Читать книгу The Bodyguard's Promise - Carla Cassidy - Страница 8

“Us?” Her big blue eyes widened in alarm. “What do you mean? There’s no us to discuss.”

“But there is,” he countered. “I mean, if I’m going to play the role of your latest boy-toy, then I think we need to get our stories straight.”

Again her features settled into the cool, ice princess look. “First of all, at thirty you’re far too old to be considered a boy-toy and at twenty-six years old I’m far too young to have a boy-toy.”

She’d apparently done some checking into his background to know his age. Twenty-six. Clay did a quick calculation in his head. So, she’d been eighteen when she’d had Gracie. He’d known she was young despite the fact that she had the self-confidence and cool presence of somebody older.

“A has-been at thirty,” he said dryly.

“Welcome to Hollywood,” she replied, equally as dry. “It’s the land of perpetual youth and make-believe.”

“If I’m going to be part of your make-believe world, then you have to give me some sort of script to follow. You mentioned earlier that we’d tell people we met at a charity function and we’ve been seeing each other ever since. But, the devil is in the details. Specifically, what kind of function was it and when exactly did it take place?”

She frowned and flipped through the pages of a calendar on her desktop. “It was a dinner for the advancement and research of childhood diseases and we attended it in the middle of June.”

“And one month later we’re living together?” He crooked an eyebrow upward.

A tight smile curved her lips. “In Hollywood a month is an eternity when it comes to personal relationships. In any case, that’s all anyone needs to know when it comes to you and me. I’m not given to sharing the personal details of my life with anyone.”

Why didn’t that surprise him? Something about her bugged him and he was rarely bugged by anyone. It intrigued him. She intrigued him. Her coolness, the slight edge of brittle defensiveness he felt emanating from her and the wall he sensed she kept erected between herself and anyone else definitely fascinated him.

He stood, deciding that it was time to call it a night. He was beyond exhausted and that was probably why she was getting to him in a way he didn’t quite understand.

She stood, as well. “It’s vital to me that nobody suspect that you’re anything but my boyfriend,” she said as they started to leave the office together.

As she stepped in front of him to exit the room first, he placed his hand at the small of her back. She stiffened, as if she found his touch abhorrent.

“I thought you said you’d been an actress. You’re going to have to be a better actress than that,” he said from behind her. “If you want people to think we’re a couple, then you’d better not tense up whenever I happen to touch you.”

She whirled around, a spark of anger flashing in her eyes. To his stunned surprise she coiled an arm around his neck, the anger instantly doused as she gazed lovingly into his eyes. “Don’t worry about my acting skills, darling.” She trailed a finger down the side of his face, a cool touch that shot an unexpected heat through his body. “That’s one thing I do very well.”

As quickly as she turned it on, she shut it off. She stepped away from him, the flash of anger back in her eyes. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She twirled on her heels and left him standing there.

Clay expelled an unsteady breath. She was lethal and he’d have to remember that she was good, very good. Good enough to have just earned herself a freaking Academy Award nomination for her little performance.

As he headed up the stairs to the bedroom he would call home for the duration of his stay, he wondered why she wasn’t working anymore. Had it just become easier to rest on her daughter’s laurels than to work herself?

Certainly, Gracie’s talent seemed to be paying off bigtime. He frowned as he thought of the little girl’s schedule. Work, school, voice and dance lessons, drama coaches and trainers, every minute of every day was filled, with no time for her to just be a kid. It seemed like a heavy load for an eight-year-old to carry just so the adults in her life could live in the lap of luxury.

Before entering his bedroom, he stepped quietly into Gracie’s room. While she’d been with her mother preparing for bedtime, Clay had acquainted himself with the house security and had double-checked the windows in the little girl’s room to make certain they were locked.

The grounds were surrounded by a high concrete wall and the home security system was one of the best he’d ever seen. He felt fairly confident that while Gracie was inside the house she’d be safe.

