STILL in a state of minor shock, Christian stepped into the suite behind Stone, who insisted on playing bodyguard for him from the elevator down the hall to the hotel room. Old habits died hard, apparently.
Although, hell’s bells, his careful habit of keeping his private life far, far away from his professional life had kicked the bucket spectacularly tonight. He needed a long, hot shower. He was sore and messy, but damned if he wasn’t so exhilarated he could hardly see straight.
Which was exactly why they could never do that again. For the first time in his life, he was tempted, genuinely tempted, to walk away from the career he’d constructed so carefully over so many years. He was ready to throw in the towel and give it all up for Stone if the man would have him.
Which, of course, would never happen. Stone was so busy staying in perpetual motion, running from whatever demons dogged his heels, that he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—slow down long enough to have a real relationship, let alone a permanent one. Christian might be a fool for love, as it turned out, but he was no dummy when it came to reading people. And he was not wrong in his assessment of Stone Jackson.
The message light on the phone was blinking, and Christian moved over to it, hoping against hope it was Jack calling to tell them he’d be back shortly. Or at least to check in and let them know he was alive. The bastard.
“Good evening, Mr. Brandeis. This is the Miami Morning Show calling. We were wondering if there’s time in your senator’s schedule for a live, on-camera interview tomorrow morning.”
“This is the Miami Enquirer. We’d like a quote from the senator on this evening’s incident. He’s being touted as a hero for protecting his attacker.”
“This is the Tampa Examiner. Does Senator Lacey have a comment on the attack against him earlier?”
The next half-dozen messages were more of the same. Nothing from Jack, though. He watched through the open bedroom door as Stone stripped off the senator’s suit. The jerk was doing that on purpose to tantalize him. And it was working.
He picked up the TV remote and pointed it at the television without taking his gaze off Stone, who was kicking off Jack’s boots and peeling out of the pants. Damn, that man was built like a rock. He wasn’t thick, but he was hard. Everywhere.
“—visiting senator and possible presidential hopeful defends himself against an attack and then protects his assailant from police in this dramatic footage from tonight’s Latin Chamber of Commerce event….”
Oh. Shit. He’d really, really hoped the media wouldn’t pick up on the incident, but he knew better. A senator protecting his assailant from the police was sound-bite gold.
“Hey! That’s me on the news,” Stone exclaimed from the doorway. “Cool!”
Christian actually felt the blood draining from his face as he prayed that the footage would be of poor quality and not show Stone’s face too clearly. “People who know Jack are going to see this.”
His prayer wasn’t answered. As clear as day, Stone took down that kid and then protected him from the police.
Stone murmured, “Dude, you don’t look so good. Maybe you should sit down.”
Christian made his way over to the sofa. Numb, he switched channels. Of course. All the local news outlets had picked up the story. He said weakly, “Please, God, let the national outlets not have picked it up.”
“Let’s see.” Stone flopped on the sofa beside him, lifted the remote out of his paralyzed fingers, and turned to one of the all-news channels.
They watched in silence for long enough to be certain they’d dodged that bullet. For now, at least. Oh Lord. This was a disaster.
“The footage isn’t that high quality, Christian. And I really do look like Jack.”
“Problem is Jack would never, ever defend himself, in the first place, or turn around and show compassion for his attacker in the second place.”
“Who else but his immediate staff knows that, though?”
“His wife. A few hunting buddies. Fortunately he’s got too big of an ego to maintain sincere friendships.”
“Well, he defends himself and shows compassion now. Let the media make of it what they will.”
“Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to let the media form its own opinions?” Christian mumbled, thinking a mile a minute. Of course they would have to turn down the interview requests. No way could Stone pass as Jack in a close-up television setting. But they would have to spin the refusals in such a way that the press didn’t take offense and go for Jack/Stone’s jugular. As long as this thing stayed local, it shouldn’t be that hard to contain.
As if on cue, the phone rang. Christian picked it up warily. It was a major television affiliate this time. Crap. It was going to go national. He got off the phone with a noncommittal comment about the senator being shaken by the incident, heavily booked, and promised to get back to the production assistant in the morning with a statement from Jack.
