by Shayla Black
Goddamn Raoul. Cutter didn’t like him much more than he liked Tower, but at least Raoul didn’t sound like a purely selfish shit.
After his first run-in with Raoul, he’d looked the guy up. Obviously, he’d done the same in return. His boss might be an asshole and his wardrobe ridiculous, but Raoul was actually legit.
Cutter sighed. This went against every bone in his body, but this farce was scheduled to start now, and everyone had a role to play, too. Even if it sucked.
“All right. But listen, Shealyn has had some recent credible threats. Don’t take your eyes off her. I’ll be working perimeter.”
“No shit?” Raoul actually sounded concerned. “I assumed you took this job for the fame and the pussy, and she hired you for your prowess with something other than a gun.”
Why would he assume that? “I don’t give a shit about fame. I’m not talking to you, or anyone, about her pussy. And I promise, she definitely hired me to keep her safe.”
“Fair enough.” Raoul slapped him on the shoulder.
Weirdly, Cutter felt as if they’d reached an understanding. Maybe he could work with this guy. The next two hours would tell.
The other bodyguard exited the limo, then went around to open the back door for Shealyn and Tower. Cutter watched them emerge through the window to blinding flashes and shouted questions. They paused to answer a few, smiles firmly in place. His beefy arm was wrapped around Shealyn’s waist. To anyone who didn’t know her, they would believe her seemingly relaxed demeanor.
Cutter didn’t buy it for an instant.
When Tower finished speaking, Shealyn nodded and added a few words he couldn’t hear. They followed that with a shared look and a laugh, then Tower leaned in and kissed her with the kind of gusto that made Cutter want to brush up on the punishments his Afghani tribal friends had once taught him.
She pulled away with a roll of her eyes and pretended to swat his arm like she was a teenager afraid to make out in front of her parents, then she tugged him past the press and into the restaurant. Raoul followed watchfully.
As soon as Shealyn and Tower disappeared inside, the press frantically sent their images and the brief interview to all their producers to disperse to the world. Once they’d finished, the reporters hung back, lounging around and chatting as they waited for the couple to emerge.
Cutter took the opportunity to park the limo, then slip away into the shadows, flanking the building to do a clandestine perimeter walk. Through the windows, he watched Shealyn plaster on a fake smile for Tower and pretend to hang on his every word. She was gulping her wine. Cutter winced.
Just a couple more hours, then he could have her in his arms again. All to himself.
But what happens come Monday? He had less than forty-eight hours left with her.
Time dragged as he kept tabs on her, watching her every move and expression. Yeah, he felt a bit like a stalker, but safety before pride. And . . . maybe he tossed a bit of masculine ego in there, too. Thankfully, nobody in the restaurant seemed threatening or even out of place. The meal ended without event.
While Tower paid the check, Cutter crept back to the limo. He had a surprise for the actor.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t all smooth sailing. The minute the pair appeared outside the restaurant, Tower and Shealyn answered a few more questions . . . and he took the opportunity to steal another long, sultry kiss from her.
It fucking set Cutter on edge.
Finally Raoul opened the back door of the limo and Shealyn slid inside. Cutter leaned forward and helped her in, and the surprise on her face was priceless. So was the relief that followed next as she curled up beside him.
When Tower popped his head in next, he glanced around for Shealyn—and scowled when he saw Cutter taking up part of the backseat, holding her against his body. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“You don’t get to separate me from my client.”
“You mean your conquest,” Tower sneered.
“That’s not how I see her, but if you do, I think that makes you the asshole.”
“Get lost. I’d never hurt her.”
“You don’t care about her enough to realize you are. So pardon me if your words mean shit.”
Tower settled against the leather, arms crossed over his brawny chest. “You’re just being a jealous prick.”
Coming from him, that was rich. And even if Tower was right, that didn’t change how any of this would go down. “I don’t care what you think.” Then he turned to Shealyn. “You okay, sweetheart?”
“Fine. I think our performance for the press went well. I dodged the questions I needed to. I could give them lies, but if they catch me, then it’s so much worse . . .”
Cutter nodded as Raoul pulled away from the restaurant.
With a snarl, Tower lowered the privacy partition. Yeah, he knew he’d lost.
Los Angeles traffic had thinned, so the drive was mercifully short.
When the limo stopped in the garage next to Cutter’s rental, Tower glared his way. “I need a few minutes to talk to her. Alone.”
Cutter glanced at Shealyn. She looked tired. Neither of them had gotten much sleep last night. But more than anything, she looked done, as if he should just stick a fork in her.
“No. Whatever you have to say can wait until tomorrow.” He held out his hand to Shealyn. “Let’s go.”
She put her hand in his, and the feel of her soft palm against his callused one did something to him. All the testosterone, the anger, the rivalry—gone with the touch of this woman’s hand.
“I’m fine. Just give us a minute,” she whispered to him.
Cutter didn’t like it, didn’t want it . . . but he couldn’t say no to her. “All right.”
He slid out of the car. Tower shut the door between them. Cutter cursed.
As he stood waiting outside of the limo, Raoul rolled down the window. “Just to let you know, dinner went smoothly.”
