Texas Bodyguard

by Jean Brashear

  “My folks are on a month-long second honeymoon. I hope to heaven they haven’t seen any of this.”

  “They adore you. They’d want to be here for you. And frankly, right now you could use some babying.”

  “They’ve waited years for this. I’m not screwing it up.”

  “What about your brothers?”

  “Both of them have called.”

  “And?”

  “I didn’t take the calls. I had my assistant reassure them. I know they love me, but I don’t want to have to dwell on how I’ve failed.”

  “Failed? Get real.” He snorted. “Marsden’s the screw-up.”

  “In their world, I have. This is my second divorce. My parents have been married forever and are still madly in love. My brothers and their wives, too. Kids all over the place. Me, I keep thinking I can have what they have and my career, too.”

  “You can. Look at your co-star, Liam Sullivan.”

  “Liam’s a freak of nature.” When he chuckled, she smiled. “I mean that nicely, but the reality of our business is that what he has, the mega-career and a solid family life, too, is almost impossible to achieve. I need to stop dreaming and get practical. There’s the fact that I’m a lousy judge of men, first and foremost. I want the ivy-covered cottage, adoring spouse and two point five kids, but I don’t want to give up my career to do it. You can’t have both—well, he can, apparently, but the reason everyone revered Newman and Woodward was that they were the exception.”

  “So find someone who’s not in the business.”

  She rolled her eyes. “When do I ever get to meet a real person? Anyway, you know how it is—actors’ egos are too big and too fragile so they’re a lousy fit—as I’ve just been so rudely reminded. And with a normal man, the gap in lifestyles is too huge, to say nothing of the disparity in income—most men can’t get past that. The life we live is deadly to a relationship. Simply dealing with our schedules is horrific enough, and the issues are so much more complex than that.”

  “Babe, if anyone can make that happen, it’s you.”

  His faith was lovely, of course, but seriously misplaced. “I’m exhausted, Martin.” Weary to her marrow. “And I don’t trust my judgment. I can’t try again.”

  “Of course you’re worn out. If you won’t go home, then come to Austin. You have to get out of there.”

  “No. I know how busy you are. I’ll be all right, I promise. It’ll get better.” Though she had no idea how.

  “You need time to recover from this. Come see me. Take some time off and rest up while this dies down. Some other scandal will break soon, and you’ll be old news. Austin’s great, you know. It’s actually a pretty terrific place to lay low, if that’s what you want. People are cool about celebrities. They let you be. And Austin’s got everything—live music, the lakes, great food. I know this hotel that totally rocks, Hotel Serenity.”

  She was surprised that he didn’t ask her to stay with him as he always had before. “I don’t know…”

  “I wish I could have you here, but I’m gone too much these days. I’d be a lousy host, but you’re exactly the kind of person the hotel likes to pamper. And hey, there’s a bonus—the owner is involved with Liam’s brother.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, Liam helped make the opening a big splash. Everything I hear about it is impressive. It’s small and exclusive, tucked in among trees and very private. She restored an old mansion, and she’s reputed to be a tigress about protecting the privacy of her guests.”

  “I don’t know, Martin…” Running away went against the grain, but she was so weary. So sad. So confused, and the wellspring of optimism that had nurtured her through the long trek to the top had gone bone dry.

  “Even if I can’t play host, I want to help. You’re my best friend. Let me do something, please.”

  She was too worn out and heart-sore to think straight, but she had to find some way to get on top of this. She didn’t like feeling angry and bitter. It wasn’t who she was. Who she wanted to be. “I have to finish filming.”

  “You’re nearly done, though, right?”

  “I was supposed to finish my scenes tomorrow.”

  “You know they could shoot them at the end of production.”

  “No. I won’t do that to the cast and crew. I’ll finish.” Somehow.

  “I’ll call your director for you.”

  “No, Martin, don’t. I have to do this one thing right.”

  “That damn work ethic of yours.” He sighed. “Okay, listen, I’m going to make the arrangements. Leave everything to me. I’ll call your housekeeper and tell her what to pack.”

