The Bodyguard’s Promise
Carla Cassidy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

About The Author

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Copyright

Carla Cassidy is an award-winning author who has written over fifty books. Carla believes the only thing better than curling up with a good book to read is sitting down at the computer with a good story to write. She’s looking forward to writing many more books and bringing hours of pleasure to readers.

Chapter 1

“Ms. Bryant will be with you momentarily.” The uniformed maid smiled then closed the door, leaving Clay West alone in a living room the size of a small country.

White. White carpeting, white walls and white furniture. Clay wasn’t sure if it was the lack of color that hurt his eyes or the fact that he was coming off a two-week job in Las Vegas, a city where nights and days blurred together without distinction.

He jammed his hands into his jeans’ pockets and shifted from one foot to the other as he waited for somebody to join him. He’d been hoping that he’d go from Las Vegas back to his home in Cotter Creek, Oklahoma, for a little rest and relaxation.

He’d been at the airport heading home when he’d gotten the call from his eldest brother, Tanner. Tanner had been short on details, telling him only that he needed to go to the Bryant mansion in Hollywood Hills, that Gracie Bryant, the movie star, was in need of a bodyguard. Gracie’s agent had arranged for the protection.

Clay had no idea who Gracie Bryant was or what kind of movies she starred in. He didn’t follow the Hollywood scene and the last movie he’d seen had starred a beautiful princess and seven little dwarves. As he recalled he’d made himself sick on candy and popcorn.

He released a weary sigh and moved toward the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows across the back wall of the room and glanced outside.

An Olympic-size pool was just beyond a lush flower garden and a Greek-style gazebo rose up in stately elegance. A tennis court lay just beyond the pool. This private residence had more amenities than the Cotter Creek Community Center. Apparently whoever Gracie Bryant was, she was successful.

He just hoped this case was more pleasant than his most recent, playing bodyguard to an eccentric, obnoxious high roller who thought showering might change his luck. The guy had been a pig and Clay had been grateful that morning when the gig had come to an end.

He turned away from the window, suddenly aware of the sound of a feminine voice drifting in from an adjoining room. He didn’t pretend to ignore it, but rather moved several steps closer to the doorway. The best way to be efficient in this kind of a position was to know anything and everything that was going on in the house.

“Charlie, I told you it wasn’t necessary.” The voice was deep and smoky, but held more than a touch of impatience. “I told you that you were overreacting. Trust me, I’m not happy about this. You should have okayed it with me before you hired anyone.”

Clay wasn’t sure why, but he had a vision of a middleaged woman in a severe business suit, a real ball-buster type who had probably never been married and was in charge of running this mansion like a well-oiled piece of machinery.

“You should have told me sooner what you’d done,” the voice continued. “He’s here now. All right, I’ll do it your way, but mama’s not happy and you know the old saying.”

Clay tensed. It was obvious she’d been talking about him and just as obvious she wasn’t pleased he was here. That didn’t matter. Clay wasn’t here to make anyone happy. He’d been hired to keep somebody safe from harm and that’s exactly what he intended to do.

The woman who swept from the adjoining room wasn’t middle-aged, nor was she dressed in a business suit. She was clad in a turquoise bikini with a filmy matching coverup that fell just short of her knees.

Her blond hair was caught at the nape of her neck in a little ponytail thingie and she held a cell phone in her slender fingers.

Gracie Bryant? The woman definitely looked like a movie star. He couldn’t help the faint burst of pure lust that kicked him in the pit of his stomach. Even though he never mixed business with pleasure, he’d have to be dead not to appreciate her physical beauty.

He tried not to notice her full breasts and long, shapely legs that were visible through the see-through material of the cover-up, but hell, he was male and it had been a long time since he’d had a chance to indulge in any kind of a relationship.

Her eyes perfectly matched the blue of her swimsuit, but as her gaze met his, he saw a flash of barely suppressed annoyance. She had to have known he’d heard her end of the conversation, but she made no apology or any other indication that she cared that he had heard.

“Mr. West, I presume?” She held out her hand.

“Clay West,” he said. Her long fingers were cool, her handshake firm, and he had a feeling this was a woman who was accustomed to getting her own way.

“I’m Libby Bryant.” She gestured him toward one of the white sofas. “Please sit. May I get you something to drink?” She headed for the full wet bar in one corner of the spacious room.

“No, thanks. I’m fine.” Gingerly, Clay sat on the edge of the sofa, hoping he didn’t have anything on the seat of his jeans that might stain the white fabric.

