“Don’t. I can’t start crying again.”
Vanessa hugged her. “It feels wrong to be so happy when—”
“I don’t want to talk about Sean.”
“I’m very angry with him, but I’m sorry for him, too. He’s devastated, Annabelle.”
His expression at the end…his eyes gone dark and bleak… If she didn’t hurt so badly, if she hadn’t flown so high…but she had, and she wasn’t ready, might never be ready to acknowledge the untenable position Sean had been in. Had chosen to be in, she reminded herself.
She would get past this. She would live. She had a life she needed to get back to.
But first, she had to talk to Martin. Look him in the eyes. Decide for herself.
“You’re getting cross-eyed from lack of sleep,” Vanessa noted. “You should take a nap.”
“Sounds wonderful, but I’d better pack.” She’d focus on that for now, and she’d reach Martin as soon as possible. Then she would remember her real life and return to it.
“I’ll walk you over, then.”
Annabelle demurred. “Piece of cake. All I have to do is lie down and roll across the grass on this overstuffed belly.”
“Climbing stairs that way could be a challenge.” Vanessa grinned. “Want me to wake you up at a certain time? Dane’s coming home early. Join us for dinner.”
“That’s very kind of you, but I think I could probably sleep all the way through until morning.” She stepped closer and kissed Vanessa’s cheek. “Give Dane my congratulations.”
“I will.” Vanessa hesitated. “Are you sure you have to leave?”
“Yes, but I’ll miss you. Could we stay in touch?”
A bright smile in answer. “I insist on it.”
Annabelle hugged her hard. “Thank you, my friend.”
Vanessa hugged her back, then escorted her to the door and watched as she made her way across the lawn.
Once inside, Annabelle tried Martin again, only to get his blasted voicemail. Where are you, Martin?
She felt grungy and in dire need of a fresh start, so though she wanted to fall face forward onto the bed, instead she took a long, hot shower. While she was washing her hair, she remembered that Martin had told her he often went to the club in the afternoon because that was a quiet time and he could take care of business details.
She emerged and wrapped herself in one of Vanessa’s decadently thick towels, then used her phone to find the club’s number and punched it in.
For whatever reason he wasn’t answering his cell, maybe he’d answer the club’s phone, or at least someone there could tell her where he was.
“Danger Zone. Leslie speaking.”
Leslie? Oh, yes. The manager. “This is Annabelle Quinn. Is Martin there?”
“He’s stepped out, Ms. Quinn.” There was a familiar note of eagerness in her voice that made Annabelle glad for her fame…or should she say her notoriety now? “May I take a message, or would you like to talk to his partner?”
Sage Holland. Maybe she would know where to find Martin. “I would, thanks.”
“Just one moment—and, Ms. Quinn?”
“Yes?”
“I’m a huge fan.”
“Thank you.”
A long pause, also familiar as the other person tried to prolong the encounter.
Annabelle wanted to nudge her, but she mustered patience and remained silent.
“Well, I’ll just…”
“I appreciate it.”
The phone was picked up quickly. “Sage Holland here. May I help you, Ms. Quinn?”
“I hope so, thank you. I’m having difficulty making contact with Martin, and I’d like to see him before I leave for L.A. tomorrow. Do you expect him back soon, or can you tell me where to find him?”
“He has an appointment that will take a little longer. Would you care to come here to wait for him? We’d love to show you around the club, if you have time. He said you were staying at Hotel Serenity, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“We’re perhaps a ten to fifteen-minute cab ride from you, but let me send someone for you. May I?”
Funny, in her time here, she’d become so accustomed to being Annabelle the person and not Annabelle the star that she’d almost forgotten what it was like to have people fawn over her.
It wasn’t always a bad thing. “That would be lovely. Shall we say an hour?” She’d have to hustle—she’d gotten out of the glamour habit, as well, and that wasn’t a quick process—but she’d find some viable compromise that would satisfy the star-struck Leslie yet remind Martin of how long they’d known each other.
