Mila looked to Troy.
He gave a shrug to indicate he wasn’t unduly alarmed. “I’ve forwarded copies to a profiler.”
“Can I see them?” asked Mila.
“Sure,” said Kassidy.
“No, she can’t,” said Troy. “She doesn’t work here, and they’re none of her business.”
“Why doesn’t she work here?” asked Kassidy.
“That’s none of your business,” said Troy.
“I’m serious,” said Kassidy.
“So am I.”
Kassidy turned to Mila. “Why don’t you work here?”
“I’m trying,” said Mila. “But your brother doesn’t hire women.”
Kassidy’s blue eyes went wide and she stared at him with patent disapproval.
“That’s not true,” said Troy, wondering why he was feeling defensive. “I have three women working in this building alone.”
“Not as security agents,” said Mila.
Troy glared at her, sending the unmistakable message that she should shut up.
“Why not as security agents?” asked Kassidy. Using one hand to hold Drake, she dug into her shoulder bag. “I’ll show you the latest emails.”
“Mila is leaving, and I’m having lunch.” Troy had to try at least.
“Go ahead and have lunch,” said Kassidy. “I want a woman’s opinion on this.”
He turned his tone to steel. “Goodbye, Mila Stern.”
“Don’t you be a jerk, Troy,” said Kassidy.
“I won’t charge you,” Mila said, rising to her feet and heading for Kassidy.
“Charge me with what?” He was baffled by the statement.
“Charge you for the time,” she said.
“You don’t work for me.”
“This new one came yesterday,” said Kassidy, holding out a sheet of paper.
Despite himself, Troy’s curiosity was piqued. He hadn’t seen this one. “Who’s it from?”
Mila was quicker on the draw, taking the printout from Kassidy’s hand.
“BluebellNighthawk,” said Kassidy.
Mila was reading her way through it, and Troy went behind her to look over her shoulder.
The message rambled about Kassidy’s hair and her eyes, her voice and a song she’d written that BluebellNighthawk seemed to think was about him.
“Is this the only new one?” asked Troy.
“Is there any significance to the word window?” asked Mila.
Troy stared down at her. “Why?”
“None that I can think of,” said Kassidy.
“He uses it twice,” said Mila. “And both times it’s the end of a thought followed by an awkward transition.”
Troy reread the note. “It’s all awkward.”
“True,” said Mila, sitting back down in the armchair, still gazing at the printout.
Troy summoned his patience. They were going backward here.
“I’m starving,” he said to both of them.
“So go have lunch,” said Kassidy.
Mila merely waved him away.
* * *
Mila had managed to stay in Troy’s apartment with Kassidy while he went downstairs for some meetings. She now had a hundred fan emails sorted into piles on the dining room table and had reconstructed Kassidy’s recent concert schedule on a digital map on her tablet.
Drake cooed in his baby seat in the corner of the living room. Kassidy chatted on the phone to her business manager in the kitchen, the occasional word or burst of laughter filtering out.
Mila was matching the emails to the performance dates, and now she needed to link them all on the map. For that, she needed a scanner.
She glanced around and spotted an open door that looked promising. She rose to look more closely and discovered it was Troy’s home office. Sure enough, she found a scanner on the corner credenza.
It looked straightforward enough, and she loaded in the documents.
“Can I help you with something?” Troy’s deep voice came from behind her.
“No.” She turned to meet his decidedly annoyed expression. “I think I’ve got it working.”
“I didn’t mean that literally.” His frown deepened.
“What did you mean?” she asked conversationally.
She refused to let herself be intimidated by his scowl. Kassidy was living here with him, and she had invited Mila to stay and sort through the emails.
“I meant, what the hell are you doing in my office without permission?”
She held his gaze. “I’m scanning documents.”
He advanced a couple of paces, shrinking the space with his presence. “I thought you’d be gone by now.”
“You have cameras all over the place. You’d have known if I left.”
“I don’t monitor the control center.”
“Your staff wouldn’t notify you?”
He paused at that. It was obvious from his expression they would have contacted him immediately.
Their gazes stayed locked, and a tickle of awareness found its way into her pores. There was no denying he was a good-looking man. And masculine strength was definitely a turn-on for her. But it was odd that his belligerence wouldn’t have counteracted those two traits. She wasn’t blindly attracted to just any tough guy.
The scanner chugged and whined in the background.
“You need to leave,” he said.
“You don’t want to know what I found?”
“We both know Kassidy’s in no real danger.”
“We do?”
Mila wasn’t ready to go that far. Though it did seem likely Kassidy was experiencing the harmless, if annoying, adoration that could be directed at any pretty young woman in the public eye.
“You’ve given it a nice try,” he said. “You’ve given it a terrific try. You’ve gone above and beyond in trying to get me to hire you. I’ll grant you that.”
“Thank you. So, hire me.”
“I’m not hiring you.”
“Why not?” she asked.
