The Socialite and the Bodyguard Read online

  Thank God there was no chance whatsoever that he would run into anyone he knew. If there were, he’d have to go into witness protection to get away from the merciless ribbing. There were things no man could live down. Not on his team.

  He was holding a pink poodle brush. If that wasn’t the low point of his life, he didn’t want to know what was. Nash watched Kayla who—God help him—actually looked excited to be here. Women were a mystery. That was one of the profound truths of life. No doubt about it.

  “Isn’t this fun?” She beamed as she took the brush back from him and fluffed up Tsini’s fur on the shoulders. “You should really try to enjoy it.”

  He thought, three more days and counting.

  They were at a meet-and-greet thingy, the competition wouldn’t start until tomorrow morning, but he recognized tonight’s event for what it was—assessing the enemy.

  On the surface, there were enough smiles for an Oscar ceremony. Emotions ran deep behind those toothy grins, however. He detected amazing amounts of hostility. His senses were on alert.

  And he wasn’t the only one.

  People watched, calculated, dropped the occasional snide remark, or else killed with kindness. There was as much tension in the air as before any battle he’d seen.

  If it weren’t for the cell-phone photo, he would have been sure the source of the threatening messages was someone from here. Could still be. Could be some dog-show rival paid someone on Kayla’s staff. Something to definitely consider. Maybe the threats to Tsini had nothing to do with Kayla’s family tragedies.

  Except that wasn’t what his gut was telling him.

  He’d been watching the staff on the plane, and every chance he’d gotten since their arrival. He’d searched their luggage, one by one, as they left their rooms on errands. He made a point of talking with them, measuring them up, waiting for a dropped word or any hint in body language that they were not who they seemed to be.

  Nothing had jumped out at him so far.

  He planned on keeping up the vigilance. Sooner or later, the bastard was going to trip.

  Most of the staff had come down to the meet-and-greet to check out the competition and give Kayla advice and moral support, supposedly.

  Elvis held her hand. He seemed pretty protective of her. True friend or pretending? He went on the maybe list.

  Dave was eyeing the statuesque brunette who was giving the welcome speech up front. Mike had stayed up in the suite with Greg, who hadn’t wanted to come down. He’d bought a giant puzzle of the Vegas Strip in the hotel’s gift shop, and wouldn’t move from that until it was finished. Can’t before I finish, seemed to be his mantra.

  Both bodyguards had been in the apartment when the photo had been taken. But for now, Nash was keeping them on the trusted list. They had an official record in the trade. Clean. They were from a reputable outfit. The personal-protection business to the stars—the circle they ran in—was still small enough that everyone knew pretty much everyone else, the players relying heavily on references.

  Then there was Tom, Tsini’s handler. His job was to carry Tsini when she was crated. He was also responsible for exercising the dog and working on all aspects of the show, including Tsini’s styling. When Tsini had to go in front of the judges, Tom would be the one walking her. Kayla Landon in the ring would be way too distracting.

  Nor would Nash have allowed it.

  Tom was about the same age as Nash, with gym muscles and shifty eyes, scars all over that he explained as old dog bites. He tried to dress to the upscale image the rest of Kayla’s team projected, but fell short despite his expensive slacks and shirt.

  His record had a few blemishes, but nothing serious and nothing recent. A couple of bar fights that had gotten out of hand. As far as Nash could tell, the man had turned his life around years ago. Still, given his background and going by sheer looks alone, he would have been Nash’s number-one suspect, except that he hadn’t been at the apartment last night, so he couldn’t have taken that picture.

  Nash kept an eye on him anyway. Especially around Greg. He’d seen Kayla slip an envelope to her brother the day before, and he had an idea it’d held cold, hard cash. Greg needed money for something or someone. And Tom had clothes way more expensive than his fees would support. Could be he was taking advantage of Greg in some way. Another thing to be investigated.

  He went down his mental list of suspects so far: Fisk, Ivan and Elvis. And Elvis was allowed around Kayla with sharp instruments. When on the road, in addition to her makeup, he also did her hair.