“Perfect,” the woman purred. “We’ll look forward to having you.”
And probably call a contact or two, to be sure there would be pictures of Annabelle entering and leaving the premises, for publicity purposes.
Martin had done everything in his power to keep her away from the club for fear of exactly that happening, and she appreciated the thoughtfulness, but…this was her life. Better get used to it again.
She set down her phone and went to study her closet.
Chapter Sixteen
Martin’s flight was booked. He’d limited himself to two bags he’d tossed in the back seat. He had funds waiting for him in several offshore accounts. He’d be leaving assets behind, regrettably, but that couldn’t be helped. He had to survive before he could spend what he’d accumulated.
His cell rang.
Sage, he saw.
His faked massage wouldn’t have ended yet, so he let it go to voicemail and kept driving toward the airport. Once the phone chirped with the waiting message, he debated whether to listen, but it was better to be armed with information.
“Martin, darling…” That superficial tone she took on when she was performing for an audience. “I have a friend of yours here who’d very much like to see you. Let me put her on.” He could actually hear the crocodile smile she was no doubt wearing. What friend? Who would—
His stomach was already sinking before he heard the voice he most feared to hear.
“Martin? Your place is amazing,” Annabelle said. “Sage and Leslie have been showing me around, and I’m very impressed. I’d like to take you to dinner to thank you for everything before I go back to L.A., so I’ll wait here until you call.”
The phone switched back to Sage. “We’re having a lovely girl chat while we wait.” Malice coated the glee in her tone, and he wondered why Annabelle couldn’t hear it.
Except that Annabelle was a romantic. And she trusted him, so she would trust Sage by extension.
“See you soon.” Sage clicked off.
No. Oh, no. Sage had Annabelle. She’d had a man killed only a day ago.
Annabelle was famous. Surely Sage wouldn’t…
He couldn’t be sure. Sage, he’d begun to realize, would do whatever she perceived to be in her best interests and not turn a hair at harming anyone in her way.
At a minimum, Annabelle was a hostage, though she clearly didn’t realize it yet.
Martin didn’t want to go back, wanted badly to be far, far away. He wasn’t the right person to handle something like this. Where the hell was her bodyguard? What on earth had possessed her to contact Sage?
Think.
He couldn’t call the cops until he was safely out of reach, He didn’t have his own hired muscle as Sage did…
Wait. Annabelle did. What was that bodyguard’s name? Why hadn’t he paid better attention to what she had said about the man instead of being too preoccupied with his own problems?
The man was a cop, though. Getting him involved…could he work out a deal? He couldn’t risk going to jail. Damn you, Sage, for triggering all this.
He had to get out of here, but he couldn’t leave Annabelle with Sage as long as it would take to get safely away.
Then the answer occurred to him. He’d call the hotel. The owner had been responsible for hooking Annabelle up with the cop, he remembered Annabelle telling him, and he�
�d been introduced to the owner on one of his visits…Vanessa, that was her name.
Frantically he hit the browser on his phone and looked up the hotel’s main number.
Sean stood in the door of Doc’s office, leaning on the jamb.
“I’ve got dates, places, some physical descriptions to add to what we know, but these guys aren’t sloppy, Doc. They’ve been doing this long enough to have a system down. Most of the women are pliant—they get threatened with deportation if they leave the protection of the cartel, so they don’t take any chances. But these guys don’t let it rest there, holding their families over them as leverage. They also get rid of the troublemakers quickly, separate them from the pack.”
“That what happened to the twin?”
Sean nodded. “She got rebellious early on. She was the younger twin, and this girl Melis’s belief that she’s responsible for her sister made her less inclined to stir up trouble and more determined to protect.” He shook his head. “But all that’s changed now. She feels more responsible than ever, but she’s ready to come out, guns blazing.”
“She has a weapon?”