He rolled his eyes with obvious derision. “You’re stalling again.”
“I’m serious. In this day and age, what possible reason could you have for not hiring women?”
“You want the truth?”
“I’d love the truth.”
“Okay. Here it is. It’s a simple equation of muscle mass.”
She gave herself an extra beat to frame her response. She knew this was her last and only chance to change his mind. Simple, she decided. Simple and direct was her best bet.
“Skills can overcome muscle mass.”
“Maybe,” he allowed, surprising her.
She felt encouraged. “And don’t discount knowledge and intelligence.”
He squared his shoulders, not looking at all like somebody who was about to capitulate. “I don’t discount knowledge and intelligence. I hire for skills. I hire for intellect. I hire for experience. I hire for proficiency. And when all of those elements are present, I then hire for strength and power.”
“I have all of those things.”
“How much do you even weigh?”
“A hundred and twenty pounds. Almost.”
He shook his head in a pitying way. “Two guys come at you, big guys, five hundred pounds between them. What do you do?”
“Shoot them,” she said without hesitation.
“You’re unarmed.”
Mila knew two could play at this game. “What about you? How do you control a situation where the other guys are armed and you’re not?”
“I’m never not.”
“You know what I mean.” She stared levelly across at him. “There are times when even you, Mr. Two Hundred...what
ever—”
“Two-fifteen.”
“Mr. Two-Fifteen, all muscle and sinew, are overpowered by the opposition.”
“Less often than you,” he said softly.
Something had shifted in the depths of his eyes, and she felt the sexual awareness all over again. He’d moved closer as they spoke. Or maybe she’d moved closer. But she could smell him now, and he smelled good. Another couple of inches, and she’d feel the heat of his body.
She told herself she wanted to fight him, not kiss him. But she knew it was a lie. She’d been trained to face the honest reality of any physical encounter. Anything less put her at an absolute disadvantage.
“You’re trying to distract me,” she said.
“You’re the one trying to distract me.” He leaned in, closing the gap between them even farther.
“It’s not on purpose.”
“Of course it is.”
“You think I can do that?” she asked, easing closer. “With you? With all that self-discipline you must have, I could distract you with sex?”
His expression faltered.
“If I can,” she continued, “you should probably hire me, because that’s something over and above what any of the muscle-bound brotherhood can accomplish.”
“That’s your strongest attribute?” he taunted. “I wouldn’t think you’d want to brag about it.” But his gaze kept hers trapped, and the air seemed to thicken around them.
She realized her mistake. “It’s not my strongest attribute.” As she spoke, she surreptitiously shifted her right hand around his side. “My strongest attribute right now is the knife pointed at your kidney.”
“You don’t have a knife.”
“It’s in its sheath. But I do have a knife.”
He moved, and she instantly jerked her fist against him to show she could have stabbed him.
He grabbed her wrist, and his other hand went to her throat.
“You’re dead,” she told him.
“I’m bleeding out,” he agreed. “But you’re dead, too.” His hand gently stroked the skin of her neck.
“Am I hired?” she asked.
“You’re insane.”
His voice was a whisper. His face hovered over hers. She smelled his skin, imagined the taste of his lips, the feel of his body enveloping hers.
He was going to kiss her. It was in the smoke of his eyes, the twitch of his fingers, the indrawn breath that tightened his chest. She shouldn’t let him. She couldn’t let him. But she knew she was going to let him. And it was going to be fantastic.
Kassidy’s excited voice sounded through the doorway. “Mila?”
Troy instantly stepped back.
Mila snapped to reality. “In here.”
“I’ve got a gig tonight,” Kassidy sang. “It’s a good one. The Ripple Branch on Georgia Avenue. They had a cancellation.”
She appeared in the doorway. “Oh, hi, Troy.” She focused her attention on Mila. “Can you come with me?”
“Love to,” Mila immediately answered.
Kassidy barely took a breath. “You okay to babysit?” she asked Troy.
“What?” The question clearly took him aback. It was probably the only thing that stopped him from ordering Mila not to go anywhere with Kassidy.
Mila knew she shouldn’t laugh at his obvious predicament, but it was tough to fight the urge.
“Drake should go to sleep by eight,” said Kassidy. “And I don’t have to leave until seven. I could have everything ready in advance. All you’d have to do is give him a quick bath, a bottle, and wind up his rainbow jungle toy. He loves watching it while he falls asleep.”
“Sounds easy enough,” said Mila.
“Go away,” Troy growled under his breath. “You don’t work here.”
“Your sister needs protection.”
“My sister needs a nanny.”
“Before you fight with me, take a look at what I’ve found,” said Mila. “I wouldn’t call your sister’s situation high risk, but it’s not zero either.”
“Nothing’s zero,” he said.
“There’s something there,” she said.
It was just out of reach, like the wisps of a dream. But Kassidy’s anxiety was real. The girl’s instincts were telling her to protect herself. Mila didn’t like to ignore instincts.
