by Cate Beauman
“I’m going to get the paper.”
“Okie-dokie.” She cut off a fourth of the enormous omelet for herself, placing two perfectly cooked pieces on plates, then plucked the toast from the toaster. She brought the dishes with her to the small table instead of the bar where they typically ate. Today was their day off—or mostly. She wanted them to enjoy it.
The door closed, and Jerrod walked to the table, settling in the seat next to her. “Smells good.”
She breathed deep. “Mmm.”
He cut in and took a bite. “Delicious as always. Thanks.”
She savored the fluffy eggs, feta, and veggies on her tongue. “You’re welcome.”
Jerrod unfolded the paper as she stared out the windows, glancing toward the lights already on in Ethan Cooke Security’s thirty-fourth-floor offices five blocks away. She smiled, watching Los Angeles awaken for the day. She loved the city, was fascinated by the people, the buildings, the energy. Hagerstown had been a safe, quiet place to grow up, but she’d yearned for the excitement of urban living for as long as she could remember. Life moved faster here. She could watch the hustle and bustle from her windows high above or take the elevator down nineteen floors to the bottom and be a part of the action—with a dozen safety precautions in place, but that was a temporary problem. She picked up her glass of juice, enjoying the sweet bite of orange. “So, what’s happened in the world since yesterday?”
Jerrod turned the page. “Well, rumor has it we rang in a new year.”
“You don’t say.”
“There was a water main break over in West Hollywood. Guess it’s a damn mess.”
She sipped again. “Fascinating.”
“Looks like the cops finally made an arrest in the ‘Pirate Bandit’ case.”
“Good. Another bank robber off the streets.”
He frowned, grunting as his eyes tracked along the next page. “They found that woman who was abducted in the Las Vegas area Wednesday night.”
“That’s great.”
He shook his head. “She’s dead.”
“Oh.” She scooted closer to Jerrod’s side, glancing at the picture of the beautiful raven-haired victim, reading the story of the newlywed found badly beaten, raped, and stuffed in a dumpster behind some nightclub. “That’s so sad. I hate stories like this. I was hoping they would find her alive.”
“It’s unfortunate. Hopefully they’ll catch the bastard who did it.”
“Yeah.” She played with the remaining bites of her breakfast. The story hit too close to home. How many times had she witnessed a beating in the stash house or in the filthy dressing room at Lady Pink? And rape… She’d been powerless to stop the violence. She set her fork down and picked up her juice, sipping, relieving her dry throat as Jerrod turned to the next page and brought the paper closer to his face.
“What the fuck?”
Abby’s eyes popped wide, and she barely kept the juice from dribbling out of her mouth as she stared at Jerrod. Never ever had he raised his voice. And she’d rarely heard him utter the f-bomb. “Easy there, big guy. The Lakers aren’t doing that bad.” She expected a smile, but didn’t get one.
“Abby, this story’s about Lily.”
“What?” She set her glass down with the first stirrings of unease and scooted close to Jerrod again, looking over his shoulder.
LILY THOMAS BRAND EXPLOITING THE EXPLOITED read the headline. Below it were pictures of Monique, Tera, and Trista walking the catwalk at last month’s show. “What is this?”
“A big goddamn problem. Who’s Toni Terrell?”
“Uh, she’s only one of the biggest fashion reporters in LA.” She glanced at the byline, noting Toni’s name.
“Damn.” Jerrod stood and grabbed his phone from its holder against his hip, texting something, as she pulled the full-page article in front of her.
…Lily Thomas, known for her philanthropic acts…former prostitutes walking the runways in the fashion queen’s wears…paid below standard wage…damage to an industry already under scrutiny for exploitation…
“No.” She pushed back from the table and stood, afraid she would lose her breakfast. “No. This is wrong. I didn’t—I would never take advantage. They’re going to school. The money they earn is giving them an education and a shot at something better.”
“Abby, this isn’t your fault.”
Her eyes flew to his. “Yes. Of course it is. I asked Lily to hire them.” Her cell phone rang on her worktable. She hurried forward, her breath tearing in and out, and snatched it up, glancing at the readout before she answered. “Lily?”
“Did you see The Times?” Lily’s raspy smoker’s voice barked into the phone.
“Yes,” she struggled to answer as unshed tears tightened her throat. “Why did Toni do this?”
“Because she’s a bitch and she can. Rumor has it she’s feeling slighted by the lack of backstage access before and after the shows.”
“Because of me. This is all because of me.”
“Abby, that’s bullshit,” she paused, sucking on her cigarette no doubt. “Toni probably got word that I granted Harold Burgis exclusive, behind-the-scenes coverage for our upcoming Fashion Week preparations.”
She slid a strand of hair behind her ear. “So this is payback, humiliating three women?”
“My attorneys are already on it. I’ll have her ass for this. I won’t have my name dragged through the mud because her panties are in a twist. God knows we pay more than standard rates for our models. And prostitutes…”
“I don’t know how she found out.” Abby paced to the window and back. “No one was supposed to know.” She plunked herself in her chair, her forehead resting in her hand.
“How she found out about what?”
“Trista, Monique, and Tera.”
“What about them?”
