Texas Bodyguard

by Jean Brashear

  Confessing his deception means risking his career, but not coming clean with her could risk her life.

  Detective Sean Fitzgerald is hot on the trail of a man who is key to breaking a human trafficking ring, but he needs a way to get close without arousing suspicion. His opportunity comes in the form of film star Annabelle Quinn, who’s in town and in need of a bodyguard. Her best friend is his top suspect, and he can use the connection to break his case.

  But when Annabelle comes to mean so much more than a means to an end for Sean, his objectivity is in danger, and he’s painfully aware that the lies between them could doom any hope for a future for them. Lives depend, however, on him closing the case. When his deceptions endanger Annabelle’s life, can he convince her to trust him enough that he can save her?

  Lone Star Lovers

  Texas Heartthrob

  Texas Healer

  Texas Protector

  Texas Deception

  Texas Lost

  Texas Wanderer

  Texas Bodyguard

  Texas Rescue

  Texas Bodyguard

  Texas Heroes: Lone Star Lovers Book 7

  (Texas Heroes 29)

  Jean Brashear

  Copyright © 2018 Jean Brashear

  A rewriting of a book once called On His Honor

  Nook Edition

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  Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

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  Table of Contents

  Cover

  About Texas Bodyguard

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Excerpt from Texas Rescue

  Readers react to the Texas Heroes series

  About the Author

  Connect With Jean

  Prologue

  Los Angeles

  Academy Awards ceremony

  “Annabelle, over here!” cried more voices than Annabelle Quinn could count.

  “Awesome gown!”

  “Man, you look hot!”

  Then, in one slice of silence, “Annabelle, I love you!”

  The crowd at the Oscars tittered at the heartfelt declaration. Annabelle paused on the red carpet and pivoted on her sky-high stilettos to smile when she spotted the young man in the stands. She blew him a kiss, to which he responded with a shout and an ebullient fist-pump. The crowd cheered loudly for America’s Sweetheart.

  They loved her.

  And East Tennessee’s favorite daughter loved them right back.

  “We’re going to be late, darling, and we still have to face the dragon.” Her husband of four months, British actor Barry Marsden, placed his palm on the small of her back and guided her gently toward the waiting fashion reporter.

  Annabelle turned up her palms toward the bleachers. “Gotta go. So sorry,” she called out, then blew another kiss to encompass all of them. The screaming rose to a fever pitch.

  Then, with a sigh, she turned toward the has-been actress who’d breathed life into a dying career by carving up other actors for fun and profit.

  “Hello, Annabelle. Who are you wearing?” asked Sally Stern, her face permanently frozen by countless surgeries. Sally’s verbal knives were already sharpened and eager for her flesh, Annabelle had no doubt.

  “A brilliant, exciting new designer, Adam Cutler.” Annabelle smiled brightly and executed a quick runway twirl to give the television cameras a complete scan. The figure-hugging silver garment with the modest front neckline skimmed her collarbone in a boat neck, the long fitted sleeves widened at the wrist to drape in an elegant trumpet nearly to her knees. The gown followed every curve of her body so faithfully she hadn’t eaten anything but low-cal protein shakes in a week, then it belled out below her knees to pool gracefully on the ground.

  The dress was the picture of restrained grace—until she revolved for the camera to glimpse her back, bare in a scoop nearly to the cleft of her derriere. Down her spine spilled a single line of pearls and silver rosettes, linked by a chain so delicate it was invisible to anyone not right next to her. The only other jewelry was a wide silver cuff bracelet studded with pearls and diamonds, at her ears the diamond teardrops Barry had given her for a wedding gift. Her jet-black hair was styled after the legendary glamour girls like Jane Russell and Veronica Lake, a smooth fall turned under at the ends and dipping over one of her famous turquoise eyes. Her lipstick was killer red.

  Annabelle’s curves might be more modest than Jane Russell’s bombshell proportions, but she knew she was pulling off quite a look with the striking contrast of milky skin, silver gown and raven hair. Sometimes being a girl was too much fun.

  “Stunning, darling, simply stunning.” Annabelle’s eyes widened in wonder as Sally touched her with surprising gentleness on her arm. “You’re going to win tonight, I’m certain, and you’ll deserve it for your courage.”

  The diva reporter dished out praise so sparingly, far more inclined to wield verbal knives.

  Annabelle had to work hard not to faint. Or throw her arms around the woman as her basic nature urged her to do. Even after twelve years as an actress, five at the top of the box office, she couldn’t completely stamp Southern warmth out of her, nor did she have any desire to. It was hard enough to remain human—or sane—in the artificial environment in which she lived.

  So she gave in and hugged Sally, smiling as the dragon’s cheeks turned rosy. “Thank you, Sally. That means a lot.”