“If I’d known you were coming I would have sent a car to pick you up,” she said, and splashed a healthy amount of orange juice into the bottom of a glass.

“A taxi got me here just fine.”

Her cell phone rang a musical tune and a tight apologetic smile lifted her lips as she opened it to answer. The smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, which remained cool and distant.

“Hello?” The frown that cut across her forehead did nothing to detract from her attractiveness. “No. I told you no before and I’m telling you no again. I decide what she’ll do and what she won’t do, and until they’re willing to come up with more money, the answer will remain no.” She closed the phone and set it on the marble-topped counter of the bar.

“Sorry about that,” she said as she rejoined Clay, her orange juice in hand as she sat on the opposite end of the sofa. “I understand you just flew in from Las Vegas.”

Clay nodded.

She leaned back against the white cushion, her gaze meeting his with a hint of belligerence. “I have to tell you, Clay, this whole thing wasn’t my idea. Gracie’s agent, Charles Wheeler set it into motion.” Those gorgeous eyes of hers flickered over him in assessment. “Are you good at what you do?”

“Very.”

She nodded, as if satisfied. “Charlie didn’t want to use anyone local. Things are going well and we can’t afford any troubling publicity. He told me he worked with your father years ago and remembered he’d left Hollywood and started up some sort of bodyguard business.”

“Wild West Protective Services,” Clay said. Clay knew his father had come to Hollywood as a young man and had done some stunt work in several films. It was only when Red West had met and married Clay’s mother that he’d decided to move back to Oklahoma to start a family and the bodyguard business.

The cell phone rang and she leaped up to retrieve it from the bar, once again flashing Clay an apologetic but tense smile.

“Tell them she’s worth ten times that.” Her blue eyes flashed with cold calculation. “Listen, Charlie, don’t bother me again with this penny-ante stuff. Until you have a reasonable offer, don’t waste your time or mine.” This time she carried the phone with her and dropped it on the coffee table before sitting once again across from Clay.

“I’m sorry for the interruptions. We’re in the process of fielding several offers and things always get tense during negotiations.”

“Look, I’m functioning at a disadvantage here,” Clay said. “I’m not sure why you need our services. When my brother called me to come out here, he didn’t give me any details.”

“To be perfectly honest, I think we’re overreacting to the whole situation. This sort of thing happens all the time in this industry and nobody gets too excited, but Charlie, Gracie’s agent, decided it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Libby took a sip of her orange juice and Clay tamped down a growing edge of impatience. He was tired and getting cranky, and he just wanted to know the details of this assignment. He didn’t care about negotiations and big deals.

“What situation, Ms. Bryant?”

“Please, make it Libby.” She set her empty glass on the coffee table and stood. She began to pace in front of where Clay sat, moving with sleek, sinewy movements. “Since her last movie, Gracie is on a roll. She’s suddenly a hot commodity. We’re in the process of finishing her latest movie, there’s a couple of commercials to be shot in the next couple of weeks and there’s even talk of some endorsement deals.”

He suspected Libby was a relative of the successful starlet, maybe a sister serving as a business manager? If Gracie Bryant looked anything like Libby, then she was the epitome of Hollywood’s standard of perfect, heart-stopping blond bombshell.

“Anyway,” she continued. “At first the letters that came were like the usual fan letters, but in the last couple of weeks they’ve gotten weird and ugly. I told Charlie that this kind of thing is to be expected with anyone in the public eye, but he insisted better safe than sorry.”

So, it would seem that they were dealing with some troubling fan mail and nothing more, he thought. “Have you contacted the local authorities?”

Libby stopped her pacing and Clay breathed a sigh of relief. Watching her, with her long legs and full breasts, walking back and forth in front of him, had been distracting, to say the least.

“Yes. They gave us the usual spiel about being overworked and underpaid. The officer made a report then asked for an autographed photo. I’ve hired a private investigator to try to find out the source of the letters. What I’d like from you is simply to pretend to be Gracie’s friend and keep an eye on her, assure her safety until the investigator gets to the bottom of things.”

Clay had a feeling this particular assignment was going to be a piece of cake. If the only thing they were dealing with was a bunch of letters written by an unhinged fan, the odds were in their favor that nothing dangerous would come of it.

“I guess the next step is for me to meet Gracie, then I’ll need to see the letters,” Clay said.

She nodded. “I’ll go get Gracie and I’ll have her secretary gather up all the letters we’ve received to date.”

As she left the room Clay stood and breathed a deep sigh of relief. She might not be middle-aged but he had the definite feeling she could be a ball-buster and it was obvious she wasn’t particularly pleased he was here. Her problem, not his.