  Tears threatened again. In truth, having someone take care of her for awhile sounded wonderful. “You are so good to me.”

  “You have the best heart I ever knew. Now go lose yourself in that role and let the hours go by. I’ll take care of everything else.”

  “Thank you so much.” She wanted to cling to the phone, to the island of sanity and safety Martin had always represented. Before she got weepy again, she disconnected instead.

  She went into the tiny bathroom of her trailer and took a good, hard look in the mirror. “You can do this,” she told her reflection.

  Then she turned on the shower and began the process of becoming America’s Sweetheart instead of a discarded, unlovable wife.

  “Did you hear what I said?” The chirpy blonde perched on Detective Sean Fitzgerald’s lap frowned. “You’re not paying attention. What’s wrong?”

  “Hm?” Sean stirred from haunting memories of last night’s grim discoveries on his current case. “What did you say?”

  “I said—” she exhaled in a gust “—I thought we were going to dance. The music’s great tonight.”

  It is? He frowned. He loved live music, of which Austin had tons, but it was wasted on him just now. Anyway, she was only asking because it was her job. “Sorry, uh—” What the devil was her name? Brandy? Barbie?

  “Bella. Like the girl in Twilight, you know? I mean, that’s not my real name, but I am sooo in love with those books. Are you Team Edward or Team Jacob?”

  “Team…” What the hell was she talking about? Then he recalled a set of books one of the Violent Crime Task Force assistants was crazy over. This blonde was just as young.

  He was thirty-six. Too old to hang out with babies.

  But he’d do whatever was required to nail the bastards responsible for the misery of so many.

  “You haven’t read them?” She was clearly astonished. “What about the movies?”

  When was the last time he’d spared time for a movie? That wasn’t her fault, however. This whole case was about making sure that sweet young things like Barbie—er, Bella weren’t sold as sex slaves, addicted to drugs so they’d be easy to handle.

  And with that, grisly images from last night rose again. Seven women, two girls. All dead because Sean and the rest of the task force couldn’t plug the pipeline of human trafficking in which those nine and countless others were ensnared.

  He nearly set the girl aside and left. He was no good to anyone tonight. He should be catching up on his sleep, but sleep was elusive these days.

  So he’d come to Danger Zone, one of the businesses the task force suspected of laundering money for the cartel behind the trafficking. Sometimes you obtained information you didn’t expect from those the bad guys didn’t consider important.

  He shook his head and focused. “I haven’t seen the movies, sorry. Want to tell me about them?” At worst, maybe pure foolishness would clear his head and get him some distance on the case.

  Blond Bella chattered on, and Sean listened. When she again suggested they dance, he didn’t argue. He wouldn’t pass a pop quiz on vampire movies, but maybe he’d dance this funk out of his brain and learn something useful about Danger Zone and its owners, Martin Lowe and Sage Holland, at the same time. They were careful not to leave any tracks, but clubs and restaurants were among the businesses that dealt in plenty of ca
sh and thus provided an ideal opportunity to launder funds. A disgruntled waitress had given the task force a tip that pointed a finger at Danger Zone, but she’d left town before anyone could find her to get details.

  Blond Bella gyrated to the music, rubbing herself against him, making it clear that she could be his for the night. Ten years earlier, even five, he’d have been much less immune to the blatant invitation. Lowe and his partner were smart, seeding the audience with glorified hookers posing as dancers.

  But even if he weren’t here to troll for intel, he wouldn’t accept. More and more often lately he’d found himself wishing for someone to talk to, really talk. Someone to share not just his bed but his life, to make a home with, put down roots.

  But he’d need a head transplant first. The kind of hours he worked, no woman would willingly sign off on. Once considered the task force playboy, he was in danger of becoming the task force workaholic instead.