  One genuine squeeze of the hand from the older woman, then Annabelle all but danced away. What a night this was!

  The icing on the cake was her handsome spouse by her side, escorting her with his usual panache. She was grateful for the evening together, even if too much of it would be spent in public and on alert. They didn’t have nearly enough time to spend alone while juggling two busy careers.

  But this was part of the package, so Annabelle smiled and smiled. Stopped to sign autographs all the way into the auditorium, once even forcing the security guys to allow a preteen girl to come down from the stands to present her with a teddy bear she’d made just for Annabelle.

  Because she adored her equally-talented husband who, by all rights, should be up for an award, too, she took less time with her fans than she normally would, waving goodbye and heading inside. Now to endure the hours until she would learn if the role she had defied her wholesome image to play would, at long last, garner her the respect of her peers.

  Just as they reached the doors, Barry dipped her into a romantic kiss that sent cameras flashing and would have her fans sighing over the fairytale that was her life.

  This was what was truly important, the love they shared, the life they would build. Whether or not she won mattered much less. Her ill-fated first marriage t
o the director who’d made her a star had ended after four years, and she’d grieved over the loss of a dream. No one in her family had ever been divorced, and beneath the star patina beat a very ordinary heart, one that only wanted to love and be loved. Trouble was, she loved her work, too, and she was good at it. In the end, she’d decided that perhaps love wasn’t her lot, and she’d told herself to be grateful for all she had.

  Though she’d thought never to marry again, three years later, Barry had charged into her life and swept her off her feet. She hadn’t believed the on-set love affair cliché could ever happen to her, but Barry and she were no cliché. He loved her to distraction, and she loved him.

  She had been given a second chance, and this time she would get it right. She and Barry would be Joanne Woodward and Paul Newman, with a dash of Ward and June Cleaver thrown in. They’d grow old together gracefully and, with luck, die in each other’s arms.

  So what if she was a hopelessly middle class small-town girl, as her best friend Martin had teased? She didn’t care. Her parents were still in love after thirty-six years, and Annabelle’s two brothers had growing broods themselves.

  She laid one hand over her flat belly as Barry ushered her inside. Before too much longer, she hoped she and Barry would begin a brood of their own.

  Life was so good it was almost scary. She pressed her lips together and sent up a silent plea.

  “What is it?” Barry asked her.

  She shook her head. “Just…I love you so much. I’m so happy.”

  He smiled and led her inside.

  Chapter One

  Three months later

  “Annabelle, over here!”

  “Have you talked to Barry? Have he and his latest conquest emerged from the love nest?”

  “How does it feel to have him cheat on you barely six months into your marriage?”

  Cameras flashed, television cameras rolled, the gleaming shark teeth of entertainment reporters menaced as the crowd closed around her.

  She couldn’t do this. What had she been thinking, trying to show up on the set as though her world hadn’t been shattered into a thousand pieces?

  She hadn’t slept at all the night before, not after she’d seen the photos splashed all over the internet and the tabloids, the man she’d trusted with her heart and her dreams caught with a woman he’d apparently been involved with even before he’d met Annabelle.

  She knew she looked like death warmed over, her eyes too scratchy for makeup, her unwashed hair scraped back in a ponytail. She was two days away from wrapping her role in this film, and she was determined to be the professional she’d always been.

  But she had no idea how she’d play a romantic role with the slightest trace of sincerity when she no longer believed in love. All she wanted was to be alone, to climb under the covers and hide, not to speak to a soul. Even when she wasn’t in the midst of a scandal, her every move was charted. She’d accepted the lack of privacy as the price of success and done her best to get along with those she told herself were only trying to make a living.

  But the undisguised glee on their faces, the naked curiosity to see how soon she’d break…the people she’d cooperated with showed her no mercy now, not even when her heart was breaking and she wanted to crawl into the nearest hole.

  “Annabelle! She’s not even that pretty! How does that make you feel?”

  She whipped around. “How do you think it makes me feel?” she yelled. “Why are you doing this?”

  For a second, the only sound came from the cameras. Even hardened reporters were shocked.

  Look what I’m turning into. The depth of her bitterness stunned her.

  I can’t breathe. Frantically, she scanned for an opening as the crowd surged closer and the shouting resumed. Her heart pounded. Her vision blurred. Blindly she pushed to get away.

  Just then, two beefy men shoved through the crowd, and she recognized them as part of the security crew for the production. The yelling only mounted as they whisked her away, and the cameras never stopped whirring.

  Once out of sight, she half-collapsed against one of them.

  “It’s okay, Ms. Quinn. We’ve got your back now. Sorry we weren’t here. No one expected you today.”

  I shouldn’t have come.

  Desperately she tried to get a grip on herself, though she was trembling. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Ms. Quinn, those bloodsuckers will never leave you alone, not after—” the second one halted in mid-sentence. “Um, sorry.”