He walked to the window once again and saw a gardener clipping bushes around the fancy gazebo. The area surrounding the house was no less impressive than the house itself. When the taxi had pulled up in front of the security gates Clay had thought the place was a hotel or a museum rather than a private residence.

Palm trees swayed in a faint breeze and near the house several hydrangea bushes exploded in shades of blue and purple.

People didn’t live like this in Cotter Creek, Oklahoma. A fierce longing for home filled him. Clay’s father’s large rambling ranch house was always filled with people. Right about now Smokey, the cook and housekeeper, would be in the kitchen, bustling around to fix the evening meal. Clay’s dad would probably be in the garden and at any given time his brothers, sister and his sister-in-law would wander in for a cup of coffee and some chatter.

It had been ages since Clay had spent any real time at home. For the last couple of months, business had boomed and he’d gone from one job to the next without any real downtime in between. There had been no time for women or fun or anything but work.

Hopefully, the investigator who had been hired would discover that the author of the disturbing letters was a housebound, ninety-year-old man who was incapable of following through on any threat he might have penned. And hopefully the investigator would come to that conclusion quickly so that Clay could get home.

“Gracie will be right down,” Libby said as she returned to the room. She picked up her glass from the coffee table and went back to the bar. “Sure I can’t get you something?” she asked.

“No thanks, I’m fine.” He turned his gaze to the door as he heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

A little girl appeared in the doorway. Clay guessed her age to be between seven and eight and she looked like a little fairy princess. Long blond hair framed a heart-shaped face and lively blue eyes gazed at him with friendly curiosity.

There were three things in life Clay wasn’t particularly fond of: snakes, storms and children. He smiled politely as the little girl approached where he sat.

“Hello,” she said, and smiled prettily. “My name is Gracie, what’s your name?”

Gracie? His heart dropped to his feet. This baby girl was Gracie? She was his next assignment? Oh, hell no! No way. He’d call Tanner and get somebody else out here to do this job. This definitely wasn’t for him.

“This is Bunny,” the little girl said, and for the first time Clay noticed she clutched a raggedy stuffed pink bunny in one arm. “She’s my friend.”

“She looks like a nice friend,” Clay replied. He couldn’t wait to get a minute alone to call his brother. He’d never worked with a kid before. Hell, he’d never even spent any time around a kid.

It wasn’t that he hated kids, he just hadn’t ever given them much thought. He had no nieces or nephews, no children at all in his world.

“My mommy says you’re going to be my new friend and you never told me your name.” She scooted next to Clay onto the sofa and gazed up at him with eyes the color of the Oklahoma sky. It was instantly clear to Clay what the connection was between Libby and Gracie. Gracie was a miniature carbon copy of Libby.

“Clay. My name is Clay.”

“I like that name,” she replied. As the little girl once again smiled up at him, Clay felt a sinking feeling in his heart. He wasn’t going to call his brother and get another assignment. If somebody was threatening this baby girl with her innocent eyes and pretty little smile, then he was right where he needed to be. Guarding Gracie had just become his new mission.

Clay West was nothing like what she’d expected. When Charlie had mentioned hiring somebody to keep an eye on Gracie, Libby had assumed it would be another Hollywood type, slick and polished to blend into any social situation.

He definitely wasn’t a Hollywood type. Although many men in Hollywood wore jeans, they wore designer brands coupled with expensive shirts, and always looked as if they were a little uncomfortable in the casual clothes.

This man, this cowboy from Oklahoma, wore his jeans as if he’d been born in them. They fit his lean, long legs as if especially made by the best tailor money could buy. His dress shirt, while adequate, strained across broad shoulders she suspected had come through hard work rather than hours in a gym. Dusty cowboy boots rode his feet, boots she thought probably weren’t strangers to mud or manure.

But it wasn’t his dress that disturbed her. And it wasn’t that his hair was dark as night and on the wrong side of a haircut. It was his eyes that bothered her, beautiful green eyes that held a whisper of arrogance, a touch of aloofness and a hint of judgment that made her both wary and defensive.

The living room was huge, but something about his presence made the walls close in. As long as he remembered who was working for whom, they would get along just fine, she thought.

“Mommy, is Mr. Clay a director?” Gracie asked.

Libby smiled at her daughter, her heart expanding with love. “No, sweetie. He’s just a friend who’s going to be staying with us for a little while.”

“That would be nice,” Gracie replied.

A young dark-haired woman flew into the room and stopped abruptly at the sight of them all. “Ah, there you are,” she said to Gracie. She smiled at Libby. “Ms. Lillian has arrived for her voice lesson.”