He’d also learned from one of the maids that the only staff who stayed overnight in the house was Helen, the cook, who had a small suite of rooms just off the kitchen. The rest of the staff either had their own homes or stayed in staff quarters located in a building at the back of the property. So, he wasn’t too concerned with a threat to Gracie coming from within the house itself. Unless Helen hid some maniac tendencies that weren’t immediately apparent. He grinned at the very thought. She might be cantankerous, but he doubted she was murderous.

He left Gracie’s room, his glance shooting down the hallway toward Libby’s bedroom door, which was closed. For just a moment his body remembered the heat of hers as she’d leaned into him and the sweet curve of her lips as she’d feigned affection for him.

Ms. Libby Byrant was some piece of work. He had a feeling she was not just cold, but capable of manipulation and subterfuge to gain a means to an end. But, damn, she was pretty.

He dismissed thoughts of Libby as he went into his bedroom. It took him only minutes to strip down to his boxers and get into bed.

Exhaustion tugged on every muscle. He’d been on a whirlwind of work for the past six months. Before Las Vegas had been Dallas and before Dallas had been a job in Miami. Job after job, city after city blurred together in his mind.

When this particular job was over he was looking forward to some downtime at home in Cotter Creek. Hell, he hadn’t even met his brother Tanner’s new wife yet and they’d been married for two months. In a couple of weeks his brother Zack was getting married to Katie Sampson, the young woman from a neighboring ranch.

Maybe he’d be home by then and able to attend the wedding. As his thoughts turned to home and family, he found himself thinking of his mother, Elizabeth.

From what Clay’s father had told him about his mother, Hollywood had been her town. She’d been a fast-rising star before she’d fallen in love with Clay’s father, Red. The two had met when Red had been working as a stuntman on one of Elizabeth’s movies.

Elizabeth had left Hollywood and her career behind to move with Red to Cotter Creek, Oklahoma, where the two had made a home and begun their family. Clay’s oldest brother, Tanner, had been ten when Elizabeth had been killed and Joshua, the youngest sibling, had only been a baby.

She’d gone to town for groceries one evening and when she hadn’t returned by the time Red thought she should have, he’d gone looking for her. He’d found her body next to her car on the country road between Cotter Creek proper and the West ranch. She’d been raped and strangled.

Her purse was still in the car, money tucked into the wallet, negating the thought that it might have been a robbery. The murder had never been solved.

Clay had always wondered if somehow her past had come back to haunt her, if some deranged, obsessed fan had found her eleven years after she’d left Hollywood and had killed her. Certainly it had happened before. There were lots of stories of stalking, maiming and murdering of stars by fans.

His last conscious thought before sleep claimed him was that it was his job to make certain that little Gracie Bryant didn’t become one of those tragic Hollywood stories that filled the tabloid papers.

He awakened before dawn, as was his custom. By the time he showered and dressed for the day, splashes of the sunrise filled the eastern skies.

According to the schedule Libby had given him, a car would be arriving at seven to take them to the studio where Gracie was filming her latest movie. That gave Clay a little more than an hour to drink some coffee and study the list of names Libby had provided him.

As he left his bedroom, there was no noise to indicate that anyone else in the house was awake. It wasn’t until he hit the bottom step on the staircase and smelled the faint scent of fresh-brewed coffee that he realized there was somebody else up and about.

Helen stood at one of the counters in the huge kitchen, slicing up fresh fruit. She frowned as he came into the room. “If you’ll have a seat in the dining room, coffee will be served in just a minute,” she said.

“You don’t have to serve me,” he replied. “Just point me to the cupboard with the cups and I’ll pour my own coffee.”

She hesitated a moment, then pointed to a nearby cabinet. Clay set his papers down on the countertop, got a cup and poured himself some coffee. As he seated himself on one of the stools at the counter, Helen’s frown deepened.

“Guests always sit in the dining room,” she said.

