The Socialite and the Bodyguard (5 page)

Dog show
was another way of saying
hell overrun by prissy canines
. Someone should have told him that.

And Nash was stuck in the poodle section, the place obviously reserved for the darkest sinners, because it was for sure the darkest corner of hell. The dogs had hairdos. Some had their own calendars—no joke—and pinup posters that were being sold to fans. There were dogs with leashes that matched the dresses of their owners. Who in their right mind would think of something like that?

“I think we might win a ribbon this year. I really do,” Kayla was enthusing to Elvis, routinely ignoring the open looks in her direction. She’d fielded the earlier influx of people wanting autographs with grace and class, and they were beginning to dwindle at last.

She let anyone and everyone just walk up to her. The woman was a bodyguard’s worst nightmare. He wanted to take over so badly his teeth ached. But he kept his macho drive to control every situation in check. He couldn’t afford to be kicked off the job.

Every penny he’d ever saved had been invested, in a weak moment, in some new program a buddy of his had invented. Nick Tarasov and his wife, Carly, were a couple of geniuses when it came to computer codes. They regularly worked on top-secret projects for the U.S. government. But they had yet to crack the commercial market. So Nash’s money could be as good as flushed down the swirly bowl or, if he were lucky, he might get back some of it by the time he was ready to retire.

Not something he worried a lot about since in his line of work, chances were better than good that he wasn’t going to live that long. When your job was to step between a bullet and its intended recipient, sooner or later you were going to be tapped, for sure.

Ducking bullets seemed a hell of a lot more fun than his current “entertainment,” he thought, then bit back a groan when Kayla kicked his already dark mood another notch lower.

She pulled Tsini’s pink brush from her bag and handed it to him. “Hold this.”

Lack of funds or not, when he was done here, he was going to have to retire. There was no coming back from this. By the end of the show, he was going to be irreversibly damaged.

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.

“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.

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.

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 that 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.

“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 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.