“Thank you, Molly.” Libby directed her attention to her daughter. “You’d better run along, Gracie. We don’t like to keep Ms. Lillian waiting. Besides, Clay and I have some grown-up things to discuss.”

“’Bye, Mr. Clay. I’ll see you later.” Gracie got up from the sofa and ran toward Molly. Before they left the room, she turned to look at Clay once again. “Maybe after dinner tonight we could play Barbies.”

Libby might have laughed at the frantic look on his face if she wasn’t so concerned with exactly how she was going to deal with the whole situation.

She believed that Charlie had jumped the gun. He had just become Gracie’s agent three months ago and Libby suspected he was simply trying to prove his worth.

“I promise you playing with dolls will not be part of your duties,” she said once Gracie had left the room.

“Thanks. I don’t usually work with kids.” He rose from the sofa, looking a bit impatient.

She frowned. “This isn’t going to be a problem, is it? I mean, you don’t hate kids or anything like that?”

“To be perfectly honest, I’ve never thought much about kids. But, no, it won’t be a problem.” He said the words with a decisive firmness and she wondered if he was trying to assure himself or her.

“Good, because my number-one priority is my daughter. Her well-being and happiness is all that matters to me.” She thought she saw a flicker of some doubt in his eyes, but it was there only a moment then disappeared.

“For as long as I’m here, we share that common goal.”

“Good. Now why don’t I show you to your room, then we can meet in the sunroom and I’ll show you the letters that prompted Charlie into hiring you.”

“Sounds good.”

He was apparently a man of few words, she thought as she led him through the foyer where he picked up a suitcase he’d apparently brought with him. She thought about telling him that she could have somebody carry it up for him, but she had a feeling he was a man who was comfortable doing for himself.

She led him up the wide, sweeping stairway that led to the second level where the bedrooms were located. She wished she was dressed more appropriately, but she’d been in the pool only a few minutes before he’d arrived and hadn’t had a chance to make it upstairs to change.

“Nice place,” he said from behind her.

“Thank you.” It was a beautiful house that radiated success and money in a town that revered both. They’d only moved in six months ago so it had yet to really feel like home.

She led him into the bedroom where she’d decided he’d stay for the duration of his job. “This will be your room,” she said as they entered the large room decorated in various shades of blue. “Gracie’s room is right next door.”

He dropped his suitcase on the floor. “I’d like to see her room.”

Gracie’s room was the second largest in the house, only slightly smaller than the master suite where Libby slept. Gracie’s bedroom looked as though it belonged to a fairy princess. It was all pink and ruffles, and filled with toys that rarely got played with because Gracie would rather be acting than anything else in the world.

Libby stood in the doorway and watched while Clay walked around the room, his brow wrinkled in thought. The man had shoulders that looked as if they could carry the weight of the world. His tanned face was all taut lines and angles. In a town where handsome men were a dime a dozen, Clay West made most of them look mediocre.

He touched nothing, but seemed to be memorizing everything in the room. There was a calm steadiness to his movements. He lingered for a long moment at the bank of windows, checking the locks, then gazing outside.

“Why don’t I let you get settled in and I’ll meet you in the sunroom with the letters in about half an hour,” she suggested.

He turned and looked at her, his green eyes direct and intensely focused. “My suitcase is in my room. I’m settled. Why don’t we make it ten minutes?” Although his deep voice remained pleasant there was an underlying edge of steel to it.

She thought about holding her ground, then shrugged. “Fine. The sunroom is just off the living room. I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”

She hurried toward her bedroom at the end of the hallway. There was no way she was meeting him without first getting out of the swimsuit and into something more appropriate.

As she changed clothes, she wondered how long he’d be in her home, in their lives. She wasn’t at all sure she liked him, although he was definitely easy on the eyes.

Of course, Libby hadn’t met a man she liked in a long time. She’d once thought herself in love with Gracie’s father, but she’d been young and foolish and so eager to get out of her parents’ house.

It hadn’t taken her long to recognize that he was just another person in her life who hadn’t understood her drive and ambition.

Libby had been pregnant when he’d disappeared from her life, telling her he was too young to be a husband, too young to be a father. She’d waited until Gracie was three months old, then had packed her bags and moved to California.

By the time Gracie was two, Libby had committed herself to seeing that Gracie had all the opportunities, all the avenues to reach her dreams that Libby hadn’t had.