He’d no sooner set the receiver down than the phone rang again. He glared across the room at Stone. “What the hell am I supposed to do about this?”
“Draft a press release saying that the senator does not wish to benefit politically from a young man’s mental illness. I’m declining all interview requests regarding the incident at the Chamber of Commerce event out of respect for the privacy of the family of the victim.”
“But you’re the victim.”
“Say it the way I did. The public won’t miss the message. And thank the Miami police for their professionalism and restraint. Might as well give those guys some good press for a change. Poor bastards don’t get much love, and they’ve got a rough job.”
It wasn’t a bad way to spin it.
Christian said, “You’ve got a charity fund-raiser tomorrow night. The press is going to climb all over you. I’ll call the event organizers in the morning and warn them to have extra security in place. Tucker can figure out how to sneak you in the back entrance. We’ll have to keep your exposure minimal and dodge the press to the best of our ability.”
“I have faith in you. It’ll work out okay.”
Christian was too wired to sit any longer and moved over to the desk. “Let me print out your remarks for tomorrow so you can practice them. I’ll make sure the press knows you’re not taking questions tomorrow, and you’re not talking about today’s incident—”
A hand touched his shoulder, and he spun, startled.
“Go take a shower. Relax. You’ve got tomorrow wired, and I know what to do. Today was a big day. Recover from it and worry about tomorrow in the morning.”
His brain heard the sense in Stone’s advice; however, his panic was such that he doubted any relaxation was possible.
But Stone herded him into the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind him. And it was nice.
Okay, weird. Christian was the one who took care of everyone else, not the other way around. He stripped and stood under a hot shower for a long time, his brain flatly refusing to function. He got out, wrapped a towel around his hips, and padded into the living room.
Stone looked up from a copy of tomorrow’s speech and smirked. “Terry cloth is a good look on you.”
He vogued until the towel began to slip and he snatched at it to hold it up.
“Tease,” Stone complained. “Go to bed before I can’t restrain myself any longer.”
He frowned. He hadn’t been kidding when he said sex couldn’t happen again between them. He was only so strong, and he couldn’t risk an addiction to Stone that derailed his entire life.
Still. Stone unable to keep his hands to himself? Christian rather liked the sound of that. After all, he knew the feeling. He almost reversed his personal edict to himself that there would be no more hanky-panky between them.
No! Be strong! Swearing at his own stupidly overdeveloped sense of responsibility, he beat a tactical retreat from the living room and the temptation Stone represented.
Stone might accuse him of being the great people reader, but the guy wasn’t doing a half-bad job himself tonight. He was beat after today’s wild emotional swings. A press release could actually wait until first thing in the morning. Media outlets wouldn’t expect one until then anyway.
By the time he reached his bed in the suite’s second bedroom, he was all but stumbling with exhaustion. Everything from the past few days—hell, the past few decades—seemed to be catching up with him all at once. He fell into bed and passed out, asleep practically before he got horizontal.
Sometime in the thick darkness of the wee hours, he felt the mattress shift. Warm arms enveloped him, and he drifted toward sleep again, safe in their embrace. Very faintly in the back of his mind, a little voice suggested that something was wrong with how right those arms felt, but he was too unconscious to sort it out and went back to sleep.
He woke abruptly, panicked for no apparent reason. And then it dawned on him that he was not alone in his bed. Crap! He’d promised himself he would swear off Stone after yesterday’s erotic encounter in the SUV. He leaped out of bed like the pillows were on fire.
“What’s wrong?” Stone bit out tersely, sitting up sharply.
“Nothing. Go back to sleep. I’ve got to put out a quick press release.”
Stone frowned but did lie back down. Thank God. Christian didn’t have the energy to spare for a fight just yet. First he had a few crises to manage. Then maybe there could be fighting.
Four more days. He had to get through today’s charity benefit, tomorrow’s golf tournament, and the big casino night on Saturday. And then Jack Lacey could spend the next month floating around the Caribbean screwing his girlfriend and no one would be the wiser. Please, God, let Jack’s paranoia about paparazzi protect him from discovery in the meantime.
Christian drafted the press release quickly and sent it out, and then he headed for the shower. By the time he emerged, he’d developed a long to-do list for himself.
