by Misty Evans
A muscle in his jaw moved.
She was getting to him. Making Parker a real person, not just a list of facts in a file folder.
“I’ve done dozens of stories on families. Stories about twins and other siblings who are extremely close. I tried once to debunk a theory my sister had on how not being your mother’s favorite could make you a more successful person. Ended up becoming a believer. Parker did a lot of that, studying people and how their brains work. I do it, too, just on a different platform. By the way, I was never our mother’s favorite. Parker was just trying to make me feel better about it.”
His nostrils flared a tiny bit. His gaze flicked to her and then away.
Yep, definitely getting to the tough guy.
Desperation ate at her, yet she knew when it was time to ease up on the direct, in-your-face investigator body language and just be a person in need of help.
Not easy for her. She didn’t like needing anyone’s help.
“If you don’t like me or my show, I understand.” She went to stand against the wall on the other side of him, keeping some distance as she mimicked his stance in what she hoped was a non-confrontational posture. “But I hope those feelings won’t predispose you to disliking Parker or refusing to help me. And I do need help, Coldplay. I hate admitting that—I’m very independent and have been that way since I was eight years old and returned to gymnastics—but it’s true. I can’t do this alone. I need an expert like you to find my sister.”
His chest rose almost imperceptibly, but she caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. “It’s possible Parker wasn’t sleeping with Norman,” he said brusquely.
She snorted, looking at his profile and finding she liked it. A lot. The square jaw and the smooth skin of his cheek made her fingers itch to touch him. “Well, that’s good news.”
“She may have been on a black op—something he ordered her to do, and that no one knows about except him—and got caught or…”
Savanna’s mouth went dry. “Or what?”
He didn’t answer.
“Or killed. Just say it. I know I freaked a little earlier when you started laying out your theories, and I apologize, but you have to be straight with me on all of this. I may not like it, but I will handle it better from now on. I promise.”
Her admission didn’t seem to phase him, garnering nothing more than a nod.
“What kind of black op do you think Parker might have been working?” she asked.
His eyes slewed to her, that dangerous panther surfacing. “Be warned, Ms. Jeffries. You have no idea what we might uncover.”
She swallowed hard. “I’m aware it could get messy.”
“Messy?” His hard gaze turned on her full force. His eyes burned with intensity. “You pursue this and things will get more than messy. It could be deadly. You’re dealing with the most powerful man in America. Possibly in the world. Are you willing to die for this information?”
A lump formed in her throat, as if she’d tried to swallow a peach pit. “You think he’d have me killed?”
“If he’s hiding something that he knows could get him impeached and/or imprisoned and he believes you could blow the whistle on him, definitely. He’ll silence you without hesitation. So I’ll ask you again, are you willing to die over this?”
Conviction was an emotion that got a lot of people in trouble. She’d seen it time and time again on her show. People threw out logic, made false assumptions, and filled themselves with bravado when all else failed.
She never thought she’d be in their shoes. “Yes. I’m willing to die for my sister.”
His lips firmed into a straight line and he stared at her with a new annoyance lighting up his face. “She’s lied to you and potentially put you in danger.”
“If she lied, it was to protect me and do her job. I understand that. She would never purposely put me in danger.”
He went back to staring at the wall. Tense silence descended once more.
Savanna’s frustration wouldn’t let her stand immobile any longer. She jerked away from the wall, feeling the urge to throw another vase of flowers. “Are you going to help me or not? Because if not, I need to find someone who will.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I…” He hesitated for a second. “I’ve already asked Beatrice Reese for some follow-up information. I’m looking into it.”
A new surge of hope lit up her veins, crackled along her spine. “Yes! Thank you.”
“No promises.”
“But this is part of your job.”
“My primary focus is to keep you safe. Tomorrow, I’ll put out some feelers, see what comes back. I can’t guarantee anything beyond that.”
“I understand.” She put a hand on the door handle. “I have an extra bedroom. You’re welcome to take it.”
“No thanks.”
“You’re going to stand out here in the hallway all night? You don’t sleep?”
“I’ll be fine.”
She needed another drink just to handle his attitude. “You’ve locked down all the entrances. At least come inside. Take the couch, watch some TV, whatever. You don’t have to sleep, but I won’t relax if I know you’re standing out here in the hall all night. What if you need to pee?”
Under the brim of the cap, she noticed his brows bang together. “Will you leave me alone if I come inside?”
A smile broke over her face. Score one for me. “I promise to quit talking to you and not ask another question. Seriously, I need to go to bed and get some sleep. Four a.m. comes early.”
Once again, she sensed his mental sigh as he caved and ushered her into the apartment. He would learn. When she wanted something, Savanna always found a way to get it.
TRACE HEARD SAVANNA’S alarm go off at precisely four a.m. as anticipated. Some old Britney Spears song filled the penthouse. She must have tapped the snooze button because all went quiet again ten minutes later, another blast of Britney finally rousing her. He heard shuffling and the bathroom door closing.