  The hell of it was, he couldn’t see that he was making one bit of difference, no matter how many hours he put in. For every bad guy they locked away, plenty more stepped up to take his place. Sean had often been accused of being a Boy Scout, someone who believed in black and white, good vs. evil, wrong against right, but ten years on VICTAF—the Violent Crimes Task Force—was wearing him down. VICTAF was made up of members from every law enforcement agency in the Austin area, state, local and federal. He could have rotated out years ago as most members did, but Doc Romero, the FBI agent at the helm, had liked his work when he was brand-new out of APD uniform, and he’d kept him on. It was a coup for Sean, but constantly dealing with the worst of the worst criminals could do a number on your head if you weren’t careful.

  Sean was being very, very careful. He believed in what he did, and he wasn’t letting any case, however seemingly impossible to crack, get the better of him.

  Just then, a face caught his attention several feet away from where he and Bella danced. Why did the woman seem so familiar? Something was wrong, too—though very pretty, just now her face was ravaged, and she walked like a zombie, hardly noticing the various men trying to get her attention. He followed her progress through the crowd to the edge, nearing the hallway where the restrooms were and, further down, two doors with special locks, purpose undetermined. Rumors, however, had him suspecting that the doors led to private areas suitable for indulging in sex and/or drugs with women like Bella.

  Why did that woman seem—

  Then it hit him. One of the victims last night, that’s who she resembled. Strongly.

  “I’ll be back,” he said absently to Bella, pointing toward the restrooms.

  She made a little moue of displeasure and trailed her fingers down his arm. “Don’t stay gone long, handsome.”

  But mentally he had already left. He kept his focus on the woman’s last location as he cut through the crowd. She looked enough like the victim to be her twin—except that she was still alive. Was there a connection? Was she caught in the same nightmare?

  When he reached the crowded passageway, he swore ripely when he couldn’t see her and hoped like hell she was in the restroom and would emerge soon. He didn’t want to attract attention by lingering, but she might be a valuable lead if he wasn’t deluding himself about the resemblance.

  Then bodies shifted, and he spotted her way back by the two unmarked doors, her shoulders hunched to avoid a guy who was all over her.

  If there was anything guaranteed to make Sean see red, it was a man forcing himself on a woman. He’d been on Vice before being recruited to VICTAF, and he’d seen too many women and children victimized. He’d dealt with it, but the brutality he’d witnessed had never left him. Swiftly he threaded past the dancers, trying very hard not to draw attention to himself while reaching her quickly.

  “Hector says I can have you tonight, so don’t give me any crap.” The man had a brutal grip on her arm and shook her forcefully.

  Sean wanted to cold-cock the guy, but if Hector was the girl’s pimp as he surmised, he’d only make life harder on her. He used his fingers to squeeze a painful pressure point on the guy’s wrist, forcing him to release her. “But my turn’s not up yet, so you have to wait,” Sean said.

  “Who the hell are you?” Clasping his wrist with his free hand, the guy turned his fury on Sean.

  Again, Sean had to remind himself of the end game to keep himself from unleashing his frustration and the memories of last night on this guy when the woman had to be his focus. “Let’s go, honey,” he said to the woman—girl, really—staring up at him with wide, terrified eyes. “It’s okay,” he said gently. “I’m taking you out of here.” He swept her out of the guy’s reach quickly, hearing the bellow at his back but proceeding onward and heading for the outside.

  “No,” she moaned faintly, squirming in his grasp. “I have to do what he says. Hector has my sister. If I do not obey, he will send her with the others—” Abruptly she clamped her mouth shut.

  “Who is Hector and why does he have your sister?” Though he was pretty sure he knew. She shook her head vehemently. Sean hustled her around the corner and into a darkened alley. “I want to help you. What’s your name?”

  “You cannot. No one can.” She was visibly trembling.

  “Just tell me your name,” he said softly. “I won’t hurt you.”

  Her face was pale as death, and sobs wracked her frame, but still she didn’t tell him.

  “I’ll go first. My name is John.” An alternate version of his own and innocuous enough that he could easily use it undercover. “Please tell me your name.”

  “I am called Candy.”