Yes, the handsome cowboy might be easy on the eyes, but there was something about him that set her on edge. She hoped that once he read the letters Gracie had received, he’d come to the same conclusion that she had; that there was no clear danger and Charlie had overreacted.

If that happened, then Clay West would go home and leave Libby alone, as she’d been for most of her life and planned to remain.

Chapter 2

Clay glanced at his watch as he headed back down the stairs in search of the sunroom. Five-fifteen. His stomach rumbled and he wondered when he’d get an opportunity to eat something. It had been a long time since he’d had breakfast and there had been no time for lunch.

She’d said the sunroom was off the living room, but before going there he wandered around to get a feel for the lay of the house. As he walked the lower floor, once again he was surprised by the opulence, the luxury of the place.

Little Gracie Bryant must be doing quite well. He wondered how many people she was supporting at the tender age of eight. He’d heard the horror stories of these poor kids who supported family and staff at an age when their only worry should be that rain might keep their play indoors instead of outside.

Not my business, he reminded himself. He was here to do a job, not to make judgments about the lifestyle of the rich and famous.

He stepped into a glass-enclosed room with white rattan furniture and a plethora of plants. Surely this was the sunroom. He sat on one of the chairs at a glass-topped table and glanced at his watch once again. It had taken him six minutes to get to this room. She should be here at any minute.

Leaning back in the chair, he cast his gaze outside onto the lush lawn and gardens. This would be a peaceful place to sit and ponder. As he waited, what he found himself pondering was Libby Bryant.

The woman was hot to look at, but he’d sensed a cold core inside her. She was probably going to be a bitch to work with, but he’d survive the ordeal.

Clay was accustomed to dysfunctional people. In his line of work as a bodyguard he’d pretty much seen it all. He’d seen the best and worst that the human race had to offer. Nothing Libby Bryant could do would surprise him.

He glanced at his watch again and frowned. It had been twelve minutes since they’d agreed to meet in ten. At that moment, he heard footsteps approaching. But it wasn’t Libby, rather it was a uniformed maid.

She smiled, a cool, professional gesture. “Ms. Libby wondered if you’d like something cold to drink while you wait for her.”

“A glass of iced tea would be nice,” he replied, wondering how long Ms. Libby intended to keep him waiting.

The maid nodded and disappeared, only to return a moment later with a tall glass of tea and several wedges of lemon. “Would you care for anything else, Mr. West?” she asked.

Yes, I’d like you to tell Ms. Libby to get her ass down here. “No thanks, I’m fine,” he replied.

The maid left him alone and he took a sip of the tea, frowning once again. There was nothing Clay hated more than to be kept waiting. He believed in punctuality and thought tardiness to be the height of rudeness.

In Libby Bryant’s case, he had a feeling it might be a control issue. By being late she was subtly maintaining control of him and the situation. Definitely a ball-buster, he thought.

Ten minutes later she entered the sunroom. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” she said, although no apology rang in her tone. “I had to chase down Maddie Walker, Gracie’s secretary, to get the letters from her.”

She’d changed clothes. Gone was the bathing suit and cover-up, replaced by navy slacks and a navy- and royal-blue blouse that intensified the color of her eyes. Her hair was loose, falling below her shoulders in shiny waves. Instead of smelling like chlorine and coconuts, the fragrance that wafted from her smelled expensive.

She sat in the chair opposite him and stared down at the bundle of letters she clutched in her hands. “These are copies of the letters. I gave the originals to the private investigator I hired. I’m hoping you’ll read these and realize that Gracie’s agent has overreacted and there is no danger.” When she looked up at him there was absolutely no emotion shining from her eyes.

She pushed the letters across the table toward him, then leaned back and stared out the window over his shoulder. “How many people handled the originals?” he asked.

Her gaze shot to him and a little frown marred the flawless skin of her brow. “I don’t know. The mail carrier, Gracie’s secretary, her agent, me…” Her voice trailed off.

With all those people handling the letters, it was doubtful that the investigator could lift any usable prints. He reached for the first envelope and noted the post date: May 15th. Almost two months ago.

He pulled out the letter and quickly scanned it.

Dear Gracie,

I think you should get out of show business. You think you’re cute, but you’re not. You think you’re a little princess, but you’re nothing. You might fool some people but you don’t fool me. You’re a talentless piece of nothing.

It was signed, “Not A Fan.”

There’d been a total of eight letters sent over the course of the past two months. What concerned Clay was that each seemed to be an escalation of emotion, culminating in the last letter.

Dear Gracie,

Why don’t you just die, you little bitch?