“Not that I can tell, but she has a powerful thirst for revenge and something even more dangerous: the conviction that she’s got nothing left to lose.”
“Bad combination.”
“You’re telling me. On the other hand, she’s eager to help, however we need her. For now, she’s willing to believe we’ll get her justice.”
Doc leaned back in his chair, pondering the next step, Sean would imagine.
Sean didn’t feel nearly so patient. He had the itching under his skin he always got when events were coming to a head. “You found somebody to put on Annabelle, right?”
Doc jerked his attention back to the present. “Should be in place anytime.”
Sean frowned. He’d hoped surveillance would already be underway. Doc had plenty on his plate, though, and Vanessa had promised…
Doc’s phone rang. He hesitated. “Anything else I need to know?”
“Not yet.”
“Okay. Send out the word. Let’s meet in, say, an hour.”
“Got it.” Sean called Bob and passed along the message.
But he was still itchy, worse than ever. He had know Annabelle was covered. He would call Vanessa and be certain.
Just then, his phone buzzed at his hip. He flipped open the holster and drew it out.
Vanessa.
He’d swear his heart stopped. She wouldn’t call him when she knew he was working, not just to share good news.
“Vanessa, is Annabelle okay?”
“Oh, Sean, I’m so glad I got you. I—I’m so sorry.”
Sean’s heart took a nosedive. “What happened?”
“She wanted to take a shower, and there was no excuse for me to hang around, but—I was watching her door, I swear, but then a delivery came, and—”
“She left,” he said flatly. Just as he’d feared she would.
And apparently their surveillance hadn’t been in place yet. He wanted to tear his hair out by the roots. “Do you know where she went?”
“Martin just called me. She’s at his club.”
His breath stalled. “Why did he call?” If he’d threatened Annabelle…
“He’s not at his club. He sounds frantic, Sean. He didn’t know how to reach you and was worried you might not take his call, so he asked me to call you. He said his partner Sage has Annabelle, and he wanted me to tell you that Sage is the one who had the man in Houston killed. Oh, Sean, what if—” Her voice faltered, but she kept herself together. “She was going to go back to L.A.. She said she’d probably sleep until morning because she was so exhausted from…”
From me. From the damage I did to her.
“She never gave me any indication she’d leave, Sean. I had no idea this would happen.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, Vanessa. You’re not to blame.” That was squarely on him. “I should have followed through on my threat to take her into custody. None of that matters now, though. Can you give me his number?”
She read it off her phone.
“Good. Did he say where he was?”
“It sounded like he was driving. He said that he’s afraid of what Sage might do. He was very upset that he’d been ignoring Annabelle’s calls. Apparently she called the club when she couldn’t reach him, and Sage told her she could wait there for him.”
Friction between partners could be a helpful wedge, but right now it only increased problems exponentially. “Did he say anything else? Anything at all—every bit counts.”
“I…nothing I can think of.”
“What time did he call?” Sean glanced at his watch.
“I just hung up with him, then called you immediately. I’m so glad you answered.” Once again her voice faltered. “I will never forgive myself if…”
“You did nothing wrong, Vanessa. This is completely my fault.” He kept his tone soothing and calm, but inside, rage crashed against the bars of his control. If anything happened to Annabelle…
Don’t go there. Just get plans rolling. “I’ll call you when I can, but I don’t know when that might be. Get in touch if you remember anything else. I’m going to contact him now, but if we don’t connect and you hear from him again, give him this number. Tell him I’d talk to the devil himself if it meant protecting Annabelle.”
“I will. Is there anything at all I can do?”
He was already running toward his car. “Not right now, but I’ll let you know if there is.”
“Please. I’ll do anything.” She was in an impossible position, and he’d put her there.
“I know you will. You’ve already helped. Thank you.”
Annabelle could be a hostage right this minute.
The word knifed straight to his gut. Fear wouldn’t help her now, though. He needed to be cool and calculating, though every cell of him was primed to charge to her rescue without waiting.