  The speaker up front made an industry joke Nash didn’t get. But all around him people laughed.

  “Ay mios dio! How true is that!” Elvis clapped with as much grace as a princess.

  He spoke fluent Spanish, not that he had a single drop of Latin blood in him. He volunteered at an inner-city community center, giving unemployed people makeovers before they went for interviews. He’d even produced an educational video at one point about the connection between appearance, self-respect and success. He was currently single, having just broken up with his longtime boyfriend. He didn’t seem any the worse for wear. But he was perpetually broke, although Kayla paid him well. He tended to give his money away. Didn’t believe in worrying about finances. He was one of those always cheerful people Nash couldn’t relate to. Highly excitable by nature.

  Nash glanced at Tsini, who handled the excitement with dignity. She must have felt Nash watching her, because she turned to look at him then licked his hand. He petted her, but kept his attention on Kayla’s entourage.

  Since his instincts didn’t point in any specific direction, he would keep an eye on all of them. He wished he could have done that anywhere but here. The show, with its thousands of people, hundreds of dogs and incomprehensible rules, was a chaotic mess already and it had barely started.

  He caught a tall, bald guy to his left giving Kayla furtive looks. The man greeted people here and there, smiled, shuffled, all the while coming closer and closer. Pink polo shirt and khaki slacks, no telltale bulge around his waist that might indicate a weapon. He had his right hand in his pocket. Not a big enough bulge there either for a gun, but he could have a knife. Nash stepped between him and Kayla, keeping one eye on the man while glancing around, making sure he was alone.

  He kept coming. Then he was close enough for Nash to make a quick turn and bump into him as if by accident, brushing an arm against the back of his waist.

  “Sorry.” Definitely no gun there.

  The guy pulled his hand from his pocket.

  Nash’s hand went to his back as if to adjust his jacket, but his fingertips were touching his Beretta.

  Then the guy’s hand came free. Empty. And Nash left his weapon where it was for the time being.

  He watched as the guy weaseled around the team and ended up on Kayla’s other side. Nash stepped into position behind him. She still hadn’t noticed anything, but the man noticed everything about her. He kept stealing glances when he thought nobody was looking. Then he reached out and stuck his fingers into the pink bag Kayla had left unzipped.

  A pickpocket?

  Nash moved to grab him, but Kayla turned first, her eyes going wide.

  “Marcus? I didn’t see you. Showing Bella again?”

  The man snatched his hands back. “Her daughter, actually.” He gave another glance to the pink bag. “Any new secret weapons this year?”

  Kayla stiffened as she looked at her open bag. Then with a level look to the man, she pulled the zipper closed. “Are you spying on me again?” Her voice held no fear, only annoyance. She gave a back-off look to Nash over the guy’s shoulder.

  Nash stayed where he was.

  “Of course not,” the man was saying. “Just came over to wish you good luck.”

  Kayla held the bag tighter under her arm. “Good luck to you, too.” She grimaced at Marcus’s back as he left.

  A dog-show spy.

  All Nash could do was shake his head. And simmer in frustration th
at he didn’t have full run of the show here. He hated that Welkins had about tied his hands and Kayla had finished the job, pretty much making a bow on the end of the ropes.

  She was not safe in this crowd. Yet, short of throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her back to her room, there was nothing he could do. She didn’t realize the impossibility of their situation. Sure, keeping an eye on her staff when they were near her was not that difficult. But he kept having this feeling that there was more to all this.

  Everyone on her staff was better off if she were alive. The money came from her. If any of them killed her, that would be the end of their job. Unless they had a promise for more money from someone else. Or they hated the whole Landon family so much that they simply didn’t care what taking them out would cost.

  The brunette up front, apparently the show chairman, finished her welcome speech and walked off the small stage to another round of applause.

  “Let’s mingle,” Kayla said.

