Star Crossed (8 page)

“Mr. Channing,” he said. “If you’ve got a minute, I need answers to a few—”

“Abandoning your ‘date’ already?” a female voice broke in.

The female was his
Final Death
costar, Christie James. Luke almost didn’t recognize the actress. Her honey blonde poodle curls were mussed, her cheeks a deep shade of pink. She’d changed out of her glamorous premiere duds into jeans and a plain blue shirt. Completing her
I’m-incognito
ensemble were a navy baseball cap and Ray-Bans. She whipped off the latter to glare at him with red-rimmed eyes. Never exactly warm, at least with regards to him, the amount of raw hostility she radiated was shocking.

“Naomi’s asleep,” he said, too surprised to not to say. “What are you doing here?”

“Being a
human being
,” she spat. “Naomi Davis was shot at our premiere.”

Luke couldn’t help noting Christie didn’t seem interested in being a human being to him. “Do you know her?”

Christie put her hands on her hips. “Well, I’m not here to collect social media brownie points.”

Luke gathered she thought that’s what he was doing. “Did the nurses clear you to come up?”

“We’re friends. Naomi needs someone she can count on to stay with her.”

Luke blinked, his brain belatedly adding up the evidence he’d just been presented with. If Christie were telling the truth, she was a friend Naomi had never mentioned. Given the nature and duration of Luke and the model’s friendship, this was unusual. They might not share every detail of their lives, but they shared a lot. Luke knew Naomi adventured with both genders. What he hadn’t guessed was that Christie might as well. Her public persona was strictly het: Hollywood’s latest sexy girl next door.

If Christie didn’t want to be exposed as bi- or lesbian or whatever, Naomi had sufficient class not to shove her out of the closet.

Christie was too sharp not to see his inferences cross his face.

“This is not your business,” she hissed. “You fucking keep it to yourself.”

As gently as he could, Luke took Christie’s arm and shifted her a few steps out of the bodyguard and cop’s earshot. Understandably, both men were watching curiously. Since Christie was considerably shorter, Luke leaned down to speak to her.

“Okay,” he said. “It’s not my business, but are you sure she’ll want you here? How long have you two even been dating?”

Christie’s baby blues spilled over. “Eighteen months,” she said with a cinematic lip quiver. “We had to keep it secret for our careers.”

“Wow,” was Luke’s automatic answer. He was pretty sure Naomi’s career wouldn’t have suffered. She’d had open affairs with girls before, and the fashion world didn’t care. A new thought occurred to him. “Naomi only broke up with Tommy Hazard two weeks ago.”

Christie’s anger threatened to resurface.

“Never mind,” he backpedaled. “Hazard is a tool, and eighteen months
is
forever in Hollywood. I should warn you my folks are calling her folks. They’ll be in town tomorrow or the next day.”

“I’ve met Naomi’s parents,” she said haughtily.

That did suggest the affair wasn’t casual. Luke tugged his ear unsurely.

“Go,” Christie huffed. “I can handle this.”

Luke shot a glance at the bodyguard. “I’m arranging for more security. Please be careful in the meantime.”

“I will,” Christie said, less pissy than before.

As he left, Luke strove to control a grin. Perhaps with cause, his costar would hate him thinking he’d solved the mystery of why she disliked him.

*

“Huh,” said A.J.’s dad as he set the phone back into its cradle.

Hoyt-Sands’ core team was at the office, pulling together a second, more detailed pitch for the Channing job. A.J.’s desk was two yards from her dad’s. When she checked his expression, it was mainly mystified. Whatever her father had just heard, it hadn’t upset him.

“‘Huh’ what?” she asked.

He spun his chair toward her and Martin, rocking back with his hands folded on his flat stomach. Though he could see fifty in his rearview mirror, he kept himself in shape. “That was the golden boy himself. Seems Charming Channing might want to reach into his deep pockets and hire us directly.”

A.J. clamped her lips together, not ready to react while her nape still tingled.

“Really?” Martin asked. “He’s not letting the studio handle it?”

“Not this time. Mind you, it isn’t a done deal. Channing wants to meet tonight in his hotel room. He did ask if we could assign a man right away to Naomi Davis. The studio muscle stayed at the hospital, plus a cop, but I guess neither is instilling much confidence.”

“Well, they wouldn’t,” Martin said, as calm as her dad was.