Going in blind wouldn’t help her, though. And a lot more people than him were involved.
He punched in Lowe’s number on the run.
In an actor’s toolkit, one prime asset is the ability to observe others closely. To put herself in a character’s skin and understand how that person feels, thinks, what forces formed her, how she would react in any given situation.
Annabelle was as good at this as anyone she knew.
But she couldn’t get a bead on Sage Holland.
Outwardly, the woman could not be more cooperative. The activity level in the club was clearly building, and Martin wasn’t here to help, so it was understandable that Sage would be a little distracted, somewhat on edge because Annabelle was interfering with the normal flow of an evening.
But the woman seemed to possess an unnatural calm.
There was something almost…robotic about her. No, that wasn’t it. She was clearly a force to be reckoned with, a statuesque blonde who appeared to be in superb physical condition. Her arms were strong, her legs long and toned. She was an imposing presence, especially in three-inch heels as she was right now, bringing her to what Annabelle would guess was six feet or taller.
“Ms. Quinn?” The bartender, who went by the name of Rory, appeared as much of the staff had been doing since her arrival—cruising by to get a glimpse, maybe an autograph.
“What is it, Rory?” Sage’s tone was clearly displeasure.
“I was just wondering if Ms. Quinn would care to taste my latest cocktail invention. Sure wouldn’t hurt business to be able to say she likes it.” He winked at Annabelle.
She smiled back.
“Fine,” Sage responded. “But send me Leslie when you see her.”
Annabelle glanced over, curious at the impatience.
“I’m sorry,” Sage said. “This must get so tiresome.”
“It’s fine. I’d be happy to sample the cocktail. Whatever I can do to help Martin—and you, of course—I want to.”
Leslie hurried over. “Yes? Something I can get for Ms. Qui
nn?”
“Annabelle, please.”
A beaming smile. “Annabelle, then. Thank you.”
“Yes,” Sage said with little warmth. “You can tell the staff to stop gawking and get to work. We have a club to run.”
The manager, whom Annabelle liked a great deal, paled. “Of course.” She turned to Annabelle. “I apologize.”
Annabelle placed a reassuring hand on her arm. “Don’t worry a bit.”
Leslie’s relieved smile was quickly extinguished by Sage’s stare. “Um…it won’t happen again.”
“This way.” Sage gave no acknowledgment to Leslie but simply led Annabelle away.
Annabelle glanced back toward the manager and smiled to ease the sting of Sage’s dismissal.
The bartender rushed over with the drink. Leslie restrained him.
“No, please. Bring it here.” Annabelle gestured him over and took the cocktail. “Now what is this called?”
“If you like it, it’ll be called the Annabelle Quinn.” Green eyes gleamed.
“Then I’d better like it, right?”
Impatience rolled off the woman beside her, which only made Annabelle want to dawdle. She took a slow sip. Closed her eyes to better focus. Her eyelids flew open. “Oh my…that’s yummy. What’s in it?” She held up her hand. “No, never mind. I don’t want to dissect it, I just want to enjoy it.” She took a second sip, nearly as pleased to have the too-composed Sage fidgeting beside her. “Yes,” she said, meeting the bartender’s gaze. “I would be delighted to have this bear my name.”
“Awesome—so if I got you a napkin, would you, like, sign it and say something about the drink?”
“Later,” Sage snapped. When Annabelle glanced over, arching one eyebrow, the woman subsided a bit. “We need to finish the tour I promised her first.”
The bartender looked toward Annabelle for affirmation, and Annabelle had to swallow a grin at the knowledge that this increasingly unlikable woman would really be out of sorts at that. “As soon as we’re done, I’d love to.”
“Great! Thank you.”
“Oh, it’s my pleasure,” Annabelle responded, then turned back to the woman whose icy composure wasn’t quite as complete now.
Texas Bodyguard Page 19