“Thanks for keeping an eye out for Shealyn.”
The other bodyguard paused for a long minute. “I like her a lot. She’s good people, and Tower needs more of those in his life. He also needs to move on from Norah. I’ve been hoping he and Shealyn would make their thing real, but I’m seeing now that her heart is somewhere else, you know? Tower will get that, too. He’s just . . . not in a good place right now.”
Cutter cocked his head. That was far more than he’d ever expected Tower’s guy to admit to him. “Thanks. You’re all right.”
A surprised smile curled Raoul’s lips. “Well, I couldn’t let you think that I had my nose too far up anyone’s ass. I’m not that guy.”
“I believe you.” Cutter held out his fist.
Raoul bumped it. “Take care of her.”
“I will for as long as she’ll let me.”
A moment later, the car door opened and Shealyn emerged, looking a little shaken, very tired, and oddly resigned. He guided her to the SUV in silence, eased her into the passenger seat, and helped her buckle in.
“I’m all right,” she assured him in a soft murmur.
“What did he say? I worried about you.”
“I know, but Tower simply apologized. He got handsy once or twice, so I shot him down.”
“By kneeing him in the balls?”
A little smile played at her mouth. “No, I did that when he said that if I’d wanted a lover, I could have chosen someone who was in my league.”
With a snort, Cutter put the vehicle in reverse and got the hell out of there, then turned the radio on something soft and low to brighten her mood. “Like him, huh?”
She nodded. “I told him I already had.”
Shealyn had stuck up for him. She’d told that prick she believed the drunk’s son from Nowheresville was every bit as worthy as the TV star. Cutter didn’t need his ego stroked to know his own worth,
but to hear that’s how the woman he loved felt had him bursting with pride . . . along with the need to be inside her.
Cutter opened his mouth to thank her, but his phone rang. With a curse, he yanked it from his pocket, surprised to see Logan’s number pop up on his screen.
“Hey,” he barked cautiously into the device. “If you’re calling to give me the same warning your brother did, you can stop. That ship sailed, man. It’s way out of the harbor.”
Logan sighed. “I didn’t call to fuck with you about romancing a client. As much as I’d like to have a serious man-to-man with you about professionalism, now isn’t the time.”
“You calling to tell me how you conquered the scary Razor scooter? Or maybe it conquered you . . .”
“Ha-ha. Fuck you. I’m calling because I finally got some info back on that picture you asked me about. I hope you’re sitting.”
Cutter gripped the steering wheel as the cars and stoplights seemed to blur around him. He set all joking aside. “I am. Go.”
“Foster Holt. Former Marine. General discharge.”
But not honorable. “What did he do to deserve that?”
“He was accused of running a supply line on the side for some . . . shall we say, overlooked munitions. Things he thought Uncle Sam no longer wanted, this douche apparently decided to help himself to and make a little cash on the side. There was no physical proof of the crime, and it was the word of one guy against another. His accuser admitted that Foster had fucked his wife, so your marine said all the allegations against him were vindictive lies. But for Holt to get this discharge, there must have been some strong circumstantial evidence, something more tangible than someone’s word.”
So he was a dirtbag. “Gotcha. How did he enter the picture?”
Cutter was aware of Shealyn sitting beside him. With a subtle press of his thumb, he turned down the volume on his phone. If he could barely hear Logan, there was no way she could make out the conversation.
“He was her last bodyguard. Her only one, as far as I can tell.”
And she’d willingly had sex with him. Cutter tried not to feel like a notch on her security-specialist bedpost. She wasn’t that kind of woman, and Foster had taken advantage of her during a moment of weakness. What left him feeling betrayed was that she hadn’t been honest with him. Even after they’d become lovers and he’d told her with his body—if not his words—that he loved her, she hadn’t come clean. Granted, he hadn’t mentioned Brea to her. But Foster was somehow tangled up in the danger afflicting Shealyn now—Cutter was convinced of that—while Brea had no bearing on Shealyn’s safety or future at all. Apples and oranges.
“That’s not all,” Logan warned.
Of course not. “Shoot.”
“The coma he’s supposedly in while he’s lying in some Montana hospital? It’s bullshit.”
“Fuck.” So the ex-fling had invented a fake coma, probably roped in his sister, duped a bunch of Hollywood types, then blackmailed Shealyn. Somewhere in the middle of all that, he’d decided to try and kill her, too. Why? “Give me the details.”
“It’s bullshit because he’s dead,” Logan clarified. “A bum discovered his body this morning about five A.M. In Los Angeles. Less than three miles from where Hot Southern Nights is filmed. Single GSW to the head, point-blank range. Definite homicide. Body dumped on the street. Initial coroner’s report puts time of death about two this morning.”
Holy shit. Cutter sat back, propping the cell against his shoulder and clenching the steering wheel while struggling for breath.
His whole body flashed cold. That news changed everything. Whoever Foster had been in cahoots with to bilk Shealyn out of money had decided that the former Marine had outlived his usefulness and capped him, execution style. That meant that Foster had been a pawn, and the mastermind—some violent fucker—was still out there with Shealyn in his crosshairs.
“That safe house I asked you about a few days ago . . .”
