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“Well, door-to-door isn’t enough anymore.” His face contorted with an emotion she couldn’t identify.
Anger, maybe?
Or was it smug satisfaction that he’d come up with some excuse so that he could control her even more than he already did? She hated that thought even crossed her mind regarding a close family member, but lately that was how she felt.
“Why not?” she asked and waited for Daniel’s newest excuse.
“This is why not.” He tossed a folded piece of paper at her.
She caught it in mid-air as it flew at her face, shooting him a frown for not handing it to her like a civilized human being.
Unfolding what looked like a letter, she read the words printed in big bold black marker strokes.
Luna—Your not wanted here.
She tossed it onto the table. “They spelled you’re wrong.”
“That’s the only thing you took away from that?” Dan widened his eyes.
“Dan, I get letters from kooks all the time.” She was used to it.
She hired staff for that very reason. So she didn’t have to see these kinds of letters.
Her very capable assistant Amy determined if it was just an over-enthusiastic fan, or if, God forbid, it needed to be escalated to the police or FBI. That had only happened once in her career, thank goodness.
And since fan mail was always handled by her staff, it begged the question, why had Amy forwarded this particular letter to Dan? It didn’t seem worthy of his attention or hers.
“Is Amy away on vacation or something?” Luna glanced up at her cousin. “Or did you hire someone new to handle the fan mail?”
That might explain it. A newbie who didn’t know the procedure.
“This didn’t go to the fan mail address, Luna. It came here. To the hotel. Hand delivered. See? No postage.” He held up the envelope that had nothing but her name printed on it.
Okay. That was slightly more disturbing than the usual letter that went to her post office box. Letters going through the postal system and to a box in a public building added a layer of protection she’d taken for granted until now.
But still, her concert schedule and therefore her travel plans were no secret. It wouldn’t be hard for someone to see she was performing in Albany and look for her tour bus parked at one of the hotels in town.
Maybe she needed to start staying a little further from the venues. Still, one letter didn’t mean she needed to panic.
“I’m sure it’s just an overzealous local fan.”
“Luna, you need security.”
“Dan, I have security,” she said, mimicking his oh-so-serious tone. “Have you seen all those big guys in black shirts with Security printed on them?”
“I don’t mean the brutes who keep fans off the stage and out of your dressing room. I mean a round-the-clock bodyguard.”
Panicked at the thought of losing what little private time she had, Luna shook her head. “I don’t need a bodyguard. It’s just some local. We’re checking out of this hotel today. I seriously doubt this person will follow me.”
He sighed. “Fine. We’ll discuss this more when we’re back home in Miami.”
“Um, about that.” She cringed.
“Luna.” He leveled a glare at her. “Did you commit to an appearance without clearing it with me first? You know the label has very specific criteria—”
“It’s not an appearance,” she cut him off. “It’s surgery.”
“What?” Dan frowned.
“That’s where I was today. In Manhattan at an oncology specialist. She squeezed me in. The surgery is the day after tomorrow. I’m going to be spending my weeks of downtime recuperating from a double mastectomy.”
His mouth dropped open before he said, “Jesus, Luna. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It’s my choice. We can talk more about the details later. I just wanted you to know that I won’t be going home right away.”
He swallowed. “Okay.”
She drew in a breath and blew it out, standing. “And now I’m going to take a shower.”
She’d left so early that morning, she hadn’t taken the time.
Inside the bathroom, she flipped on the hot water in the stall and stripped out of her clothes.
Leaning against the sink, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. She let her eyes drop to her breasts before she dragged them back up to her face.
Her body didn’t define her. She had to remember she was in control.
This was the smart thing to do. She’d survive this surgery and come out the other side stronger than before. Mentally and physically.
The room filled with steam as she gave herself the pep talk. The mirror fogged until she could no longer see her reflection. It was a reminder of why she was here in the bathroom.
She quickly scrolled to find some music on her cell phone and turned the volume on high, leaving it laying on the back of the toilet tank so she could hear it from the shower.
Pushing the shower curtain to the side, she stepped beneath the spray. She closed her eyes and absorbed the sensation of the near scalding water pummeling her skin. The combined pounding of the music and the water washed away a bit but not all of her tension.
She didn’t know how long she was in there, but she knew she couldn’t hide from reality any longer. She flipped the water off and stepped out onto the bathmat.
While looking around for a towel, her glance hit upon the mirror and the words written there.
BITCH GO HOME!
She stumbled back with a gasp. That hadn’t been there before. She was sure of it. Her gaze flew to the door where she saw it was mostly closed but not latched. She was sure it had been closed all the way before her shower.
Heart pounding, she grabbed a towel. Wrapping it around herself, she flung the door wide and yelled for Dan.
When he didn’t come, she ran out into the suite still calling his name.
She arrived in the living room just as he came through the door, carrying what looked like a take-out food container.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She managed to raise her hand to point. “The bathroom.”
“What about the bathroom?” He frowned and started toward the room.