Stone observed him with hawklike intensity but seemed content to leave him alone this morning to work. Or at least pretend to work. It was impossible to concentrate with those golden hazel eyes registering his every tiny movement. He felt like an antelope squarely in the sights of a hunting lion.
He managed to scroll down through Jack’s e-mail, answered the easy requests, scheduled a few meetings for when they got back to Washington and added them to Jack’s calendar, and stored the other messages in a file for the junior staffers back in DC to deal with later this week.
And then he opened an innocuous-looking message titled simply, “For Senator Jack Lacey—Urgent.”
Your time is coming very soon, you worthless piece of shit. Settle your affairs and say good-bye, because I’m coming to send you to hell where you belong.
It wasn’t signed. The sender’s e-mail said simply “unnamed sender.” Not helpful.
He snatched up the phone and dialed Tucker. “Where are you, Travis?”
“At the venue for tonight’s gala. This place is a nightmare—”
“I need you to get back here right now,” he interrupted.
“What’s wrong?” Tucker’s voice already was jumping as if the man was running while talking.
“Stone’s safe. But Jack just got another death threat. And this one said specifically that he’s going to be attacked soon.”
“Keep Stone in the room, and I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
“Got it.” He hung up the phone anxiously.
From the sofa across the suite, Stone said grimly, “And you didn’t think to tell me first that there’s another death threat?”
“You heard at the same time I told Tucker.”
“That’s not my point. You see something alarming, something that has to cause you significant stress, and you don’t tell me first?”
“I followed protocol,” he said defensively. “Secure the principal and tell the bodyguard immediately.” Christian braced himself for an explosion out of Stone but instead got only a terse “Give me everything you’ve got on tonight’s benefit.”
Christian handed over the hard-copy file and went to work downloading and printing out the rest. Stone turned his attention to the paperwork, but anger rolled off his muscular shoulders in palpable waves. What the hell did Stone want him to say?
His mind was blown by what had transpired between them yesterday, and he needed some time to process it. And now was not the moment to have a huge fight with Stone over the fact that he’d meant it when he said they were over last night.
The silent standoff grew more and more uncomfortable as Stone grew steadily more angry, and Christian was by turns defensive and irritable himself. The first priority was Stone’s safety, and that meant telling his chief of security immediately about any incoming threats. He’d done the right thing by calling Tucker first, dammit. At least they’d established that the two of them could have a knock-down-drag-out fight without ever uttering a single word aloud to each other. It was actually a rather impressive feat.
Gradually Stone’s focus shifted to the papers he had spread out all over a table. He was poring over some sort of tourist map of downtown Miami when Tucker burst into the suite. Christian had never been so relieved to see the man.
“What have you got, Tucker?”
“Lemme see the e-mail.”
While Christian pulled it up and turned his laptop for Tucker to see the short message, Stone reported tersely, “The tech experts at Wild Cards had no success tracing the sender of the e-mail. It was likely sent from an Internet café or a library and bounced off a bunch of servers to anonymize it. As for the message’s content, there’s nothing new except the addition of the attack coming soon. The Wild Cards’ profiler said only that now there’s a timetable in play. And you and I could have figured that out for ourselves. Talk to me about the venue.”
“You’re not going to go through with the appearance, are you?” Tucker demanded.
“We might as well catch ourselves a psychopath while we wait for Jack to get tired of Chesty.”
Christian’s mouth opened and a protest danced on the tip of his tongue. Why in the name of God didn’t Stone value his life more than this? Why was he so damned willing to throw himself in front of a madman and roll the dice with death?
Stone muttered, “Talk to me, Tucker.”
The security chief moved over to the map and started jabbing at intersections and buildings, giving a rapid-fire description of the area around the large plaza where an evening charity auction and ball would be held under the stars.
“The whole plaza will be blocked off for the night with police barricades here, here, here, and here. They’ll be manned by cops but should be considered porous.”
Stone made a noise of disgust.
Tucker continued, “At least ten high-rises are close, with a half dozen well within a thousand yards.”
Stone grimaced and Christian asked, “What’s significant about a thousand yards?”
“Any half-decent sniper with a semidecent weapon can kill a man at a thousand yards,” Stone replied.