“One step ahead of you. I’ll text you an address. It’s way out of town. You’ll be good there for three to four days.”
“I’m due home in two.”
“Unless you figure out what the fuck is going on, Shealyn West would be painting a target on her forehead if you left now.”
Logan’s proclamation was a guilty relief. He’d just bought himself more time with Shealyn. He’d worry about what to do later. Right now, he had to make her safe again. Cutter refused to rest until he did.
“I totally agree.”
“Let me know if there are any problems with the safe house. Or if you need backup.”
He wanted to ask Logan about the loose ends, like Foster’s sister and any possible accomplices. And he would—when Shealyn wasn’t listening in. He had to break the news to her without freaking her out. Then he’d ask Logan to dig again. “Roger that.”
They hung up. Cutter’s head was racing. He had to tell Shealyn where they were going and why. The explanation would undoubtedly upset her.
“Who was that? What’s going on?”
Before he could even answer, his phone buzzed again, and Logan’s text message popped up on his screen. He rolled to a stop at a light and glanced at it. “Where’s Pismo Beach?”
“About three hours north of here.” She frowned. “Why?”
“That’s where we’re going for the weekend. We’re heading there right now.”
* * *
—
“What?” Shealyn gasped. “All my things are at home. I don’t even have a change of clothes with me.”
“Neither do I.”
But if they were going to be alone together, did they really need clothes? She stifled the thought. Something had gone horribly wrong, based on the one-sided conversation of Cutter’s she’d overheard. Sex should be the last thing on her mind. Unfortunately, every time she looked at him, getting naked and rubbing against him ranked somewhere near the top.
“I don’t know if I trust anyone to retrieve our things from your place and bring them to us. Maybe Raoul . . . except he’d tell Tower exactly where we’re lying low.”
“He will. But Tower would never really hurt me.”
“I’m beginning to suspect he’s too messed up to be any sort of criminal mastermind. I can’t think of a motive for him to extort money from you that makes sense,” Cutter conceded. “But if he’s not involved in your blackmail, I’d bet that whoever is watching you is also watching him. I’m not willing to take a chance that someone could follow him and find you. I can’t jeopardize your safety.”
The sudden sharpness of his tone told Shealyn that phone call had really flipped his switch. The jealous lover was gone, replaced by the hardcore operative. “What’s going on? You’re scaring me.”
“Not as much as the truth will. Goddamn it.” He pounded his fist against the steering wheel—an uncharacteristic loss of control.
Her stomach tightened with fear. “Cutter . . .”
When the light turned green again, he headed north. “We can buy most anything we need somewhere between here and Pismo, right? Because reporters will be camped out in front of your gate.”
She hesitated. “Probably.”
“Good.” He sighed. “I need to tell you a few things. First, I’m pretty sure your blackmailer knows where you live. I saw fresh footprints outside your bedroom window on Wednesday night.”
The shock of his words reverberated through her. “You never mentioned that.”
“Until tonight, I didn’t think the threat level was high enough to warrant worrying you, much less doing anything as drastic as taking you to a safe house. Just in case, I had one of my bosses, Logan, work on a backup location, so I’d have a plan B. I’d hoped the security system we had installed this morning would be enough, that the situation would never come to this. But too much other shit has gone down. I won’t take chances with you.”
“What other shit? Tell me what happened.”
He gripped the wheel even tighter. “I think your blackmailer succeeded in murder.”
Those words sank into Shealyn’s brain. “Oh my god. What . . . What are you . . .”
“Saying? Your life is in danger. I’m convinced of that. Foster Holt’s body was found early this morning. Police have ruled his death a homicide. Someone shot him in the head at point-blank range and dumped him a couple of miles from the set.”
Shealyn felt the blood drain from her face. There were so many things wrong with that statement, she didn’t know how to process it all. The most stunning? That a man as virile and larger-than-life as Foster was dead. That someone had killed him. “They’re sure? It couldn’t be someone else?”
“According to Logan, they have a positive ID. Now, I suppose the homicide could be random. Or it might not have anything to do with you. A guy like Foster probably pissed off a lot of people, especially dangerous ones. But I find the timing awfully coincidental. Just as your former bodyguard likely tries to blackmail you, just as we realize he’s in league with someone else to bilk you and he tries to run you over with his damn car, then he turns up dead?” Cutter shook his head. “I don’t believe in that kind of coincidence.”
She wasn’t sure she did, either. And as much as that terrified her, that wasn’t the only thing that made her aghast. “How did you learn Foster’s name? And that he was my last bodyguard?” The truth hit her. “You dug through my personal life to find out.”
He clenched his jaw as he approached the junction of 405 north and 101 heading west, dodging traffic that was heavier than it had been a few miles removed from the freeway. “I did what I had to do to keep you safe. That’s my job.”
Shealyn’s head spun. It was possible he’d asked Raoul or Tower who had been in her life six months ago. He might have gone through some old press photos and found snapshots of Foster in the background. But Cutter was the sort of man who wanted to find his own proof. He wouldn’t want hearsay; he’d insist on the real thing.
Cold dread slid through her. “You hacked into my phone.”