We'd reached the Spayberry gates, half-hidden by the forest surrounding Daddy's cabin. Nash leaned out his window to tap in the security code. Sliding back in, he glanced at me. "Hey, you okay?"
I stared at him. "I don't know."
He placed a hand on my arm and turned his attention back to the opening gates. The drive was long and dark. I heard the yips of the Jack Russell pack and saw the house lights glowing in the distance. His hand felt solid and comforting, but my focus was on the flattened heads. And wondering if that particular lack of observance on my part was good or bad. Also wondering why the perp decided I'd get a chemical dessert instead of a wallop to the back of my head.
I fingered the back of my skull, my head suddenly throbbing. Exhaustion or sympathy pains. Or both.
Security lights flared on in the drive as we pulled before the palatial cabin. Nash jerked the truck into park, lifted his hand from my arm, and half-turned in his seat. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."
"I'm not locking myself in my room."
"I know." He pulled in a deep breath. "But I want you to carry a firearm. I don't care what kind. Boomer probably has enough to spare, and it won't take much to convince him to give you one. Has he trained you?"
My chin jerked up. "I know how to use a gun. Every summer visit was spent out in the woods doing target practice with Daddy. I also did firearms training on the set with Detective Earl King and in the Kids Police Academy. And I was on the Long Beach rifle team. It was one of the reasons I got the role as Julia Pinkerton."
Nash's brows climbed, and he pursed his lips into a long whistle. "Miss Albright, I'm impressed. Next time Lamar and I head to the gun range, we'll take you along. Maybe we could place a friendly wager on your accuracy." A dimple winked on the cheek opposite his scar.
"I've collected an arsenal in birthday gifts starting with a Daisy and ending with a Browning last year. Daddy even bought me a .38 Special for my sixteenth birthday. A pink Smith & Wesson." I rolled my eyes. At the age of four, one parent had given me my first rifle. The other my first Armani.
I'd wanted a Sally Secrets. I had to buy her myself with my first paycheck.
Nash looked impressed again. His eyes had rounded, and the dimple appeared where he'd sucked in his cheek. "My piece is also a .38 Special. Not pink, though. I like its weight. Imagine, that. We have matching Smith & Wesson's."
"I'm not carrying a gun."
The smile disappeared. "Why the hell not?" he growled. "Somebody wants to put you out of commission, probably because you keep walking in on their killing spree. Granted your judo-whatever provides an element of surprise, but I don't believe for one minute you're going to karate chop this bastard into submission."
"It's kung fu, not karate."
"Either way, I want you protected with a weapon that's not your hands."
"It's not going to help me any if this guy — or woman — is clobbering victims from behind. You want me to pull a gun on anyone standing behind me? It's a good way for me to accidentally shoot someone. I've done that, remember? Or I could get shot. If they're strong enough to drag that guy into a bathtub and Orlando under a trailer, they're strong enough to take a gun from me."
"Then I'm telling Leonard we're leaving Cambria with my buddy and I'm going to be your bodyguard."
My heart beat a little faster as I envisioned a Kevin Costner/Whitney Houston situation, but then Julia began snarking about rescuing princesses. "Leonard will pay the bodyguard and sue us for breach of contract."
"I don't care."
"That's stupid. You almost lost your business earlier this summer. You've worked too hard to try to rebuild it again." I tried one of Renata's goal-focused explanations. "This is my responsibility. I did this to your business. I'm going to fix this. I'll be more careful. But first thing in the morning. Because it's been a long day what with all the deaths. And attempted deaths."
He stared up at the ceiling. "I didn't want a partner. I like being alone. Even with Jolene, she left me alone to do her own thing."
I didn't like the mention of Jolene Sweeney let alone a comparison to her. I also didn't like the thought of losing my job in the face of losing my life. "I know my way around a studio lot. I'll find a way to poke around the set without alerting any of our suspects. And I promise not to eat anything…with my name on it."
His eyes narrowed.