She didn’t want to go back there but she feared staying here alone more.
Was the person still in the suite? In the closet? In one of the bedrooms?
She crowded into the bathroom behind him, still clutching the towel to her.
Wide-eyed she stared at him. “That message wasn’t there when I got into the shower. Someone was…” She had to swallow and begin again. “Someone was in here while I was.”
“Mother fucker.” He set his jaw and turned to glare at her. “I’m getting you a bodyguard. I don’t care what you say.”
This time, she wasn’t going to fight him. She nodded. “Okay.”
The music still pumped out of the tiny speakers on her cell, but all she could hear was the pounding of her pulse in her ears, drowning out all else with a beating whoosh of white noise.
Just when she’d been so focused on not letting cancer take her life like it had her mother’s, and had taken steps to insure it wouldn’t happen, this threat blindsided her.
A stalker hadn’t even been on her radar.
It certainly was now.
The surgery. The stalker. On top of it all, some stranger with her twenty-four-seven. How was she going to get through this?
Her super-religious mother had always said God didn’t give anyone more than they could handle.
Luna had doubted that when her father had died. Doubted it even more when she lost her mother.
And now? Now she knew for sure, people shouldn’t try to guess what God did or didn’t intend, because they guessed wrong.
eight
Another rainy October day in upstate New York began at the crack of dawn with breakfast with the family. Fresh eggs from their backyard chickens. Milk bought from Morgan Farm Market. Bacon also from a local farmer.
Kyle had nothing to do. Nowhere to be. No one demanding anything from him. Just lazy hazy days, one after another.
The leaves on the trees along the Muddy River had begun to change, bringing with them a blaze of color. The season held promises of apples and pumpkins for the tourists who’d drive up from the city and fill the local B & Bs next weekend when the rain was predicted to finally stop.
People paid to experience this kind of bucolic bullshit and Kyle got to live it all for free.
It should be paradise. Nirvana.
So why was he crawling out of his freaking skin? Like literally. His legs were actually starting to tingle at night when he tried to sleep. As if his muscles were slowly dying from inactivity.
Lifting weights in the garage kept his torso in shape, but didn’t help his lower half. Or his mental well-being.
He needed to do something. He was just considering what that something might be when his cell phone vibrated. He jumped to answer.
At this point, even a phone call was exciting. He glanced at the caller ID to check that it wasn’t Gretchen.
It was a blocked number.
Shit. It could be her. But that would be a first, her using a blocked number. Every other time her calls and texts—none of which he’d answered—had come from her number.
Fuck it. He was bored and kind of desperate so he swiped the screen to connect. “Hello?”
“May I speak with Kyle Jones, please?”
Crap. Had he just answered some solicitor’s call?
Was this guy going to try to sell him an extended warranty on his vehicle, which was a used junker he kept on base for the times he was stateside and needed to get somewhere?
Scowling, he was poised to hit to disconnect the call as he said, “This is Kyle Jones.”
“This is Jon Rudnick from GAPS. You’d called and left a message with one of our assistants.”
Well, shit. This was a call he actually wanted to take.
Rudnick’s words began to sink in. One of our assistants… From that comment, Kyle guessed she was one of many. This organization might be bigger than he’d originally assumed.
“Uh, yeah. I did. Thanks for getting back to me.”
“Sorry it took so long. It’s been one hell of a busy summer around here and autumn doesn’t look much better.”
At least someone was busy…
“No problem at all.” Seriously. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do except sit around the house and wait.
He could walk but he couldn’t climb a ladder or carry heavy tools or materials so he was useless to his father. Why he thought he could be of use to Rudnick, he wasn’t sure.
“I’ve got a job for you.” Rudnick’s statement took him by surprise.
“You do?” He’d figured this was a courtesy call. A thanks-but-no-thanks kind of thing. Maybe Rudnick wasn’t aware of his situation. “Um, did your assistant tell you about my injury?”
Probably not. And when Rudnick heard he couldn’t run, could only walk with a limp in a big black boot, this job offer would go away as quickly as it had come.
It had been a nice few seconds of hope anyway. At least it broke up the monotony of life back home.
“She did. How is the ankle feeling?” Rudnick asked.
“Better. Much better. But I gotta be honest with you, my mobility is limited. I can get around fine, but I won’t be running the obstacle course any time soon, if you get my meaning.”
“Gotcha. Let me be honest with you. My entire crew, save for myself and one of our guys, is over in Afghanistan eyeball deep in that clusterfuck.”
Shit. GAPS was helping the government with the evacuation? This organization was the real deal.
“A level one job just came in that needs someone on it like yesterday and I’ve got no one to put on it. You’re a team guy and Blessing recommended you. That’s good enough for me. And the job is in New York.”
“I’m in New York,” Kyle blurted.
“I know. The job’s yours if you want it.”
Hell yeah, he wanted it. But… He glanced down at the hated boot. “I’m more than interested, but I don’t want to take on something I can’t handle. I need you to know I can’t run right now and I walk with a limp.”