He’d spent the night thinking and pacing and thinking some more. Her open living room, dining room, and kitchen made the perfect circle for him to walk. She’d told him to help himself to food and drink and handed him the complicated remote to her entertainment system. Once an hour, he’d checked the doors and windows, wishing she had surveillance cameras. He didn’t have trouble staying awake, but his mind wanted to wander. The past was always happy to resurface and flood him with memories best left forgotten.
He’d found a drawer of DVDs and come across some family movies. Savanna hadn’t just been good at gymnastics, she’d reached the Olympics where an apparent injury to her wrist shut her down.
Watching those videos of her with her parents and sister cheering for her, seeing her waving from the top platform at the Olympics at the ripe age of fourteen, and then seeing her in the hospital with a brace on her wrist, had done something to his cold, hard heart.
She was a fighter. A champion. She’d known deep disappointment at a young age, her dream of the Olympics ending abruptly. Yet, she’d pulled herself out and had grown up to succeed at championing for others.
The videos kept his mind occupied for a couple of hours. He’d felt a twinge of guilt at watching something so personal, but it had kept his own memories at bay.
There was no forgetting what he’d done and, not for the first time, he wondered if Savanna had done him a favor by exposing him as a traitor, even though it was a lie. At least she’d taken him out of play and put him in a place where he probably belonged after all of the lives he’d taken in the name of national security. In service to the president.
Although he still held a severe grudge, her appeal the previous evening had softened him. His parents and only sister had been killed in a house fire when he was ten. He’d been staying overnight at a friend’s house. The only living relative he’d had left was his grandfather, who couldn’t seem to ever look Trace in the eye after the accident.
Trace couldn’t blame him.
He’d survived by not being home. To this day, he still wondered if he could have saved his family if he’d been home that night. Or if it would have been better if he had died too.
While he couldn’t clear his own name, he could help Savanna with hers. If Ginger, his little sister, had never died in that fire, if she had gone missing… Well, Trace would have crushed the gates of Hell to get her back. Even now, he wished he could take her place.
During the early morning hours, he texted Beatrice telling her Savanna needed an upgrade to her security system first thing. Next, he’d shot photos of the file on Parker and sent the info to Beatrice as well. Copy that, was her only reply. No questioning him about changing his mind.
He liked that.
The faint burn of being manipulated prickled under his skin, but the woman was good at her job. Reluctant respect set up shop in his skull.
Sounds of running water and Savanna humming filtered through the walls. He still had to play it cool. The second she figured out who he was, all bets were off. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—go back to Witcher. They’d have to kill him first.
The bathroom door opened and she padded past him with a yawn and went into the kitchen. She was wearing another set of yoga pants and a tank top. These pants had a beach scene imprinted on the ass that flowed down both legs.
He heard the sound of a grinder, then a motor noise as she stood in front of a black espresso machine. A minute later, she shuffled into the living room where he stood and handed him a travel mug. Her hair was down and combed straight and her eyes were tired. Either she wasn’t a morning person or she hadn’t slept despite the fact he had agreed not to stand in the hall all night.
Without a word, she returned to the kitchen. He sniffed deep, the smell of freshly ground coffee beans making his nose happy. The espresso was steaming so he watched the sweet beach scene back at the machine for a minute while he blew on the liquid to cool it.
Another round and Savanna had a second travel cup in hand. The doorman downstairs rang her and announced her car was here.
Still not speaking, she grabbed a coat and motioned him to follow.
Definitely not a morning person.
She locked up the apartment and he unlocked the elevator. On the way down, she took a big sip of coffee, sighed as if in heaven, and leaned back against the elevator wall.
He liked this quiet side of her. It fit with the early morning and his thoughts. He should have called Beatrice while Savanna was in the bathroom to tell her time was up and he wanted a new assignment. Instead, here he was, drinking her damn good espresso and following her to work.
Once he landed her safely at the studio, he’d call Beatrice, get Savanna a new bodyguard. Didn’t mean he couldn’t make some calls like he’d promised her last night. He could help from behind the scenes.
Yeah, that was it. Keep his distance but still help her find her sister. He was good at keeping his distance and still getting a job done.
He chanced a glance at her. Her eyes were closed, her full lips forming a sexy pout. For half a second, his libido gave a lurch and his mind went sideways before he could stop it, wondering what it would be like to touch those lips. Taste the coffee on them.
He put his head down and took a drink. A big drink that scalded the back of his tongue and his throat. He nearly choked, his windpipe seizing up.
“Are you okay?” Savanna said.
Her eyes were now open, the big blue orbs wide.
“Fine,” he spluttered. “Swallowed wrong.”
“It’s micro-roasted Guatemalan. Organic, fair-trade. Not everyone likes the intensity, but I need high-octane fuel this early in the morning.”
The elevator hit the first floor and dinged. Trace stepped in front of Savanna and hit the hold button to keep the doors from opening. “Wait here until I clear the area.”
Her lips formed a condescending smile. “It’s four-forty-five. No one’s up except Cori at the front desk and Randy the doorman.”
He gave her a look, long and patient. She sighed and leaned back against the elevator wall. “Wait here. Yes, sir. Got it.”