“Can you handle it?” Her dad’s eyes held Martin’s with some partner-to-partner message. A.J. couldn’t read it. Parker Hoyt was wearing his most buttoned-down poker face. “A guy is always the best deterrent, and he asked for someone experienced and tight-lipped.”

He was over-explaining. Did he think A.J. would be insulted by the selection? A.J. had been with her dad five years. Martin had been soldiering or otherwise involved in security since he was thirty. Considering he was forty-six now, this gave him way more seasoning. If you had to send someone solo, he’d be anyone’s first choice.

“No problem,” Martin said, already rising and shrugging into his all-purpose bodyguard jacket. He pulled his piece from the locked desk drawer, checked it, and slid it into his underarm holster. “I’ve got my go-bag here.”

“Great,” Parker said. “I’ll email you a file en route.” He shifted his gaze to A.J. “You’re with me, kid. Hit the loo if you’re going to.”

A.J. bridled. Did he think she was six years old? Then again, she could probably use a hair and lipstick check. She wouldn’t pitch any prospective client looking less than professional.

“Five minutes,” she said, letting her temper fade. “I’ll meet you out by reception.”

Her father nodded, his poker face still taped on. He so was hiding something. She guessed she’d find out what when he was ready.

*

Luke didn’t have a permanent residence in the Big Apple. Instead, when he was in town, he took an upper level suite at the Waldorf Astoria. Management customized his rooms any way he needed, plus he never had to worry about cooking or clean sheets. The hotel made doing business or entertaining equally convenient.

Tonight, as he paced the white marble foyer, he wished his surroundings weren’t so impersonal. He looked like a dick living here, like he was too spoiled and helpless to wash his own stinky socks. A.J.’s loft had been a real home, a reflection of who she was: badass, guarded, and no housekeeper. He wondered if she still lived there. He’d revisited the place so many times in his memory he could have walked it blindfolded.

“Fuck,” he muttered in disgust at his total lack of chillness.

He’d done the right thing, calling A.J.’s dad’s security firm. Ditto for ascertaining that Parker Hoyt and not his daughter had initiated contact with Galaxy. Maybe insisting he wanted a woman on his team wasn’t subtle, but Luke hadn’t specified her by name. Just because he’d determined she was the only female bodyguard at Hoyt-Sands didn’t mean her father would sense something. At least for now, Luke needed full-time security. A woman fit his lifestyle better, and could be low profile.

Never mind someone had tried to kill him. An entourage of heavies escorting him to the john would make him look like an idiot.

He stopped pacing to rub his forehead. Someone had tried to kill him. Despite the stitches in his back, despite the hour he’d spent being grilled by the cops, that fact hadn’t sunken in.

He found he couldn’t be as worried about the threat as he was by A.J.’s imminent arrival.

He’d told the front desk to send Parker Hoyt up when he arrived. Ironically, the double rap on the door calmed him. He wiped his palms on his trousers. He was on now. He could handle this the same as he did any scene he shot.

The hotel suite had a camera and intercom arrangement. Luke checked the screen. The slightly blurry image of the dark-suited man and woman made his heart leap again. That was A.J. out there. Her black hair was pixie short, but her cleanly sculpted features were as he remembered. Jaw tense, she was looking back down the hall, already on alert for danger. She and her dad were nearly the same height. Both were lean, both fit but not musclebound. Apart from her father’s hair being gray, they looked very much alike—right down to the straight-spined manner in which they stood.

Keep it together
, Luke ordered his hammering pulse.

He opened the door to them.

“Luke Channing?” Parker Hoyt inquired.

Luke wasn’t used to being asked. “Yes,” he said. “Please come in.”

Parker and A.J. both entered.

“I’m Parker Hoyt,” said her father. “And this is my daughter, Alexandra. People call her A.J.”

Parker Hoyt watched Luke’s reaction. The attention seemed casual but wasn’t. Maybe Luke’s request for a female guard had sent up red flags, after all.

“Please call me Luke,” he said. “Would you like to talk in the dining room? I have coffee and bottled drinks in there.”

He turned to lead them to it before the urge to seek A.J.’s gaze got the best of him.

He felt her behind him, his back prickling uncontrollably. Was she annoyed to be here? Maybe worried he’d expose their previous intimacy to her father? She couldn’t have forgotten it, could she? Luke didn’t think he flattered himself to categorize the hookup as memorable.