  “Let’s not,” Nash responded, but she was already moving out as if she hadn’t even heard him, Dave a few paces behind her.

  Fisk joined them.

  Ivan was off to network, not the type to waste a minute. Elvis was chatting up Marcus. Tom headed off toward the vendor booths.

  Nash took one last look at them then went with Kayla, Fisk and Dave, his blood pressure inching up with every step. Looked like they needed to have another talk about her safety. She needed to stop pushing. She still didn’t seem to understand that the fact that her life was in danger meant that she needed to do what he said so he could keep her safe. But this was neither the time nor the place for that talk, so Nash turned his attention to other business.

  “How long have you been working for her?” he asked Fisk. He used every chance he got to talk to her staff. Sooner or later the bastard who’d taken that photo would slip up. They always did.

  “Four years.” The man stretched his neck to look around, although he was a head taller than everyone else in their vicinity.

  He was in his late twenties, skinny and well-dressed. According to his record, he was a self-made man. Came from a poor Canadian family and pulled himself up by his bootstraps. His younger sister was a ballerina with the Ottawa Institute of Ballet. Both his parents were dead. No criminal record. No financial difficulties now either. In fact, he had zero outstanding debt. Kayla seemed to get along great with him.

  “She could be a major star by now if she wanted to, you know. Modeling, movies, whatever she wanted. She gets offers all the time. She could be one of those supercelebrities.”

  “She doesn’t want to be?” That was news to Nash.

  “She hates the whole circus,” Fisk said with slight resignation.

  She did? Nobody could be on the cover page of the tabloids as much as she was without doing everything in her power to get there, could they? He’d always figured her as the kind who would do anything for attention.

  “She does as few appearances and ads as possible, just enough to keep her charities in cash.” Fisk waved at someone in the distance.

  So she gave her celebrity income away. Big deal. She still had Daddy’s empire to live off of. William Landon had built the regional popcorn business he’d inherited into a confectionary powerhouse that dominated the national market. And from the time she’d blossomed into a showstopper as a young adult, Kayla had been the face of the business. She became the Popcorn Princess.

  “She gives away millions of dollars every year,” Fisk was saying.

  That brought Nash up short. He wouldn’t have guessed that. In fact, she’d always been featured in the media as rather self-centered. He figured she only played at the whole charity bit to counteract that. But several millions of dollars was no play.

  To earn that much money took serious commitment. To give it away took a genuine, caring heart.

  Kayla Landon.

  He’d be damned.

  She could have easily let the truth be known. The paparazzi was always hungry for any news of her. But for some reason she kept her impressive charity contributions to herself, letting only some surface bits show. Almost as if she played down her good side in public and played up the bad.

  Most people Nash knew did just the opposite.

  So who was the real Kayla? And why was she pretending?

  He watched her hips sway as she walked up front with Tsini, the hem of her skirt barely reaching midthigh. Her toned legs went on forever. His muscles tightened. He’d been in a state of semiarousal since he’d set foot in her apartment. She was enough of a woman to push any man over the edge.

  Except him. Not him. He wasn’t going to go there, no sir. She was a client. He as much as laid a finger on her and Welkins would have his head—or some other, more sensitive body part—on a platter. He’d definitely never work in private security again.

  He needed to focus on the job.

  “Must be frustrating to work for someone like her,” he remarked to Fisk. “You want to take her as far as possible and she doesn’t want to go. Is that what agents call a nightmare client?”

  “Nah, man.” Fisk laughed. “She’s the best. She’s my favorite. Down-to-earth, good head on her shoulders. She’s plenty big as it is. More wouldn’t make her happier. You know what I mean?”

  There wasn’t an ounce of animosity in the guy’s tone or body language. And he didn’t have much of a motive, either. If Fisk resented that Kayla didn’t bring in enough money because she held back, killing her would have earned him even less. And the murder of her parents and older brother wouldn’t have made any sense whatsoever.

  “There’s a guy over there that I need to talk to.” Fisk was waving again at someone over the crowd. “You keep an eye on my girls.”