“Are we worried that the stalker is going to make a hit tonight? I thought you guys decided the casino night was the event the guy would target because of how high profile it will be.”
“Given the latest communication, I think we have to consider every appearance that I—Jack—makes to be at high risk.”
“And yet you’re going through with it. Look. Jack bailed on all of us. If he misses out on all the campaign donations and blows his chances for reelection, it’s no skin off my nose at this point. Although you may be prepared to sacrifice your life at the drop of hat, Stone, I am not willing to throw you to the wolves. I’m calling this thing right now. I’ll write up a press release that Jack has had to leave town unexpectedly and is bowing out—”
“And what happens when this would-be killer shows up at your DC office and shoots the entire staff, including you? Or he shows up at Jack’s home and murders his wife and the dog too, just to make his point?” Stone asked grimly. “Hiding from nut jobs gives them a sense of control. They’re successfully manipulating their target. If we can draw this guy out into the open without Jack around to screw up our plans as only he can, it’s a win for everyone.”
Christian reluctantly saw the logic. But he didn’t like it. Not one bit. And furthermore, his dislike of this plan to proceed on schedule had nothing to do with his feelings for Stone Jackson.
God. Damn. It.
STONE wasn’t fond of bulletproof vests. In the first place, they weren’t actually proof against a high-caliber round, and there was always a head shot to consider. Even if the Wild Cards’ guys didn’t believe this attacker was a pro, a shooter could still get lucky and nail the target in an unprotected part of the body. Bullet-resistant vests tended to give their wearers a dangerous and potentially life-threatening sense of invincibility. Furthermore, they were hot and bulky, and they made his suits lie funny, no matter how good a tailor might be. But Tucker was having no part of him going out in public without one.
Christian had opted to sit in the front seat of the SUV with Tucker en route to the gala tonight, and Stone didn’t know whether to be insulted, hurt, or amused. He settled on being a little of all three. He’d really shaken up Christian yesterday. He didn’t for a minute think Christian was serious about the two of them never making love again. He’d just overwhelmed the guy a little. Good. Christian had been badly in need of a shock. He was stuck in the mother of all ruts and was too awesome a human being to languish in the bottom of it forever.
His mind drifted to the insane pleasure they’d shared, and his fly started to bulge alarmingly. Swearing, he pulled out the dry-as-dust speech and determinedly practiced saying it in Jake’s Texas accent. Thankfully it did the trick, and he would be able to walk upright when they arrived at the venue.
The SUV pulled to a stop, and the privacy panel slid down. “All right, then, sir. Good luck,” Tucker announced.
Stone responded, “Christian, I want you to stay away from me at the gala tonight.”
“Hey, you don’t have to throw yourself at women in the name of impersonating Jack—” Christian started.
“No, that’s not it. In the first place, Jack has a history of making his guys stay away from him. But more importantly, I don’t want you hit by a stray bullet in case our stalker chooses tonight to find out how lousy a shot he is.”
“Oh.” The syllable thudded like lead between them. Christian swore quietly and got out of the SUV without waiting for Jack. Grimly, Stone watched him walk away.
Jesus, his job sucked sometimes.
And then he got to climb out of the SUV, get mobbed by sycophants, and play United States senator for the next hour. Suddenly being a plain old bodyguard who only risked death for a living didn’t seem quite so bad.
Maybe he was just feeling antisocial tonight, but the aggressive interest of a huge crowd of people all eager to steal a minute of his time went against every minute of training he’d ever had at covert operations, avoiding detection, and above all, not being recognized.
And the women. Apparently this event had been declared some sort of open season on politicians within their ranks. At least every two minutes, some beautiful woman came sashaying his way, inviting him silently to look down her dress or feel up her thigh.
Truth be told, it was more than a little creepy. There was something desperate and needy in the false sex appeal these women presented. He didn’t for a minute think any of them were genuinely attracted to him personally. How in the hell did Jack Lacey mistake any of this for real desire? Or maybe the guy was so desperate and needy himself that he couldn’t see the calculation lurking in these women’s cold eyes.
Stone painted on a fake smile and politely rebuffed them all, doing his damnedest not to show his faint revulsion at the lot of them.