“The kitchen is fine with me,” he replied. He had a feeling Helen and Smokey, the cook at the West ranch, probably had a lot in common, especially the fact that they were both territorial about their kitchens.

He took a sip of the coffee, eyeing the older woman with curiosity. “Have you been working here long?”

“I’ve been working for Ms. Libby and Gracie for almost six months,” she said.

“It must be interesting, working for a strong woman like Ms. Libby,” he observed.

Helen put down the sharp knife she’d been using and glared at him. “If you think you’re going to sit here in my kitchen and try to pull information out of me about Ms. Libby, you’d better think again.” She picked up the knife, looking as if she’d rather use it on him than on the fuzzy brown kiwi in front of her.

Clay sighed and focused his attention on the papers in front of him. He was still there thirty minutes later when Libby came into the kitchen. Instantly a tension filled the air.

“Good morning,” she said to Clay, then directed her gaze to Helen. “Gracie should be down in about ten minutes for breakfast.” Helen nodded and Libby once again looked at Clay. “Are you going to join us for breakfast in the dining room?”

“Of course.” He got up from the stool and followed her into the dining room, trying not to notice the subtle sway of her hips or the slender curve of her calves beneath the short black skirt she wore.

They had just gotten seated at the table when Gracie whirled into the room. Clad in a pair of yellow shorts and a matching T-shirt, she looked like a little ball of sunshine. The bright smile she offered Clay did nothing to spoil the image.

“Are you going with us to the studio today, Mr. Clay?” she asked as she settled into the chair at the table.

“I am. If that’s all right with you?” he replied.

“Oh, yes, it’s fine with me. You can meet all my friends and you can see me work. Want to see how I can cry?”

Clay looked at Libby helplessly, unsure how to respond. “Might as well indulge her,” Libby said with a wry smile. “She loves to show off.”

Gracie stared at Clay with wide blue eyes, eyes that quickly filled with tears. Those tears splashed down her cheeks and her lower lip quivered as if her little heart was breaking.

She laughed then, and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “That was pretend tears,” she explained.

At that moment Helen came into the room to begin serving breakfast, and Clay found himself wondering how in the hell with these two females anyone ever knew what was truth and what was pretend.

Maxim Studios, where Gracie’s current film, Revenge of the Kids, was being filmed was just off Sunset Boulevard. As always, when they passed through the security gates of the movie studio, Libby felt a small thrill tremble through her. She had spent most of her childhood dreaming of the day when a security guard at a movie studio would greet her by name and flag her car through with a welcoming smile.

As they parked and got out of the car to enter the building where Gracie would work for the day, Libby tried to keep her attention focused on Gracie and not on the man who accompanied them. But it was difficult.

He wasn’t wearing jeans today, but instead wore a pair of black dress slacks with a silver-and-black pinstriped dress shirt. He’d looked raw and male in his jeans. He looked hot and utterly male in dress clothes.

Why hadn’t Charlie hired somebody who was fifty pounds overweight and balding? Why couldn’t he have hired somebody about fifty years old instead of this thirty-year-old man with evocative green eyes and taut six-pack stomach muscles?

“What happens now?” he asked Libby as they entered the building where there seemed to be people and activity everywhere.

“She goes directly to makeup.”

“There’s so many people around,” he said, obviously tense.

“It’s a movie set, Clay. It takes a lot of people to make a movie.” She still clung to the hope that the threats in the letters would turn out to be nothing, that Clay’s presence in their lives was nothing more than an unnecessary precaution.

Besides, surely the person responsible for the horrid letters couldn’t be somebody they knew, couldn’t be somebody who really knew Gracie. Everyone who knew Gracie loved her. Not only was she incredibly talented, but she had a heart filled with love and a sweet nature that brought smiles to everyone around her.

They followed Gracie into the room where her makeup would be applied. As she sat in the chair and the makeup artist got to work, Clay leaned toward Libby.

“Are all these people’s names on the list you made for me?” he whispered so nobody else would be able to hear.

