Chapter 9
“If you don’t want to tell them I’m your bodyguard, then tell them I’m—”
“My new model. A clothing model—a living mannequin. That’s who you’ll be.” She paused to breathe and then asked, “You okay with that?”
He shrugged. He’d never admit to her that the idea made his teeth scream. But he was a professional and this was the job. He’d done undercover before. He could play a role. Even if it meant he had to play Hollywood male model for a costume designer.
Of all the damn things in the universe.
“I’ll handle it. As long as I won’t need to say much.”
She frowned. “You shouldn’t need to have much input. They’ll probably wonder why the hell I brought you along, but I can smooth that over. You fit the part perfectly. I’ll outfit you.”
“Outfit me?” There was no way he could hide his incredulousness. Not that he would bother hiding much from her now.Nothing except his true feelings about last night.
“Yes, I have—”
“Never mind. You’re the one who’s going to be outfitted. In a brand-new Kevlar jacket.”
He’d arranged for the team at the hangar in Burbank to get him some supplies, including extra firearms and ammunition and a disguise kit. Mae Monday might have the wardrobe, but he had more interesting pieces to change her appearance.
She yawned. “Whatever you say. I think I’m crashing. Do you mind if I sleep?”
“I think you should.”
Mae fed him and his overactive cock a sly smile—the last thing he needed to encourage his self-indulgence. Especially after she’d been the one to pull the plug on the last-minute lovemaking session that morning. He ought to be ashamed, or at least concerned about his self-discipline. But in all honesty, he couldn’t dredge up much shame, only the resignation to put it behind him. She rose and went to the couch to sprawl out and he turned away from the sight of her sexy pose lying down. In spite of her Hollywood glam appearance, he doubted even she knew what an enticing picture she made.
He got up from his seat, with some awkwardness, and forced himself to march into the cockpit with Ben, his ZGT pilot and pal. Not his first preference by a long shot. Joe had to drag his own sorry ass away kicking and screaming from Mae and her sex-charged force field.
When they landed, the last thing he expected was for Mae to have nerves. But as he handed her the Kevlar jacket, she didn’t look excited.
“Are you sure this is necessary?” A nervous laugh didn’t cover her discomfort.
“Yes.”
“How well do they work?”
“I doubt Sal Vito has the kind of firepower necessary to penetrate this jacket. You’ll be fine. Besides, he doesn’t want to kill you, remember?”
“Exactly. Are you sure—?”
He took a deep breath. “Mae,” he took her aside, away from Ben and the other ZGT operative manning the desk in the hangar office. “What’s the problem? Don’t worry. We’ll work with the police to set up a trap. You won’t be in harm’s way—I promise.” He paused before saying the words he’d said many times before, but this time they caught in his throat, seemed to be weighted with lead. The weight of caring about her—personally.
The exact thing a professional protection detail was not supposed to feel.
Shit.
Tightening his shoulders and feeling the sharp pain crack through his back, as if he’d literally lifted too much weight, he pushed through the anxiety and tinge of fear creeping in on the edges to make her a promise. “I’ll protect you. I’ll keep you safe.”I won’t let anything happen to you and God help the person who lays a goddamn finger on you.
Joe did a mental sign of the cross and said a soldier’s prayer to give him strength, as if he were going into battle.
Maybe he ought to talk himself down. This was Hollywood and some two-bit has-been mobster and a couple of his pals who couldn’t shoot straight were not the biggest challenge he’d faced. Yet it all felt like the same life-and-death battle to him, the kind where the stakes were tremendous and his adrenaline flowed.
“You don’t have to go to this meeting. You can call and cancel. We can head back to Boston with Sal Vito and his boys never knowing you were ever here. Set up a Skype meeting from Boston.”
“I don’t think so, Joe. It doesn’t work that way in Hollywood. I need to be there, seen as available at all times, committed to the project for the duration. It’s an intense process producing a TV pilot. Everything has to be perfect. Everything rides on it. You can’t get away with any glitches like you might with later episodes after you have a following and a contract. Not necessarily in that order.”
“If you say so.”