A number of people asked about the previous day’s attack, but he refused to talk about it, in concert with Christian’s press release to that effect. People seemed taken aback that he would decline to make political hay from the incident. Was the real Jack that morally bankrupt, then?
A man approached, greeting him loudly. “Jack, old buddy. How the hell are you? I can see that Florida agrees with you. You look great. How’ve you been since the hunting trip?”
Fuck. Someone who knew Jack. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He had no idea who the dude was, and worse, he’d sent Christian away. He leaned over to murmur to Tucker, “Get Christian ASAP.”
“Right, sir.”
Stone turned to face the backslapper. “I’m great. How the hell are you?” He resorted to asking about the guy’s latest hunting exploits, and when that topic petered out, he shifted to asking about how the job was going. Apparently the guy was the CEO of some sort of paper manufacturing company. Unbelievably, the man didn’t seem to realize he wasn’t the real Jack Lacey. Obviously the loudmouth knew Jack a great deal less well than he was pretending to. Thank God.
Christian strolled up, a smile on his face but his eyes grim. He said smoothly, “Henry Spencer! What a nice surprise.”
God bless him. He’d diagnosed correctly that Stone had no idea who this man was and that there was a grave risk of their ruse being exposed.
Christian continued pleasantly, “I didn’t realize you were on the guest list. How’s Millie? I haven’t seen her tonight.”
Lord, the guy was smooth at this social stuff. Stone was mesmerized by Christian’s effortless charm. Apparently Jack had it to some degree, as well. But Stone was completely at sea with all this small talk and name-dropping. Spencer spied someone in the crowd and declared that Jack had to meet him.
The man moved off to fetch the “must-meet,” and Stone muttered to Christian, “I retract my previous order to stay away. I can’t do this without you.”
Christian’s eyes registered surprise. And then a slow smile spread across his face. “Stick with me, kid. You’re on my turf now.”
“And for the love of God, please run interference with some of the female sharks cruising this event.”
“Not a chance. You’re on your own in that department.”
However, a fair share of the women did veer toward Christian, particularly after Stone politely ignored their come-hither antics. It was gratifying not being the only man in the joint uncomfortably pasting on a fake smile and pretending to be complimented by the come-ons.
The chicken was, indeed, rubber, and the emotional prostitution real as people vied for a piece of him in return for cold, hard cash. Thankfully Christian handled most of the delicate negotiation of pimping out Jack’s soul.
During a momentary break from the sleeve tugging, Stone murmured to Christian, “How do you stand doing this for a living? Don’t you feel like a flesh peddler?”
“I keep my eyes on the prize. Someday I’ll be free of this rat race. And in the meantime, I’ll know this world as an insider. It can’t help but give me a better perspective on how to nail these bastards.”
Stone’s jaw tightened. There had to be a way to break Christian loose from the prison he’d locked himself in.
“Excuse me, Senator Lacey. The charity auction is about to begin, and we’ve had a wonderful idea. We’d like to auction off drinks and a dance with you.”
Alarm sluiced through him, and he glanced over at Christian in panic. But the big jerk smiled broadly and replied for him, “The senator would love to auction off his body for the cause.”
The woman moved off, chirping happily as Stone glared at Christian. “What the fuck?”
“You’re here to play nice and make them money for their hospital.” He added under his breath, “And girls don’t actually have cooties.”
He told Christian what he thought of that in no uncertain terms, and Christian merely laughed. The auction ensued, and the bidding commenced for a “date” with Senator Lacey. He was hauled up on stage and paraded across it like a piece of meat. Of course, the real Jack would have eaten this up, so he was forced to flash a come-hither smile and flirt outrageously with the crowd in general. It was horrifying.
A number of well-maintained divorcees battled against a bevy of bodacious twentysomethings for him. Everyone seemed to think they were buying more than drinks and a dance based on the shouted comments flying across the crowd. Jack’s reputation preceded him, apparently.
The price climbed quickly to five thousand dollars and started to slow. He called out, “C’mon, ladies. I’m prepared to give my all for the new children’s wing of the hospital. Surely you are too.”