“Lily, they are former prostitutes, ‘former’ being the key word here.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake, Abby. Do you have any idea what kind of firestorm this is going to create? Already has created? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
“No one needed to know.”
“I did.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I promised them no one would ever know.”
“Abby…” Lily sighed.
She rushed to her feet again. Her job was on the line, but worse, she’d broken her word. “They’re beautiful women who fit the modeling bill. What they did before they walked the runway is no one else’s business. They’re out of the halfway house, sharing an apartment. They’ve all passed their GEDs and are enrolled at USC changing their lives. Lily Brand is helping them accomplish this with a decent paycheck.”
Lily muttered something and laughed. “Hot damn. You’re fucking brilliant, Abigail Harris. Tell Jerrod I’m coming by at four.”
“I’m supposed to meet Monique for the fittings if she’s feeling well enough.” If Monique would even talk to her again.
“Cancel.”
“Lily—”
“Just let me work my magic. I’ll see you at four.”
“Okay. Bye.” She ended the call, staring at her phone, struggling with the confusing ending of their conversation. Lily seemed surprisingly fine with Toni’s article, but she wasn’t. Trust had been broken, a vital component between the women who attended her support group.
“Here.” Jerrod tapped her juice glass against her arm.
“No thanks.” She sniffled as she blinked, looking at him. “This isn’t how it was supposed to be. They had a right to move on with their lives without anyone knowing what they did to survive.”
Jerrod set down the glass and shoved his hands in his pockets. “What did Lily say?”
“That she’s going to work her magic.” She pressed her lips firm as they trembled. “What if she can’t? This could seriously damage everything Lily’s worked so hard for. And Trista, Monique, Tera… This is awful. I feel awful.”
“Everything will work out.”
She wiped at her face
as a tear fell. “I need to call them. I need to find a way to make all of this okay.”
“You didn’t do this, Abigail.”
“No, but they trusted me to give them a chance. I wanted them to have what I could offer without strings attached.” She shook her head. “I need to make some calls.”
Jerrod nodded and stepped back, letting her pass.
~~~~
Jerrod leaned on the edge of his desk, wiggling a pen between his index and middle fingers while he, Jackson, and Ethan dissected the latest threats to Abby via conference call. New Year’s Day had quickly turned into any other workday the moment he laid eyes on Toni Torrell’s shitty article.
The team dealt with frequent complications. Curveballs and tactical issues were expected in their line of work, but this was an angle they hadn’t seen coming. Jerrod spent the last six months shielding Abby from photographers and other prying members of the media only to watch their situation turn critical at the hands of some bitchy reporter seeking her revenge. Abby’s quiet, off-the-radar life was in jeopardy. Every precaution they’d taken would be for naught if she was somehow connected to Lily Brand’s PR-crisis.
From the beginning, Abby’s main concern had been Lily and the models. Her heart was so big she naturally thought of everyone else first, but Jerrod thought only of his principal.
“The risks are certainly there,” Ethan said. “Lily will be under more scrutiny than usual, and she contends with plenty when things are good. The press will be up her ass until this dies down.”
“Yup.” What more did he need to say? Jerrod tossed the pen on the small stack of paperwork he had yet to get to and rubbed at his jaw. Abby’s current situation was one he’d never dealt with in WITSEC. The men, women, and families he relocated were assigned low-profile, simple lives where the likelihood of discovery was almost nonexistent. This, however, was a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.
“Abby’s going to have to lay low until this thing blows over,” Jackson said. “She’ll hate the hell out of it, but I don’t see anyway to avoid it.”
Jerrod grunted his agreement as he moved his hand, kneading at the ache along his neck and shoulders. “We’ll steer clear of Lily Brand’s corporate offices for awhile or anywhere else the bastards might be waiting to grab a picture of her.”
“She and Lily may need to sever ties for the time being,” Jackson added.
Jerrod stood and walked to the window, looking toward the skyscraper housing the Ethan Cooke Security offices. “Abby won’t go for it.”
“She may not have a choice,” Jackson replied.
Abby had gone along with every precaution they’d asked of her since the beginning, but she wouldn’t accept this one. Breaking ties with Lily, even temporarily, meant risking her spot on the Fashion Week Team. She wouldn’t give that up for anything. “I don’t know, man. Abby’s always cooperative, but she’ll fight this.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Jackson said.
“Be my guest. You two are family, but I’m telling you it won’t fly. She’s worked too damn hard to earn her spot.”
“Then what’s the solution?” Ethan asked.
Jerrod shrugged and shook his head. If there was an answer, he needed to figure it out. Abby’s healing was going better than even her therapist had expected; working for Lily Brand was a huge part of that. Her career gave her purpose. Her passion gave her the fire she needed to make it through the rough patches. “Honestly, I’m not sure, but I know she still has a shit-ton of stuff to do before the team heads to New York next month. She’s mentioned fittings with Monique and the rest of Lily’s models several times.” He glanced toward the offices again as an idea began to take shape. “We can set it up so they meet us at Ethan Cooke Security. We’ll have someone bring them and take them home, which will keep the press at bay. Abby can use one of the conference rooms.”