"I need to talk to Big Jim. He's known me most of my life. If the police find out about the poisoning, Big Jim's reputation could be ruined. It would also break his heart. I've got to speak with him first so we can figure out how the pie was poisoned." I crossed my arms and tilted my head, my ponytail brushing my shoulder. "I'm sensible, and you know it."
He laughed. "Miss Albright, you're a stubborn thing when you want to be. There's a fire in your gut I rarely see, but when I do…" He whistled. "Look out."
I smiled.
"And you don't look like you're going to lose your lunch anymore."
The dented heads. I'd almost forgotten.
He stretched an arm across the back of the seat. "I'd like to see that arsenal. Do you have your own cabinet?"
I nodded. "In the study. We all have one. Well, Daddy's got six. They line the room. Very tasteful. He had them made from lumber on his land. Oak. Super solid." I sighed. "Although, if it were me, I think bookcases would have been prettier. Like the library in Beauty and the Beast? With the matching spines and marbled paper? Better yet, a wall of oak wardrobes. But that's Daddy. He likes paperbacks and artillery."
While I'd been talking, Nash had slid closer. His fingers played with the ends of my ponytail.
I shivered. In a good way.
"Sorry." He withdrew his fingers but left his arm stretched out. "You're an interesting woman, Miss Albright. You surprise me."
"Because I like clothes more than firearms?" I smiled, easing back against the seat to give him more access to my ponytail. And other parts.
"No. That you have guns at all. But considering your father's been on the cover of every hunting magazine, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I bet he's been photographed as much as you. Never thought about that."
"True," I said. "Vicki was a model once, too, you know."
"Oh, I know. Jolene used to go on about her all the time. They were in the same beauty pageants." His lip curled and the arm bent, to prop his head.
The back of my neck felt cool. And lonely. "I guess I'd better go in. It's late. The dogs are out, and they'll wake everyone." The Jack Russells' barks had amplified as they circled the truck, waiting for the occupants to exit. But more importantly, I was reminding Nash of his ex-wife again and that wasn't pleasant for anyone. Particularly me.
"You didn't do those beauty pageants, did you?"
I turned from the door and found him staring at me. "Not really. A few toddler ones, I think. There wasn't any point to it when I got older. I had plenty of contracts."
"Is it hard on a person?"
"What?"
"Being beautiful? The expectations, I guess."
"I don't know." But I did. "It wasn't enough for me. I mean, I wasn't that sort of beautiful. Not that I think I'm beautiful. Or was beautiful. It was useful in my jobs to look appealing. But expectations are— Renata said…"
He leaned toward me and cupped my cheek. "You are. Beautiful."
OMG. My body trembled. Starting at my shoulders and racing to my toes. I curled them inside my Golden Goose sneakers.
His hand slipped from my cheek to cradle the back of my head. "I keep thinking about you finding these victims, and it doesn't seem right. You're too beautiful for this sort of work."
"I don't think—" His hand lightly rubbed my scalp and I had to stop myself from purring.
"But then there's something else there. Grit? I don't know. I can't figure you."
Vicki's feminist spirit would have been offended, but I scooted closer. "I'm serious about real training, Nash."
"I don't like worrying about you." His other hand stole
to my cheek and stroked. "Damn, your skin is soft."
"Nash, I want this. Very badly." My ambiguity was purposeful. I lowered my voice. "You know I can do this. With or without a gun."
"Partners have each other's backs. This isn't right." He spoke drowsily as he caressed my cheek. "Lord, I want to kiss you."
"Just do it," I whispered. To myself.
He drew closer. "It's a major problem. You're distracting."
"No more yoga outfits, I promise."
"It's not that. Well, it's also that." His lips landed in my hair. "Why do you smell so good? When you're not there, the office reeks."
"The office smells like donuts."
"You smell better than donuts."
I closed my eyes. I don't think a more romantic line had been mentioned in the history of romantic lines.
"We can't do this. I've told you, it's no good," he said, but his fingers continued to stroke my cheek. "You want to partner with me, but you're distracting with your looks, good smell, soft skin, and funny stories. I want you. That's no good in a partner."