He seemed to have signaled that sex was, indeed, the actual item for sale, and the bidding leaped past ten thousand dollars in the blink of an eye. He moved to the side of the stage where Christian stood and muttered, “Jeez. I had no idea Jack was such a stud.”
“It’s the power. It’s an aphrodisiac.”
“If you say so. I’ll take a great mind, a sense of humor, and a heaping helping of class any day and twice on Sunday.”
Christian’s gaze snapped to his, and Stone let the truth of his words shine naked in his gaze. Christian looked away hastily, but a hint of color climbed his cheeks.
Rattled himself, Stone moved back out to the center of the stage. “Who wants this hunk o’ burning love? I promise you a dance you’ll never forget.”
A new voice called out from a dark corner near the front of the room. “Fifty thousand dollars.”
A hush fell across the crowd. Stone looked out over the turned heads and was stunned to see an elderly woman with snow-white hair holding her hand up. Christian gasped. Stone looked back and forth between the woman and Christian, who were staring at each other fixedly. What was he missing?
The auctioneer quickly dropped the gavel, and Stone jogged down the stage steps toward the winner. He couldn’t wait to find out who she was and why she’d made Christian go pale.
He arrived at the table and bowed gallantly over the woman’s hand, kissing it. “Shall we dance?” he asked.
“I’d rather go for a walk.”
“Your wish is my command. You have me at a disadvantage, though. I don’t know your name, darlin’.” He helped her up from her seat and offered her his arm.
She took it, chuckling a little. “Oh, you’re good. I’m Marielle Chatsworth.”
“Chatsworth? As in Christian Chatsworth-Brandeis?” he blurted.
“He’s my grandson.”
“Then it’s doubly a pleasure to meet you. He’s an extraordinary man. Tremendous at his job.”
“Indeed. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well…. Jack.”
His gaze locked on hers. Definite humor laced her voice when she said his name. He led her away from the auction a little ways to a sprawling fountain feature that dominated one side of the plaza.
“Who are you?” she asked curiously.
Alarm tightened his gut. “I beg your pardon?”
She leaned close and murmured conspiratorially, “I know my grandson, and he despises Jack Lacey. But a few minutes ago, he looked at you like you’re practically the second coming of Christ. The resemblance really is striking, but you do look at least ten years younger than the senator, even after the nip-and-tuck I heard he had last year.”
“Florida’s relaxing. High humidity. New moisture regimen…,” he mumbled lamely.
She laughed gaily and patted his arm. “Save it for someone who’ll believe you.”
“What gave me away?” he asked low.
“Christian. Had he not looked at you like that, I’d have had no idea.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“It depends on why you’re impersonating Jack Lacey.”
Crap. “There’s a security threat,” he explained evasively. “I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to anyone about our little switcheroo. We’re hoping to draw out the individual and apprehend him or her.”
“Your secret’s safe with me, young man. On one condition.”
“Which is?”
“Tell me your intentions toward my grandson are honorable.”
He stopped walking and turned to face her. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m going to take it amiss if you break his heart.”
Stone started. “Mrs. Chatsworth, I don’t understand—”
“Yes, you do. Christian was a good boy. He has become an exceptional man. His parents have not been kind to him over the years, and he deserves better. Don’t you hurt him.”
Her words were a dagger to his gut. Hell, he’d already hurt Christian by forcing him out of his comfort zone and pressing him mercilessly to give up control in the relationship. Shit. He’d insisted on everything being a one-way road where he called all the shots. He’d already run roughshod over the guy. What an asshole he’d been.
His attention jerked back to his companion. He said soberly, “Christian is a remarkable man. I’m lucky to know him. I can’t promise what will happen over the long term, but I can promise you that I will always respect him.”
She looked at him keenly and then nodded. “Fair enough. We have a deal.”
Stone commented ruefully, “I see where he gets his negotiating skills from.”
“Never underestimate a Chatsworth, Jack. Or whatever your name is.”
“Stone. Stone Jackson. And thank you for rescuing me from the barracudas.”
She smiled up at him. “They aren’t exactly your type, now are they?”
Damn, this woman was perceptive. She must be where Christian got his mad skills at reading people.
“It’s nice to meet you, Stone Jackson. And good luck.”
Although with what, he wasn’t exactly sure.