“And Abby can keep in touch with Lily via conference calls for the time being,” Jackson added. “We’ll have her use Ethan Cooke Security phone lines. If someone decides to get nosy we don’t have to worry about e-mails being traced back to Abby.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Ethan gave his approval. “Sounds like a solution for now.”
“What about the models?” Jackson asked. “Abby talks about them a lot, but should we be worrying about backlash? Do you think they’ll offer Abby up to the press?”
Jerrod sighed, hating the idea. Abby had done nothing but good things for all three young women. “The thought’s crossed my mind, and we’ll monitor the situation, but I don’t think so. They’re really close to her. She’s given them opportunities they wouldn’t have had without her help.”
“Well that’s something at least,” Jackson said. “Hopefully Lily can turn this thing around before it goes any further.”
“Supposedly she’s working on something. I’ll get the details when she swings by at four.”
“She’s coming to the condo?” Ethan asked.
Jerrod walked to his king-sized bed and lay back against the chocolate- and cream-colored comforter Wren had insisted on for his room. “She and Abby planned it, but this will be our last visitor that hasn’t been cleared by me first. I’ll need someone to pick up Lily and drive her over. I don’t want to worry about a tail.”
“Stone can get her,” Ethan supplied. “I’ll have Mia give Lily a call and set it up.”
“Good. Thanks.”
“So, what’s the plan with that high school fashion show Abby was telling Alexa about, and the one next weekend?” Jackson wondered.
Abby told him on more than one occasion how much she was looking forward to the upcoming events, but she was going to have to be willing to give and take for the foreseeable future. Scheduling fittings at Ethan Cooke Security was one thing; fashion shows in the middle of a media firestorm was entirely different. “She’s going to have to bow out. Her world’s about to get real small, but there’s nothing I can do to change that. No risks.”
“Sounds like we have things under control for now,” Jackson said.
“As much as they can be.”
“We’ll keep our ears open. Evacuation plans are ready to roll should the shit hit the fan,” Ethan added.
“Let’s hope the hell not.”
“Hear, hear,” Jackson said. “Give us a call if you need anything else.”
“Will do.” Jerrod hung up, letting the phone drop to his side as he closed his eyes, weary after a mostly sleepless night and completely shitty start to the day. Things weren’t looking to improve anytime soon. Eventually he and Abby would have to talk.
Opening his eyes, he tilted his head in the direction of Abby’s voice as it filtered through the wall, trying to figure out how he should tell her that her life was about to change yet again, that even more safety measures were officially in effect, and the upcoming fashion shows were out of the question. She wasn’t going to like it, and he hated the idea of putting the sad, wounded look back in her big blue eyes. She ripped him to pieces when she cried, but what the hell else was he supposed to do? He’d done everything he could think of to make Abby’s situation better. He was trying to meet her halfway.
He sat up and jammed a hand through his hair, catching the ridiculous direction his thoughts were taking. Why was he worrying so much about Abby’s feelings? Since when did he make security decisions based on emotion? He didn’t. He stood and walked to his desk, plunking his ass in the chair to focus on the work he needed to finish up. His job was to keep Abby alive at all costs. Her feelings and emotions were not the priority. Safety always took precedence; that was exactly the way it was going to stay.
Chapter Five
Jerrod stacked the pile of paperwork he’d signed off on and glanced at his watch—one-fifteen. He’d spent the last few hours catching up on the work Abby’s busy schedule hadn’t allowed him to get to. Now that he’d answered the dozens of e-mails and submitted January’s projected budget, he needed to talk to her. He stood with a reluctant sigh and walked to the next
room, knocking on her partially opened door.
“Yeah.”
He peeked in, breathing in Abby’s subtle flowery scent as she sat at her desk in front of her own mound of paperwork. “Looks like you’re busy.”
“No. Come on in.” She set her pen down and unfolded her legs out from under her. “You’re the perfect excuse for a breather. Have a seat.”
He glanced at the bold blue comforter and layers of plush yellow pillows on her queen-sized mattress, flashing back to the nighty she’d worn only hours ago, and slid his hands in his pockets. This wasn’t where he wanted to have their conversation. “Have you had lunch?”
She shook her head. “I’m not really hungry.”
Abby’s appetite was the first thing to go when she was upset. Her small frame couldn’t afford to miss many meals. “I am. What do you say we split a sandwich?”
“I should probably have something.”
That’s exactly what he’d been counting on. If he could plop a few chips and a piece of fruit on her plate, she might eat that too. He smiled at her as they walked to the kitchen, and she immediately grabbed the loaf of whole grain bread.
He stepped in front of the refrigerator, opening the door before she had a chance. “I’ll make lunch.” It was the least he could do before he ruined the rest of her day.
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.” He snagged the loaf from her hand and reached for the package of deli-sliced cold cuts. “Let me guess, turkey breast and avocado.”
“Mr. Quinn, you know me so well.”
“It’s almost like we live together or something.” He glanced over his shoulder, smiling at her, and brought the various sandwich fixings to the counter.
“I guess I’ll get the fruit and make a salad—with extra cantaloupe—because I kind of know you too.” She gave him a gentle jab to his side on her way by.