Carla Cassidy - The Bodyguard's Promise

“Screw Zicar,” Jordan exclaimed with vehemence. “He’s a has-been, an old man who’s lost his focus, lost his creativity.”

“He won the Oscar for best picture last year,” Libby said dryly.

“A crazy fluke,” Jordan said, and waved his hands dismissively. “Besides, I’m not talking about an Oscar for best picture, I’m talking about material that will stretch Gracie’s dramatic skills and earn her an Oscar for best actress. Wouldn’t you like that, little darling?” Again he patted Gracie’s head.

Gracie looked at her mother, then nodded vaguely. “You’ll have to talk to Charlie,” Libby said. “You know he handles all the negotiations for Gracie.”

Jordan flashed her a rueful smile. “We both know that’s crap. Charlie’s just your mouthpiece. If anyone wants to get to Gracie, we all know we have to go through you, not Charlie.”

Libby didn’t take the time to protest his words since they both knew they were true. “Send me a copy of the script. I’ll read it and let you know what I think.”

“Done,” Jordan replied.

Within minutes of being in the car carrying them home, Gracie fell asleep. She often napped on the thirty-minute ride between the studio and home.

A strained silence stretched taut between Libby and Clay. “Don’t forget that I arranged for Enrique to be at the house at four this afternoon to see about your wardrobe. We have a premiere this Saturday night to attend,” she said in an effort to break the uncomfortable silence.

He nodded.

“I arranged to get a list of all the people working on the film,” she said. “I should have it tomorrow morning.”

“Good. Is there someplace I can access the Internet?”

“My computer in my office. Why?”

His impossibly green eyes held her gaze. “My only job is to protect Gracie,” he said in a low voice. “I’m not an investigator but I sometimes do a little investigating in order to better protect my client. Once you get that list of names, I want to do a background check into each person to see what secrets I might find out about them.”

“I can’t imagine that anyone who knows Gracie, anyone who works with her, would want to harm her,” Libby replied.

“Spoken like a true mother,” he stated. His eyes narrowed slightly. “If you’re smart, you’ll view everyone as a potential suspect.”

His words troubled her. “What I can’t understand is why anyone would want to harm her.” She stroked a strand of Gracie’s pale blond hair.

“If we knew the why, we’d probably have a better idea of the who,” he replied. “Of course, in a case like this it’s a little more difficult because there might not be a rational why. If what you believe is true, then some wacko has just focused in on Gracie in some sort of obsessed delusion.”

“In which case we might never know who’s writing those letters.”

Clay frowned, creating a deep etch across his broad forehead. His gaze slid from Libby to the sleeping girl in her lap. “Unfortunately, I have a feeling whoever wrote those letters isn’t just going to go away.”

His words shot a wave of disquiet through Libby. At that moment, the car pulled up in front of the house.

“Gracie, honey. We’re home. It’s time to wake up.” Libby shook her daughter’s shoulder lightly and tried to forget the knot that had formed in her stomach at Clay’s words.

“I don’t wanna wake up,” Gracie said sleepily.

“Come on, honey. We need to go inside.”

“I’ll get her,” Clay said. He got out of the car, then reached in and scooped Gracie up in his arms. Gracie curled her arms around his neck and closed her eyes, obviously perfectly at ease in his strong arms.

Libby got out of the car and watched as the big cowboy carried her daughter into the house. For just a brief, surprising moment she was struck with a wave of intense longing.

She frowned and consciously willed the strange emotion away. He’d just made her feel crazy vulnerable with his thoughts about whoever was after Gracie.

After all, she had a life most envied. She and Gracie were a Hollywood success story. What else could she possibly want?

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