  “That’s why I’m here.” And not to look at Kayla’s assets, he reminded himself, taking his gaze elsewhere. Then he nearly blew his top as she sent Dave off on some errand.

  “So we agree that your life is in danger and you send Dave off. How smart is that?” He came up next to her.

  “I still have you and Tsini.”

  Damn right, she did. He scanned the room for her staff, for anyone else who might be watching, maybe an outsider who had paid off one of the staff to take that picture. Still not having a good handle on that bugged him to hell.

  “Hang on to these, I’m going to try on that top.” She handed him the big pink shoulder bag that carried Tsini’s accessories. Then she gave him the end of the dog’s pink leash. The leather was covered in sparkles.

  Before he could protest, she was taking a skimpy shirt from a vendor’s table and stepping into a makeshift changing booth.

  “I don’t want you out of sight,” he called after her.

  “You can see my feet under the curtain.”

  Yes, he could. But he still had half a mind to go in there after her. Especially as the people who walked by gave him the once-over. Some smiled, some gave him come-hither looks. And not just the women! Man, oh, man, he needed to get out of here. He needed a smoky bar, a big cigar and a tumbler of twelve-year-old malt in his hand. He wanted a big-screen TV with a game on in the corner and a woman on his lap.

  But even as he thought that, it was Kayla Landon’s face and tempting body that flashed into his mind. Tsini gave him a questioning look as he swore under his breath.

  “It’s not easy being a man,” he told her. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  Kayla popped out of the changing booth just then. The top she had on sported a winking dog outlined in glitter. He’d known her long enough now and was a good enough judge of character to know that she wasn’t a bimbo. But she definitely dressed like one and acted like one in public. Did she need attention that badly?

  “What do you think?” She tilted her head.

  The white fabric was so sheer he could practically see her nipples. Hell, he could practically taste them. Predictably, his body responded.

  “Or would you prefer the black?”

  He would have preferred to ge
t the hell out of there. “This one’s fine.” His voice came out thicker than he’d intended.

  “Fine?” Kayla seemed disappointed as she pulled back behind the curtain.

  She was out in another minute or two, back in her own top that was just as provocative as the one she’d just taken off. Nash practically threw the pink bag and leash at her.

  “Well, I like it.” She paid for the shirt and signed an autograph for the vendor before they moved on.

  Kayla handed him the plastic bag. White with pink dogs on it. Tsini gave a high-pitched bark that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

  “Don’t forget who’s watching your back,” Nash warned the dog. He could have sworn she was grinning. Did dogs do that? Man, he was so far out of his element here…

  “Oh, hi, you’re here this year. It’s so great to see you again.” An older woman came up to Kayla with a warm smile. “Tsini’s been doing better and better hasn’t she? I think this year she’s going for a win.”

  Nash fell a few steps back to give them the illusion of privacy, watching every move the woman made, his right hand free to go for his gun at a moment’s notice. After the woman moved on, a tall, buff guy chatted Kayla up, his eyes all over her body. She was all smiles, didn’t seem to mind. Nash certainly did.

  She talked to dozens of people as they moved around the room. That was what everybody was doing. This was, after all, a networking event. The buzz of conversations filled the large arena. He kept a careful eye on each person who approached her, and those who watched her from afar. He always stayed within reach, ready.

  Picking the serious players out of a crowd wasn’t that difficult. Men like him always watched, were always ready for action. They could be relaxed on the surface, but their muscles were wound, waiting to deflect or deliver an attack. When they had to carry something, they carried it in their left hand. Their right was always empty. Basically, he looked for his own mirror image out there in the crowd—someone whose level of alertness was a notch above everybody else’s. But for the next hour or so, he found no one suspicious, nothing extraordinary.

  Then Kayla wanted to go up to her room for a bite. He had insisted that she take her meals in her suite. For once she’d relented, if only because she wasn’t keen on people staring at her while she ate, and constantly interrupting her meal for autographs.