It wasn’t just the words, a growing anger showed in the handwriting itself. The first letter was neatly written in block letters. The last letter was still in block letters but sloppy and the pen pressed so hard in places it appeared from the copy as if the paper had ripped.

Rage.

He looked at Libby. “I don’t think Gracie’s agent overreacted. If Gracie were my daughter, I’d be more than a little concerned about these letters.”

She held his gaze for a long moment and in the depth of her eyes he saw a flicker of emotion for the first time. An edge of fear. A whisper of vulnerability. So, the woman had an Achilles’ heel, and it was her daughter, apparently.

She swept a hand through her hair, causing it to ripple across her shoulder. “So what do we do now?” she asked, then cleared her throat as if swallowing a lump.

“We keep your daughter safe,” he replied. For the first time since he’d arrived he felt as if he had her full, undivided attention. “What I’ll need from you is Gracie’s daily schedule.”

“Done.”

“I also need you to make a list of all the people who surround her.”

She frowned again. “That’s going to be quite a list. Gracie is in the middle of filming a movie. Her schedule is hectic and there’s no way I can list everyone who works on the movie set.”

“Do the best you can,” he replied. “I want teachers, staff, along with everyone she interacts with outside the house. From now until we decide the threat has passed, she won’t go anywhere without me.”

Libby’s frown deepened and she tapped perfectly manicured fingernails on top of the glass table. “This is going to get complicated. We’re in negotiations for her next movie role. It’s important that the press doesn’t get hold of this, that nobody knows we’re worried about Gracie’s safety.”

“Unfortunately there’s no way I can be inconspicuous,” he said. God forbid they screw up Gracie’s next movie deal, he thought with a touch of irritation.

She stopped her finger tapping and leaned back in the chair, her eyes focused once again out the windows. “It’s going to look odd, you hanging out everywhere with Gracie. People will wonder who you are and why you’re hanging around us.”

Clay remained silent, wondering what she was going to come up with to explain his presence. He’d obviously entered a place of illusion, where nothing was as it seemed and appearances were everything.

Her gorgeous blue eyes focused on him once again. “I suppose if anyone asks, we can say you’re my boyfriend.” Her expression held a touch of distaste, as if she found the very idea rather appalling.

He wasn’t too thrilled with the idea, either. She sure as hell wasn’t his type of woman. He didn’t go for the ice princess types. “You’re the boss,” he replied.

“We’ll tell people we met several months ago at a charity function and have been secretly dating ever since.” Her gaze flickered down the length of him. “You’re a wealthy retired rancher, and that’s all anyone needs to know.”

“Won’t your friends wonder why you haven’t mentioned me before to them?”

“This is Hollywood. I don’t have close friends,” she replied.

He had a feeling that the fact that she didn’t have close friends was less about Hollywood and more about the woman herself. She didn’t seem like the type who would give much of herself to anyone. Of course, it was too early for him to form any definite opinions about her.

Her gaze flickered over him once again. “We have a lot going on over the next couple of weeks, events that will require formal dress. I don’t suppose you have a tuxedo in that little suitcase of yours.” There was a tone in her voice that indicated she doubted he’d ever worn a tux, let alone owned one.

“Unfortunately, when I packed my bags my tux was at the cleaner’s,” he said dryly.

“I’ll have Enrique bring some things over for you from his shop. If you’re going to attend the various events with Gracie and me, you need to be dressed appropriately. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the cost.”

The irritation Clay had been fighting since the moment he’d arrived rose up. “That’s not necessary. I can afford to buy my own clothes, even in Hollywood.”

She opened her mouth as if to protest, but must have seen something on his face that made her think twice. “Suit yourself,” she said. “I’ll make the arrangements for sometime tomorrow afternoon with Enrique.”

“Where is Gracie now?” he asked.

“Up on the third floor with her voice teacher. There are several rooms up there, including a place where Gracie has her various lessons and works out with her physical trainer.”

A physical trainer for an eight-year-old? Once again he realized he was in a world unfamiliar to everything he knew.

“If we’re finished here, then I’d like to go up to the third floor and take a look around.”

“All right, and I’ll see to it that you have a schedule of her daily activities and that list of people by the end of the evening.”

She stood, looking as if she’d like nothing better than to escape his presence. “Dinner is served at seven in the dining room. If you need anything else, I’ll be in my office getting together those things for you.”

Clay stood as she left the sunroom, the scent of her perfume lingering in the air. He’d hoped that when he read the letters he’d be able to tell her there was nothing to worry about and he’d be able to leave la-la land and head back home to Cotter Creek.