She looked around the busy room and frowned. “Some, but not all of them,” she admitted. She wished he’d step back from her. He stood so close she could smell the pleasant clean scent of him, could feel the heat from his body radiating toward her.

“Can you get a complete list of everyone working on the film from the director?”

“I guess I could try, although such a request might bring up difficult questions.”

“I have every confidence that a woman of your resolve will think of something,” he said smoothly. For some reason he made it sound like a bad thing that she was a strong, determined woman.

He probably liked his women soft and warm and subservient to his big, strong, silent type. He wouldn’t find a woman like that in Hollywood. Here it was eat or be eaten. Only the strong survived.

They didn’t get an opportunity to talk again until Gracie was on the set and Clay and Libby made their way to a section of chairs designated for the parents of the little actors.

“Libby, dear, tell me where you found this handsome hunk.” Delores Gleason, the single mother of six-year-old Malcolm, heaved a sigh that nearly burst her D breasts completely out of their C cups. She held out a hand to Clay. “Please, tell me you have a brother,” she exclaimed.

“I’ve got four, but two are already spoken for,” Clay said as he pulled his hand from her grasp. “And those remaining two live a long way from Hollywood.”

“Hmmm, too bad. I was just telling my little Malcolm the other day that it was time for Mommy to find a new man, but of course I assured him that he’d always be the number-one little man in Mommy’s life. He’s going to be a big star, you know. It’s just a matter of time.”

Libby could almost see Clay’s eyes glazing over as Delores extolled the talents of her son. Delores was a bore…a caricature of a pushy, overbearing stage mother.

“We’re just waiting for the right vehicle to come along to carry him to stardom.” Delores smiled thinly at Libby. “Sooner or later something is going to come along.”

“Ah, but right now the movie industry seems to be hot for little girls.” Richard Walker joined them and Libby quickly made the introductions. Richard was the father of Gracie’s best friend, Kathryn. He was also a single parent.

Libby introduced Clay to the rest of the parents, then it was time to take their seats as the director, Jordan Rutherford, came onto the set to begin the day’s work.

Libby still didn’t know what she felt about Clay West. Most of the people who came to work for her or for Gracie were overtly eager to please, deferential to the point of being irritating.

In the brief time she’d spent with Clay, he certainly hadn’t been particularly deferential. Rather, she had the distinct impression he didn’t like her, didn’t approve of her lifestyle and couldn’t wait to get out of town.

What she found odd was that what people thought of her had never bothered her before, not since she’d left that dreary little town in Pennsylvania. She’d known she’d need to be hard and cold to survive in this world. What she didn’t know was why Clay West bothered her in a way nobody had since she’d arrived in Hollywood.

The morning passed quickly. Lunch break came and while Clay sat with Gracie, Libby went in search of Anna Baxter, the director’s assistant.

“Anna, could I speak to you for a moment?”

Anna looked like she was somewhere between the age of twelve and fourteen. She was a tiny young woman with gamine features that belied her real age of almost thirty.

“Of course, I can always make time for the mother of our little star.” She looked harried and busy, but the smile she offered Libby was genuine.

“I was wondering if there’s any way you could get me a list of all the people who are working on the movie.” Libby forced a light burst of laughter. “Gracie has it in her head that she wants to start a scrapbook and insists she wants to know the names of everyone who worked on this film.”

“Sure, I can probably get a list from payroll. How about I have it for you first thing in the morning?”

“That would be great,” Libby replied, relieved that she didn’t ask questions about the request but seemed to accept Libby’s explanation.

Lunch passed and the workday concluded at two. They were getting ready to leave when the director called to Libby, “I need to talk to you.”

A cold dread filled the pit of her stomach. Had her request for the list of people set off some sort of alarm? Or had somehow word filtered out that Gracie was receiving threats?

“Talk to me about what?” she asked after she’d made the introductions between him and Clay.

