too long. Unlike in the movies, getting that kind of assistance from law enforcement requires red tape. We could call 911, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He meets my eyes. “Do you?”
“No.” I swallow. “So how are we getting away?”
“Just stay close. I’ve got that covered.”
I remember the engine that woke me. He must have a car parked among the trees.
“On three,” he says. “It’s going to be loud. Be ready.”
I’m not entirely sure my rubbery legs are going to cooperate, but I nod anyway.
He counts, and on three, he presses the button and the door unlatches as the blare from the alarm starts to shake the entire house. He shoves the panel aside, grabs my hand, and races forward, jumping the short distance from the patio to the ground, then sprinting over the undergrowth into the dark, wooded area.
I stumble and fall, and Liam grabs for me. As he does, I catch sight of the guy at the back door, partially illuminated by the moonlight. Unprepared, he’s on the ground, struggling to get back to his feet with his hands plastered to his ears.