The dining room was long and narrow, brightened by flower arrangements hotel staff changed daily. A.J. and Parker both accepted bottled water. Luke sat and they did too. Parker Hoyt set a small laptop on the table but didn’t open it.

A.J. cleared her throat. Because she’d turned to face her father, Luke felt free to look at her. His body clenched. Jesus, she was lovely. That elfin hair really suited her.

“Before we start,” she said. “I should probably disclose Luke and I have met before.”

“Is that so?” Her father’s tone was too bland to suggest surprise.

“Once,” A.J said. “Before I went to work for you.”

“And may I assume this meeting didn’t involve playing Pinochle?”

A muscle flicked in A.J.’s jaw. She didn’t blush, though that seemed to require willpower. “It was a one-night stand.”

“I see.” Her dad shifted his über-cool gaze to Luke. Luke suspected this was his version of pulling out a shotgun. “You do understand Hoyt-Sands isn’t an escort service. My daughter isn’t for hire in that capacity.”

“Yes, sir,” Luke said, absolutely certain the extra politeness was called for. “I’m not hoping to hire her for that. I know she can handle this. She saved my life before.”

“Did she?” Parker’s eyebrows were up as he turned back to her. “I guess A.J. was too modest to mention that.”

“It was a chance thing,” A.J. said. “I happened to be around when Luke got in over his head in a bar fight—which he didn’t start, I should mention.”

Her defense of him amused her father. Parker’s mouth curved slightly before he smoothed it again. “All right. Thank you for laying that on the table. Shall I go over the security arrangements we’re proposing to put in place for you, Mr. Channing?”

Luke tried not to relax too obviously. Parker wasn’t going to fight A.J. being on the team. More importantly, she wasn’t objecting.

“It’s Luke,” he said. “And I’d like to return to LA tomorrow. I understand you have an office there.”

“We do,” Parker confirmed. “A.J. has worked with them before. One thing I should make clear.” His expression had been serious, but now it turned severe. “This isn’t a one- or two-man job. The threat against you is serious and—until we establish otherwise—ongoing. Hiring a couple bodyguards to join you for public appearances won’t cut it. You need a full team, with equipment, set up at your residence and accompanying you everywhere. We’ll coordinate with law enforcement here and in LA to identify whoever went after you. Until the threat is neutralized, you need to cooperate with our efforts. We can’t keep you safe if you won’t let us.”

“So don’t be a brat,” Luke said.

A.J.’s father smiled faintly. “I suspect that isn’t who you are, but, yes, don’t be a brat.” He hesitated. “If it’s agreeable to both of you, I’ll put A.J. in charge of the protection side of the operation.”

A.J.’s striking whiskey eyes widened. She flattened her hands on the tabletop. “Me?”

“I want to run the investigation. You’re ready. I know this is a big job, but you’ve taken lead before. Martin can join you once Ms. Davis makes her own arrangements.”

A.J. looked at her dad like she half-thought this was a trick. They had an interesting dynamic. Lots of history, Luke decided, and not all of it smooth.

After a moment, she let her doubt fall away. “Okay. If Luke agrees, I’ll organize the on-site detail.”

“Fine by me,” Luke said, trying not to sound too eager.

He wasn’t certain he pulled it off. Parker looked wry as he slid the small, closed laptop across to him. “This is for you. It has state of the art encryption. Please read the file labeled ‘DON’T’ before communicating any plans to anyone—including people you’re close to. A public figure like yourself is too easy to pin down. That sniper knew where you’d be ahead of time.”

“The police told me they didn’t find much evidence on the roof,” Luke said. “The gunman must have cleaned up after himself.”

“Or herself,” A.J. corrected. “Women shoot rifles too.”

“Or herself,” Luke agreed. A chill he didn’t like slid through him. He’d have to be suspicious of everyone.

Parker saw the awareness dawning behind his eyes. His weather-seamed face softened. “We’d appreciate receiving the same information you gave the police. A list of enemies. Anyone you fired. Letters from overenthusiastic fans. Anything you think might be relevant. You can either email me from the laptop or tell A.J.—whichever is easier for you. I’ll get our investigators on it ASAP.”

“Do you have an idea how long this will take to resolve?”

“Hard to say,” Parker answered, “but we’ve handled cases like this before. We know more about stalkers, if that’s what this turns out to be, than most cops have time to learn.”