Wait, this didn't sound romantic. I tilted my head back to look at him.
"Maizie, can I kiss you?"
I nodded. I liked it better when he didn't talk. But I had a horrible suspicion. Those thoughts fled as his lips landed on mine. Soft, supple, and strong. I melded myself against him, and he dipped my head back, snuggling it into his palm. His mouth moved against mine and fulfilled every fantasy I ever had about this moment. The fragrance of his bergamot aftershave and that other scent that was all his own acted like a drug, intoxicating me. His soft stubble scraped against my skin, but I didn't care. I pressed closer. His tongue teased my lips then dipped inside to deepen the kiss.
My thoughts spun out of control. I clung to his shoulders, bent backward against his strong arms.
He paused, almost panting. "I'm sorry. But Lord, you taste good."
I pulled him against me. His head bent and angled, his lips catching the corner of my mouth, then slid along my jaw to my neck. The kisses left my skin hot and cool, tingling with anticipation.
At my throat, he stopped and drew back. "You should quit. I'll talk Boomer into hiring you at DeerNose. You could work in security."
"No." I drew his face to mine and kissed him, bruising my lips against his.
He drew me into his lap, running his hands to my waist and up to my rib cage, where I hoped he didn't feel the edge of my Miracle Suit waist clincher. "You're luscious. Lord Almighty, He knew how to make a woman when he made you."
I didn't care if he felt the edge of my Miracle Suit. I guided his hand higher and moaned into his ear.
We were going from zero to one-twenty in point two seconds. It felt like a dam cracking. A lit match tossed into a Southern California forest.
No, that volcano, churning with bubbling magma and threatening to blow. Except less violent and way sexier. So deliciously right. And maybe a little wrong.
I returned to concentrate on the sensation of his lips, hands, and extremely robust body pressed against mine. One hand gripped his shoulder and the other kneaded the back of his neck. His tongue plunged, and I gasped.
He pulled back to stare into my eyes. Cool blue warmed and fuzzy with desire.
"I'm going to have to fire you," he muttered and dropped to my neck again, nipping and nuzzling my skin.
Wait, what?
Twenty-One
#FathersDaughter #HideAndSeek
I froze beneath him, trying to analyze the seriousness of his claim without the oxygen needed for my brain to analyze anything. He'd found that spot on my neck that drained my head of blood.
In a non-vampiric sort of way.
A thump on the window caused us both to jerk away. A thump made by the butt of a rifle.
Daddy. With a Winchester. Or Remington. Despite my gun closet, I still couldn't tell them apart.
Scooting away from Nash, I adjusted my clothing and rolled down the window. "You're about ten years too late for this role."
"Maizie Marlin Spayberry, what are you doing in my driveway? Where is the sense God gave you?"
I hated to think where that sense went in the last ten minutes.
Nash leaned around me. "I apologize, sir. I have no excuses. Won't happen again."
I whirled around to flash Nash a look. "We have plenty of excuses," I muttered. "First off, we're not sixteen."
"Wyatt Nash, you'll hear from me in the morning," said Daddy. "You, of all people, should know better than to let your willy override your better judgment. With my daughter. You're just lucky I recognized the Silverado."
"Yes, sir."
A different kind of heat licked my neck and flushed my cheeks. "Daddy," I gasped. "I'm twenty-five."
"And living in my house because of the same lack of sense that led you back here from California. Although that lack of sense was a blessing." He paused, probably confused as I was. The gun butt pointed toward the cabin. "Get out of that truck and get inside. I've been waiting to have words with you anyway."
Words. Words with Daddy were never good. I wanted more words with Nash. Like was he serious about firing me or was that some weird turn-on? If so, not judging. That's an easier fetish to digest than others.
I turned toward Nash, but he was already slipping out of the truck. I scooted across the seat, out the door, and followed him to the back of the truck. Small terriers bounced around me, then dashed to the porch at Daddy's whistle.
"Nash," I said. "Wyatt. I'm sorry about Daddy. He never got the chance to chase away my dates in high school. He's just making up for lost time."