  “But that’s not your real name, is it?” Not with that accent, though he couldn’t clearly place it.

  “It does not matter. There is no help—please…go. I must return before—”

  “Where would I find Hector?”

  “Stay away from him. He is dangerous.”

  “Why?” So close. He nearly held his breath, sensing in his gut that she could give them valuable information.

  She clasped the locket at her throat in white-knuckled fingers. “My sister…I am so afraid. We were to meet—”

  Sisters, just as he’d expected. “Let me take you someplace safe.”

  “No!” Her head shook violently. “If I leave, he will hurt her. We were brought over together, but the other man took her away. I have only seen her once. I must take care of her. She is my only family. There is talk that some will be moved soon. I must find her first.”

  “Where did you come from?”

  “Istanbul,” she whispered.

  Bingo. Not content with trafficking in Latin America, the cartel was rumored to be spreading its tentacles into the Middle East in recent months.

  “When is this move?”

  Her eyes narrowed, and he backtracked from the too-direct question a simple do-gooder would not have asked.

  “Never mind.” He grasped her arm. “Let me take you away from here. I’ll help you find your sister.” He didn’t like lying to her—though, of course, he actually could take her to her sister, only not alive—but this case was about hundreds, possibly thousands of young women like them.

  “No—you do not see—no!” She wrenched her arm away from him just as a shout echoed from around the corner, snagging Sean’s attention.

  He didn’t want to draw his weapon here and blow his cover. “Stay here,” he said over his shoulder and began easing his way to the corner to see what was going on.

  Too late he heard the footsteps behind him and whipped around.

  But the girl was already gone.

  His instincts were itching, though. He had to find a way to get to Lowe or Holland, some means to learn their weak spots without tipping them off.

  Everyone had a weakness. He would hunt until he found theirs.

  Chapter Two

  “Good morning, gorgeous.” Shopping bags in hand, Martin strode across the verdant grounds of Hotel Serenity and bent to kiss Annabelle’s cheek. Of medium height,
with rich brown hair and melting brown eyes, he had been quite handsome when they first met, but she could see the strains of his lifestyle on the softening jaw, the new thickness around his middle. He was only five years older than her thirty-four, but he had aged markedly since he’d last come out to see her in California.

  “Martin, you don’t have to bring me goodies every day.”

  “Okay.” He shifted the bags behind his back. For her, he could always summon mischief, however harried he was.

  Annabelle laughed and half-rose from the bent willow chair. “Gimme.” With a child’s delight, she peered inside the first. “Yes! Chocolate! How did you know?”

  He snorted. “Like that’s not a required part of any gift. Even when all we could afford was one Hershey bar to split between us, you’d give up a decent meal to have it.”

  They shared a smile swimming in memories.

  “You gonna split that with me for old times’ sake?” he asked as she pried open the box and reverently inhaled the dark, delicious scent.

  “Are you kidding?” She clasped the container to her chest. “Get your own.” With a grin, she proffered the box. “Of course I am. You first, my friend.” After he’d selected one truffle, she chose one for herself and took a dainty bite.

  “Oh, yum…” She would swear her eyes rolled back in her head. “Where on earth did you find these?”

  “Second Street. A little shop where they make them by hand.”

  “Yum. Serious yum.” She smiled. “Between Vanessa’s amazing food and your goodies, if I don’t get back to running soon, my trainer will kill me.”

  “You’re getting antsy.” Not a question.

  “Yes…well, maybe. I’m not quite ready to brave the world yet.” She frowned. “Such a coward.”

  “You’re not. You never have been.” He placed his hand atop hers.

  If she’d felt a little unsettled because he hadn’t invited her to stay with him after all the times he’d begged her to visit, he was here now, faithful as ever, and that was enough. She turned her fingers in his and squeezed. “I’ve lost my optimism, Martin. I always believed that he was out there, my perfect match. That I’d be like my parents one day, that one man would love me for who I am, not because I’m famous, but simply for myself.” She sighed and shook her head. “No longer.”