A minute later, Trace had her secured in the backseat of the limo that the studio apparently sent every morning to pick her up. Savanna’s assistant was already in the backseat, looking at him like he was Santa Claus and she had a long list of wishes.
He pegged her to be early twenties. The dark rimmed glasses and ponytail made her look even younger, like a kid playing grown up. She grinned like the Cheshire cat and fiddled with her phone. “So you’re the new bodyguard.”
“Coldplay,” Savanna said, staring out the window as the driver pulled away from the curb. “This is Lindsey, my studio-assigned personal assistant who is also the assistant to the assistant director. She keeps me on schedule. Lindsey, this is Coldplay.”
Savanna didn’t sound too pleased. Trace simply nodded at the girl.
“Coldplay,” she said, tapping the edge of her smart phone against her chin. “I love that group. I’ve been telling Savanna for months she needs to take those death threats seriously, so when she told me she’d hired you yesterday, I was so relieved.”
Trace looked at Savanna. “Death threats?”
She waved a hand in the air. “Nothing more than the usual whackos who threaten every person on TV. I piss off a few people. Some more than others. It’s no big deal. I’ve been getting them for years. Lindsey, he’ll need a badge.”
Trace disagreed about the potential importance of the threats but he sensed he wouldn’t get anywhere on this topic with her. He turned back to Lindsey who interrupted him before he could even speak. “Got it right here.” She handed him a lanyard with a studio access visitor pass.
“I’d like a complete list of the threats against Ms. Bunkett,” he said, taking the lanyard. “Where they initiated from and from whom. Who deals with this kind of stuff at the studio? I’ll need to speak with him or her.”
Lindsey sat back, her smile fading. “Human resources probably has a file of them, you know…” She lowered her voice and shot a glance at Savanna. “Just in case.”
A file? That was it? “Is anyone investigating the threats? Have they been turned over to the police? The FBI?”
Shadows played across the interior of the limo as they passed under streetlights. The girl shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Coldplay.” Savanna had zoned in on him, a frown tugging at her lips. Ease up, her eyes seemed to say. “We’ll get you the list. Lindsey, put that on today’s schedule.”
“Right.” The girl made a note on her smart phone. “I’ll schedule that after the morning meeting.”
“Read me the schedule,” Savanna said, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the leather headrest.
Lindsey scrolled through her phone. “Hair and makeup like usual. Then wardrobe—you’re going to love the sweater Tessy picked for you—”
“No sweaters,” Savanna interjected. “They make me look pudgy on camera.”
She could never look pudgy, Trace thought. In fact, while he enjoyed her beautifully buff and lean physique, she could stand to put on a few pounds.
He caught himself staring at her tranquil face, highlighted here and there under the passing streetlights. Her flawless skin, her full lips…
As if she felt his gaze on her, her lids fluttered open, her dark blue eyes nearly black in the shadows.
He jerked his eyes away, staring out the window and mentally cursing himself for getting caught by her. Too many months without female contact made him suddenly feel like a starving man in front of a juicy prime rib dinner.
Needing to keep his hands busy so he didn’t reach across the backseat and touch Savanna, Trace retrieved his phone out of his pocket and texted Beatrice.
How soon will F3 be installed?
F3 Home was the Rock Stars’ top of the line home security system that included multi-directional cameras. When they returned to the penthouse later today, he would speak to the building manager about the
lack of security around the service door entrance in the basement.
Beatrice’s reply was short. Crew and I are there now. I’ll oversee the install. Ninety minutes to completion.
B and crew must have been waiting on them to leave. Fast. Efficient. Yep, Beatrice Reese was like her husband. No wasted effort. No wasted anything.
Need a list of Parker Jeffries’ aliases and if any of them have recently been used, he typed.
Copy that. Give me two hours.
Emit Petit had deep resources but Beatrice had the contacts.
Lindsey was much more at home talking work than death threats. She continued listing the day’s schedule. “Nine-fifteen is your five minute lead-in on the morning show about Friday night’s Westmeyer investigation. Are you sure you still want to move forward with that one?”
Savanna didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Two days ago you said to scrap it, then yesterday, you said to put it back on the schedule. Just checking to make sure you haven’t changed your mind again. Production has whiplash and Mariah isn’t too happy about the flip-flopping.”
Her voice was low, determined. “We’re running it.”
“Okay then.” Lindsey rolled her eyes at Trace. Superstars. What was an assistant to do? “Morning meeting is at ten. Then you’re scheduled to do the primetime special commercials at one o’clock. Where are we on the Hopland interview? Did you speak to her?”
Savanna opened her eyes and took a sip of coffee. “I have the research data from her study and a couple of examples of supersurvivors, as she terms them, but I need more specific details on the parameters of the study itself and how she determined successful outcomes.”
“I thought you were getting that information last night. We’re presenting the idea to Scott at the morning meeting.”
“Yeah, well…” Savanna looked out the window and bit her bottom lip. “I got distracted and had to cut the call with Dr. Hopland short. I’ll get the info before the meeting and help you flesh out the script. If Scott gives us any heat, I’ll take it.”