Jordan Rutherford smiled and ruffled Gracie’s hair affectionately. Rutherford was a big man with a frizzy head of snow-white hair that he wore too long and that gave him an almost demented look. “About our little girl, what else? A script hit my desk yesterday that I think is perfect for her. I’d like to finish up this project and roll right into another with her.”

“I don’t know, Jordan. We’re currently in the preliminary negotiations with Walter Zicar for a new project.”

“Screw Zicar,” Jordan exclaimed with vehemence. “He’s a has-been, an old man who’s lost his focus, lost his creativity.”

“He won the Oscar for best picture last year,” Libby said dryly.

“A crazy fluke,” Jordan said, and waved his hands dismissively. “Besides, I’m not talking about an Oscar for best picture, I’m talking about material that will stretch Gracie’s dramatic skills and earn her an Oscar for best actress. Wouldn’t you like that, little darling?” Again he patted Gracie’s head.

Gracie looked at her mother, then nodded vaguely. “You’ll have to talk to Charlie,” Libby said. “You know he handles all the negotiations for Gracie.”

Jordan flashed her a rueful smile. “We both know that’s crap. Charlie’s just your mouthpiece. If anyone wants to get to Gracie, we all know we have to go through you, not Charlie.”

Libby didn’t take the time to protest his words since they both knew they were true. “Send me a copy of the script. I’ll read it and let you know what I think.”

“Done,” Jordan replied.

Within minutes of being in the car carrying them home, Gracie fell asleep. She often napped on the thirty-minute ride between the studio and home.

A strained silence stretched taut between Libby and Clay. “Don’t forget that I arranged for Enrique to be at the house at four this afternoon to see about your wardrobe. We have a premiere this Saturday night to attend,” she said in an effort to break the uncomfortable silence.

He nodded.

“I arranged to get a list of all the people working on the film,” she said. “I should have it tomorrow morning.”

“Good. Is there someplace I can access the Internet?”

“My computer in my office. Why?”

His impossibly green eyes held her gaze. “My only job is to protect Gracie,” he said in a low voice. “I’m not an investigator but I sometimes do a little investigating in order to better protect my client. Once you get that list of names, I want to do a background check into each person to see what secrets I might find out about them.”

“I can’t imagine that anyone who knows Gracie, anyone who works with her, would want to harm her,” Libby replied.

“Spoken like a true mother,” he stated. His eyes narrowed slightly. “If you’re smart, you’ll view everyone as a potential suspect.”

His words troubled her. “What I can’t understand is why anyone would want to harm her.” She stroked a strand of Gracie’s pale blond hair.

“If we knew the why, we’d probably have a better idea of the who,” he replied. “Of course, in a case like this it’s a little more difficult because there might not be a rational why. If what you believe is true, then some wacko has just focused in on Gracie in some sort of obsessed delusion.”

“In which case we might never know who’s writing those letters.”

Clay frowned, creating a deep etch across his broad forehead. His gaze slid from Libby to the sleeping girl in her lap. “Unfortunately, I have a feeling whoever wrote those letters isn’t just going to go away.”

His words shot a wave of disquiet through Libby. At that moment, the car pulled up in front of the house.

“Gracie, honey. We’re home. It’s time to wake up.” Libby shook her daughter’s shoulder lightly and tried to forget the knot that had formed in her stomach at Clay’s words.

“I don’t wanna wake up,” Gracie said sleepily.

“Come on, honey. We need to go inside.”

“I’ll get her,” Clay said. He got out of the car, then reached in and scooped Gracie up in his arms. Gracie curled her arms around his neck and closed her eyes, obviously perfectly at ease in his strong arms.

Libby got out of the car and watched as the big cowboy carried her daughter into the house. For just a brief, surprising moment she was struck with a wave of intense longing.

She frowned and consciously willed the strange emotion away. He’d just made her feel crazy vulnerable with his thoughts about whoever was after Gracie.

After all, she had a life most envied. She and Gracie were a Hollywood success story. What else could she possibly want?