But the letters had disturbed him. It was possible they were nothing more than the work of a harmless fanatic, but he wasn’t willing to take that chance. He might gamble on other things, but not on a little girl’s life.

He left the sunroom and headed for the stairs to the third floor. He’d thought his gig in Las Vegas had been torturous, but he had a feeling that was nothing compared to playing bodyguard to an eight-year-old and pretend boyfriend to a woman he didn’t even like very much.

It was almost seven when Libby left her bedroom for dinner. She’d spent the past hour getting the things together for Clay and trying not to let thoughts of the man distract her from the job.

Something about him put her on edge as nobody had in a very long time. She’d called Charlie, Gracie’s agent, to find out more about Clay West. What he’d told her had surprised her.

Wild West Protective Services, the family business Clay worked for, was a million-dollar industry owned by Red West, Clay’s father. When Clay had said he could afford to pay for his own clothing, according to Charlie, he wasn’t lying.

Not that she cared about how much money he might have in his bank account. She just wanted him to handle the issue of Gracie’s safety. That’s all she wanted from the tall, handsome cowboy.

She frowned as she thought about having to pretend that he was her current love interest. It certainly wasn’t her ideal scenario, but it would have to do. If anyone knew about the threat against Gracie, it could screw up the negotiations for her next film, among other things.

In this case, any publicity wasn’t better than bad publicity. Any director would say that children were difficult enough to work with without extenuating circumstances.

Gracie met her in the hallway, a bright smile decorating her pretty little face. While Libby had worked in her office, Gracie had been busy, as well. She’d not only had her voice lesson, but that had been followed by a half hour of schoolwork with her tutor.

“I’m starving,” Gracie proclaimed. Clay appeared just behind her. “And Mr. Clay is starving, too.”

“Then I guess we’d better get downstairs and see what’s for dinner,” Libby said. As she walked with Gracie down the stairs, she was acutely conscious of Clay just behind them.

“Mr. Clay said he hoped we weren’t vegetarians,” Gracie continued. “I didn’t know what that meant and he explained it to me. I told him you make me eat vegetables, but we have meat, too.”

They left the stairs and walked into the large dining room where three places were set at one end of the long table. Libby sat where she always did, at the head of the table. Gracie sat on her left and she motioned Clay into the chair at her right.

They had just seated themselves when the cook, Helen Richmond, served the first course. A bowl of soup.

“Helen, this is Clay West. He’s going to be my guest for a while,” Libby said.

Clay nodded at the plump, white-haired woman. “Nice to meet you, Helen.”

She gave him a curt nod, then disappeared into the kitchen. Helen was an ill-tempered beast most of the time, but she had a reputation as one of the best cooks in Hollywood. It had been a real coup when Libby had managed to hire her.

“Mr. Clay has a cook. His name is Smokey,” Gracie said as they began to eat. “Mr. Clay says he’s grouchy.” She smiled at Libby. “Kind of like Ms. Helen, right, Mom?”

“That’s not nice, Gracie,” Libby chided.

Gracie shrugged. “But it’s true.”

Libby couldn’t help biting back a smile. If there was one thing she’d learned about her daughter, it was that Gracie was surprisingly opinionated for her age.

“You have any brothers or sisters, Clay?” she asked. She’d prefer meaningless small talk to silence.

“Four brothers, one sister.”

“I wish I had a sister or a brother,” Gracie said. “Definitely a sister, I’d have to think about a brother. Jennifer’s little brother is a big pain.” She looked at Clay. “Are your brothers big pains?”

He looked at Gracie and a smile curved his lips, the first smile Libby had seen on his face. The attractiveness of it hit her in the pit of the stomach like a small kick.

“Brothers can definitely be big pains, but they can also be the best friends you’ll ever have in your life,” he said.

“My best friend’s name is Kathryn. She’s a girl,” Gracie said. “She’s an actress, too, and I get to see her every day on the set.”

“Is she your age?” Clay asked.

“No, she’s a year older than me. She has a birthday coming up and she’s going to be nine. She thinks she’s much smarter than me because she’ll be nine before I will be.” Gracie released a long-suffering sigh. “She’s kind of a know-it-all, but she’s my best friend anyway.”

At that moment Helen returned to take away the soup dishes and to serve the main course of Swiss steak, baked potato and fresh, steamed asparagus.

Thankfully, Clay offered nothing more personal about himself throughout the course of the meal. Libby didn’t want to know anything personal about him. It was enough that he had a killer smile. It was enough that he bothered her on a level she didn’t quite understand.