“You’re so transparent,” he drawled.
“Fine,” said Mila. “Believe whatever you want. Hire me, don’t hire me, but I’m going to the performance with Kassidy tonight.”
“It’s a free country,” said Troy, his blue eyes going icy gray. “Call a nanny service before you go,” Troy said to Kassidy. “I’m not your babysitter.”
“It’ll be easy,” said Kassidy.
“I’ve got work to do.”
Mila fought an urge to tease him, but she bit back the unwise words. She’d accompany Kassidy to the performance tonight and file a report with Troy in the morning. Maybe he’d read it. Maybe he wouldn’t. Even if her work was exceptional tonight, it might not change his mind. There might be nothing she could do to change his mind about hiring her. But she wasn’t going down without a fight.
* * *
In the ops control room, Vegas turned his head at Troy’s entrance. He did a double take of Drake sleeping on Troy’s shoulder.
“New recruit?” he asked.
“It’s the apprenticeship program,” said Troy, his hand splayed across Drake’s diaper-covered bottom, easily balancing the baby’s slight fifteen pounds.
Two dozen video screens decorated the walls, receiving feeds from fixed and mobile cameras, tracking devices and information from their international offices. This time of night, people were just arriving at work in Dubai.
“I take it this is the new nephew,” said Vegas.
“He’s not my—” Troy stopped himself. He supposed, technically, Drake was going to be his nephew. “There’s a nanny on the way. She had car trouble or kid trouble or something.”
All Troy knew for sure was that he was alone with Drake, and he didn’t like it.
“Kassidy’s out on the town?” asked Vegas, disapproval in his tone.
“She’s working.” Which he imagined was pretty much the same thing for Kassidy.
Troy had protected a lot of celebrities over the years. With a few notable exceptions, sports stars and film personalities were mostly professional. The lion’s share of what made it into the tabloids was a part of their carefully crafted public image. Musicians, however, were a breed unto themselves. They kept late hours, drank and partied, and a lot of them truly lived the rock-and-roll lifestyle.
Vegas eyed Drake up and down. “I don’t get it,” he said. “It would be one thing if she got knocked up.”
“You do remember you’re talking about my sister.” Troy wasn’t sure why he felt compelled to defend her at this late date.
Vegas’s brow went up. “Well, excuse me, but isn’t this the baby sister who trashed three rooms at the Poco Hollywood Hotel?”
“She had help.”
To keep the whole thing out of court, Troy had paid the bill.
“She’s not exactly mother material,” said Vegas.
Troy couldn’t disagree with that. He briefly tightened his hold on Drake. Poor kid. This was likely to be a rocky ride.
“I’m thinking a full-time nanny,” said Troy.
Vegas coughed out a chopped laugh. “One for each of them?”
Troy opened his mouth to defend her again, but he had nothing to say. There was no point in pretending Kassidy was in any position to raise a child. Why a terminally ill single mom had made his sister promise to take guardianship of an innocent baby was a mystery to him.
“I saw Mila leave with Kassidy.” Vegas let the sentence hang.
“I didn’t hire her,” said Troy.
“Does she know that?”
“Yes.”
Vegas gave a crooked smirk.
“She may not have accepted it yet,” said Troy.
“But she’s not equipped.” It wasn’t a question. If Mila had a company camera or communications device, Vegas would see it on his monitors.
“It’s not an op,” said Troy. “It’s a performance.”
“So you’ve analyzed the data.”
“Not all of it. Not yet. It’s fan letters. If Kassidy wants to flail around onstage in lingerie while she belts out pop tunes, guys are going to make comments.”
“You think there’s no danger?”
“Do you think there is?”
Vegas shrugged. “I doubt it.”
“There. Good.” Troy sat down on one of the rolling desk chairs. “What’s going on in the Middle East?”
Vegas zoomed in on a camera. “Prince Matin had a late night, but he’s up and around, and the car is out front of the hotel.”
“Gotta love the partying spirit of the reformers,” said Troy.
Vegas grinned. “He had a supermodel on his arm when he finally left the reception.”
Prince Matin was in his early thirties, had plenty of money and was a genuine supporter of capitalism and an improved regulatory regime. He had the respect of his countrymen and an understanding of the West. That was a rare enough combination that nobody seemed to care what he did in his private life.
“Any new chatter about the protest?” Troy asked.
“It’s been quiet enough. John’s got five guys going undercover in the crowd. They’re liaising with the city police.”
“The minute the speech is over tonight, we put him behind the glass.”
“That’s the plan,” said Vegas.
There were sensitivities around the podium being behind bulletproof glass, but they’d erected a barrier on each side of the stage, so only one dignitary would be exposed at any given time.
“The snipers?” Troy asked.
“Two of ours and five will be from the police department. Matin agreed to the bulletproof vest.”
“That’s a first.”
The Baby Contract Page 3