  After you found out when the rest of the world did that your husband has been cheating on you from the first, he might as well have said. When your marriage—your second marriage—turned out to be a lie. But none of that was anyone’s fault but hers.

  “It’s…okay.” But it wasn’t. Barry had made them a freak show. Had made a fool of her.

  She wanted to carve out his heart with a rusty spoon.

  Her shoulders sagged. She didn’t understand why. What had she done? How had she failed? Was she only lovable from a distance, only as an image, not a real person?

  Then she realized they were staring at her. “I’m…sorry. I’m just…” Sick at heart. And so very sad.

  “Can’t trust anyone in this town,” the second guard muttered. “Folks will sell their own grandmas to get ahead.”

  She knew he meant well, but she couldn’t handle sympathy right now. She would break.

  She shouldn’t have come, but the madness was worse at her house. Her housekeeper had helped spirit her out the back of the property in disguise, but it hadn’t been enough.

  She didn’t know what to do. Where to go. How to live with this. “Excuse me. I have to…” Vaguely she waved toward her trailer.

  “Sure thing. You need anything, Ms. Quinn, anything at all…”

  “Thank you.” She dug deep for strength. Tried hard to remember who she’d been only yesterday. She cleared her throat, composed her features. “Would you please tell Mr. Larson that I’ll be ready for makeup in fifteen minutes?”

  “You’re going to stay?” The guard looked incredulous.

  “I am. It’s my job.” She pulled herself up very straight, composed her features. Somehow she would gather herself, shake off the miasma of grief and shame and humiliation blanketing her like a filthy fog. She made her way to her trailer.

  Just as she got inside, her phone rang. She nearly hit the button to reject, but when she glanced at the display, she seized upon the lifeline.

  Martin. Her dearest friend. He would understand.

  “Hello?” she answered.

  “What the hell happened? I was out of pocket, so I just now heard. Where are you? Are you all right?”

  For a second, she couldn’t speak.

  “Annabelle? Talk to me.”

  “No,” she whispered brokenly. “I’m not all right.”

  “I’m going to kick that bastard’s ass.”

  They’d never been lovers, but Martin Lowe had almost literally saved her life. She’d dropped out of college and made her way to L.A. from Tennessee against her parents’ wishes, a naïve, headstrong Southern beauty who’d grown up in the bosom of a protective, loving family. She’d had no grasp on the darker realities, and she’d believed all those people who’d sworn she was the next Julia Roberts. One week in California had taught her some hard lessons.

  One week, and she’d been dead broke after falling for a bogus agent scam. She’d been too proud to ask her parents for help. Martin hadn’t been much better off financially, but from the moment of their first meeting at an audition, something had clicked for them, and she’d spent months sleeping on his sofa as he became a combination older brother and best friend. It was from Martin that she’d learned the ropes in Hollywood, and as her star began to rise much more swiftly than his, she’d done what she could to repay him. Once she’d wielded enough box office power, she’d insisted that he have roles in every production.

  His pride wouldn’t stand receiving charity
forever, though, and eventually he’d given up his acting dream and left L.A. for Austin. Four years later, he was a successful restaurateur and owner of Danger Zone, the hottest club in town, but they’d never lost touch. Martin, she realized to her chagrin, knew her better than either of her husbands had.

  “He never deserved you. He was just—” Martin didn’t finish.

  “Using me for publicity to boost his career? I know. At least now I do. I thought…” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.” She’d seen what she wanted to see in Barry’s devotion.

  Until everyone on the planet had seen the evidence that she was a stupid, lovesick fool. The fever pitch, the headlines, had quickly exploded.

  America’s Sweetheart Duped!

  Did She Know?

  Fool Me Twice…

  “It does matter,” Martin insisted. “Look, you know your director would shoot around you today.”

  “It’s all I have,” she said. “I’m a failure at love, Martin. All that’s left is my career.”

  “You’re allowed to be human, Annabelle. You can take time to deal with this.”

  “I am dealing with it. There are people waiting for me to do my job.”

  “They can work around you for a few days.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever get over this,” she whispered.

  “You will,” he said fiercely. “Damn, I wish I weren’t halfway across the country.”

  “I’ll be okay. I just…” Want the pain to stop. She couldn’t go anywhere without being followed, even on a normal day, but now… To have been so wrong, so sick in love with a man who didn’t love her was humiliating. Somehow she had to find her footing again, and work was the only thing she knew to do.

  Before the misery could tighten its grip on her again, she changed the topic. “So what are you doing today?”

  Martin all but growled. “Don’t do that. Your Mary Sunshine bit won’t work on me.”

  “Fake it ’til you make it, my mom always says.”

  “You know I love your mom, but—” He snapped his fingers. “That’s it—you should go home.”