Ignoring me, he unfastened the bungee cords he'd used to secure Lucky. Bungee cords, I realized, he now left in the bed for the securing of Lucky. He'd taken to toting my dirt bike. Maybe more than he'd taken to me.
"You need some help there, son?" called Daddy from the porch.
"I've got it, sir." Grabbing Lucky, he pulled her to the end of the bed, lifted her, and placed her between us. Way too symbolically for my liking.
"Take care, Miss Albright. And by that, I want you carrying that Smith & Wesson." He dipped his head, refusing to look at me. "I apologize for tonight."
"You don't need to apologize—" I was cut off by the slam of the truck bed. "Maybe we got carried away, but you know this was inevitable. Directors would give their right arm for the kind of sexual tension that's been building between us."
"My life is not scripted. Good night, Miss Albright."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know what you meant." Nash leveled me with an icy blue gaze. "But we agreed. This is no way to conduct business. You've got a choice. It's me or the job. Either way, I'm good with your decision."
"I didn't agree to that, and I'm not good with either. It's not fair. You know I need to work for you. Not only to have a job but also to get the two-year training for a PI license. But you mean more to me than a job."
He ran his hands up my arms and rested them on my shoulders. "And that's why we can't fool around. I will do better by you in the future. This is my fault. Boomer was right. I wasn't thinking with my head or acting as a gentleman."
"It's not your fault."
Nash shook his head and strode to his open door.
"Night, son." Boomer saluted him from the porch, the rifle cradled in his arm.
I watched the truck roar from the drive, sending the dogs into a barking frenzy, and marched to the porch. "And here I thought I had only one parent who'd undermine me."
"You'll get over it." He turned to open the front door, then punched in the security number. "This place is as good as Fort Knox thanks to Wyatt Nash."
"I've done some upgrades."
"And I thank you for it. Listen, young lady. It's no secret that Wyatt Nash has been put through the wringer by a woman. Jolene Sweeney. That's his ex."
"I know who she is, Daddy."
"Well, then I'd expect you to act smarter. I know a little about the entanglements of beautiful women." He
stroked his long beard, musing on prior entanglements, while I pretended I hadn't heard those words. Because, ew. Even if he was talking about Vicki. Which I preferred never to think about.
"It doesn't matter anyway." I followed him through the foyer and into the living room. "Thanks to you, Wyatt said he wasn't interested in dating if we're going to work together."
"Smart man. You don't shit where you eat."
"Daddy!"
"It's an expression." He slammed a hand against the swinging kitchen door and held it open for me. Set the rifle on the kitchen table and poured two cups of coffee. "Sit."
I didn't like it, but I sat.
"If you haven't caught on, I'm het up." He sat across from me but still managed to tower over me.
"Oh my God, it's not like I'm fourteen and you caught me with the pool boy."
"Lord Almighty, Maizie, that better not be a real story. I could kill your mother for many things, but if I find out—"
"It's also an expression." Sort of.
"Anyway, that's not why I wanted to talk to you. Do I need to remind you of the provisions of your probation agreement?"
"No. Why?" Craptastic. Had my probation officer already learned that I'd taken up the discovery of bodies? "Am I in trouble?"
"You're gonna be if you don't stop this filming business." Boomer peered at me down the length of his nose. "That California judge said you're no longer to be involved in the entertainment industry. I know that after all those years it must be a hard thing to give up, but Maizie, it's for your own good. TV turned you into a downright idiot, getting into all those scrapes with drug dealers and whatnot."
I ignored his dig about my troubled ex-fiancé. "Daddy, I'm working for Leonard Shackleton, but I'm not involved in the movie itself. In fact, now it's more of a criminal investigation. It's pretty exciting. Although, I shouldn't be excited about murder — so morbid — but I'm investigating. Nash is acting as a bodyguard to Cam-Cam. I think you'd be proud of me. Bonafide detective work." I bounced in my seat. Until I saw his look.
"Don't lie to me, girl. You're letting them film you. I saw you myself at that new office on Palmetto."
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