“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. It should be a lot of sitting actually.”
“Is it like watching monitors or something?” Not that he cared. He’d take anything.
Sitting around somewhere else would be a nice change. He loved his grandmother but if he watched one more daytime talk show he was going to lose it.
Rudnick let out a laugh. “Sometimes I wish GAPS got contracted for jobs watching monitors, but no. We charge too much for that so the clients who come to us usually have assignments that are a bit more complicated. Speaking of what we charge… We can go over your compensation. And I can email over a contract and an NDA for you to sign.”
Kyle’s heart began to pound. This was really happening.
“Okay. Um, so what will I be doing?” He was curious.
If he wasn’t sitting around watching monitors, what would he be watching?
“Have you heard of Luna Sanchez, aka Luna Blue?” Rudnick asked.
Kyle’s eyes widened. “Uh, yeah.”
“She needs close personal security twenty-four hours a day. She’ll be in Manhattan for a few days and then moving to another location for a few weeks. She rented some house up in the mountains. After that, you’re done. She’ll be leaving for Miami. Basically, she wants completely off the grid for the next few weeks. No fans. No paparazzi. No press. You’ll be staying with her at all locations. You’ll have a room in her hotel suite in the city and in the rental house.”
A few thoughts careened through Kyle’s mind as Rudnick laid out the job. The first being, holy shit! Of all the people in all the world, he’d been hired to guard her?
Next thought was that Scooter would lose his freaking mind if he told him. Which he wouldn’t, of course.
And finally, Kyle’s last thought was how the hell was he going to survive twenty-four-seven in close quarters with a stuck up, self-centered, spoiled diva like Luna Blue?
nine
Dan hung up the phone in the suite and glanced at Luna.
“That was the front desk. The bodyguard is on his way up.” Pinning her with a stare, he said, “And stop pouting. You don’t want him to see you like this, do you?”
Luna couldn’t deny that she might actually be pouting, so she scowled instead and turned on Dan. “Why not? He’s the reason I’m pouting.”
“Let’s just get through this, okay?”
“Don’t want to,” she mumbled.
Okay. Yeah, she felt it that time. Definitely a pout.
She drew in a breath and tried to remember she wasn’t twelve anymore. Wasn’t surrounded by other show biz kids her age. No longer being catered to by set staff or tutors.
“Luna, think this through. Crazed stalker in the bathroom with you while you’re in the shower. Or bodyguard in the suite with you.” Dan held his hands out flat, each palm facing up and weighed the two options against each other. “Hmm. Doesn’t seem like much of a choice to me.”
Most people wouldn’t think so, but most people didn’t have cameras up their asses all the time... Still, that stalker in the bathroom was scary.
Damn Dan for being logical. She hated when he was right.
She sighed and gave in…just a little, spatting out, “Fine.”
The sound of locks disengaging had her spinning to look at the door to the hallway behind her. Wide-eyed, she spun back to Daniel.
“I had the front desk give him a keycard,” Daniel explained without her having to ask.
She frowned. “Before I even met him?”
“Luna, he’s going to need to get in and out of here on his own. And he comes highly recommended.”
She scowled as the door opened and the man in question appeared.
Then and there she made a snap decision about what he’d be like just from that one look.
Typical brute. Tall. Broad. Serious, judging by the way his brows formed a straight line over his eyes as he glanced around the room.
A hard man who’d lived a hard life, from the looks of him. At least that’s what she assumed from his pronounced limp.
Dan had hired a bodyguard that walked like an invalid. After that decision, how could she trust that he came highly recommended, as he’d put it?
She glanced at him again. He seemed kind of familiar.
Maybe he’d worked security for her before at one of the concert venues. That would make sense.
He’d be handsome, maybe, if he weren’t going to be the thorn in her side until she left for Miami after the—procedure.
She pushed that thought aside and watched him close the door, flip the deadbolt and then engage the chain-thingy.
After all that, his gaze finally settled on her. “This door should be triple-locked at all times when you’re inside.”
“Then you wouldn’t have been able to get in with your key, would you?” she challenged with a big dose of attitude.
His brows rose. “That’s the point.”
The cocky brute turned to face Dan.
“I’m Kyle Jones from GAPS. Is there someplace we can sit and talk about procedures? But before that, where should I stow my gear?”
He lifted his hand and for the first time she noticed the heavy-looking backpack he held. Proof he was staying. Moving in. Here. With her.
Her dread of that didn’t distract her from the fact this…this… Neanderthal misogynist had bypassed speaking with her completely, except for the scolding he’d given her about the door locks.
He’d gone directly to Dan to discuss business. As if Dan, as the male in the room, must be the one in charge. The only one he could talk business with.
The gall of his assumption got her up and off the sofa where she’d been very comfortable until he’d arrived. “Excuse me. I’m the one paying your salary. I’m the one you should be discussing this with. Not him.”
That brow crept up again over his eyes, which even through her rage she noted were a gorgeous blue rimmed with green.