Gracie kept up a running monologue throughout the meal, telling Clay all about the movie they were in the middle of shooting, about the other child actors who were in the film and how much fun they had on the set.

Although Clay wasn’t big on conversation, he listened with interest to everything Gracie said and it was apparent that in the few brief hours of the early evening the handsome cowboy and her daughter had begun to form a relationship.

Gracie liked him. It was obvious in her easy chatter, in the way she smiled at him so frequently. Libby wasn’t sure how to feel about it. On the one hand she hated to see her daughter forming any kind of attachment to a man who wouldn’t be long in her life. On the other hand she knew it was important that Gracie trust Clay. Her very life might depend on that trust.

The meal passed without too many awkward silences, thanks to Gracie. After dinner, Libby told Clay he was officially off duty while she attended to Gracie’s bath and bedtime. He disappeared into his bedroom while she and Gracie went into her room so Gracie could take a bath in her mother’s tub, as was her habit.

Half an hour later Gracie swam around in the oversize tub. Libby sat in a chair nearby. “I like Mr. Clay,” Gracie said. She scooped up a handful of bubbles and put them on top of her head, then posed as if doing a commercial shoot for bubble bath.

“I know. I could tell.”

Gracie slid down in the water. “He has nice eyes. They’re real green, like grass.”

Libby had noticed. His eyes were a beautiful shade of green, but she didn’t find them particularly nice. Whenever he gazed at her they were cool and distant and held just the slightest whisper of censure that let her know he didn’t think very much of her.

Not that it bothered her. He didn’t have to like her. That wasn’t his job. And she didn’t have to like him. She could find him pleasant to look at without having to like him. Okay, so pleasant seemed too mild a description for the edgy tension that swept through her whenever she looked at him.

“Tell me your lines for tomorrow’s shoot,” Libby said, hoping to distract her daughter from any more observations about Clay West.

It was eight-thirty when she finally got Gracie tucked into bed and went down to her office for the list and schedule Clay had requested. She’d not only written down the names of the people intimately involved in Gracie’s life but also what they did.

She retrieved the papers, then went back up the stairs and knocked on his bedroom door.

When he pulled open the door, her breath caught in her throat. He had obviously taken the time alone to shower for his dark hair was damp and the scent of minty soap wafted from him.

He was shirtless, his chest a broad expanse of tanned, muscled flesh, and his jeans rode precariously low on his slender hips.

Male. The man was so intensely male. God, it had been a long time since she’d enjoyed any kind of a physical relationship with a man. She had an insane impulse to reach out and touch his chest, to thread her fingers through the dark tuft of hair that sprang up in the center.

“Yes?” For just a brief moment his eyes flickered with a hint of amusement, as if he could read her thoughts.

A flash of annoyance shot through her. “I have those things you asked for.” She thrust the papers toward him.

He scanned the first sheet quickly, then looked back at her. “I think we need to go over some of this together. In case I have questions or need clarification. Is now convenient?”

Only if you put on a shirt, she thought. “Why don’t we meet in my office in a few minutes and go over things?”

“Fine. I’ll see you in a few.”

Before going back downstairs, Libby went into Gracie’s room to check on her daughter. For a long moment she stood at the side of Gracie’s bed, watching her daughter in slumber.

Here was the reason Libby didn’t have any personal relationships. Gracie had a dream, a dream like the one Libby had once had.

In Libby’s case nobody had helped nurture that dream, but had rather tried to squash it out of her. Her aspirations for herself had been met with not only a lack of support but also a cold censure that had forever broken a piece of Libby’s heart.

Like Libby, her daughter had expressed the desire to be in movies, to act. Gracie loved it. Libby had made the decision to forget her own career and become Gracie’s biggest support, to nourish her dream in every way possible as nobody had ever done for her.

She leaned down and pressed her lips against Gracie’s soft cheek, then turned and left her bedroom. As she headed downstairs to her office, she thought about the handsome stranger who had been brought into their lives.

She couldn’t help but admit that something about him was more physically appealing to her than any man had been for a very long time. On screen, it would be called chemistry; off screen, it was just irritating.

If there was any one place in the house where she felt most at home it was in her office just off the living room. The office was large and held not only her beautiful mahogany desk, but also a tasteful burgundy-and-gold love seat and a coffee table.

The walls were covered with framed photos. Some of them were of her when she’d first come to Hollywood and had worked as a model/actress. Others were of both her and Gracie from a shoot they’d done together for baby food, and the rest were of Gracie. They were a pictorial history of their work here in Hollywood that told a story of success.

Whenever Libby wasn’t with Gracie she could usually be found here in the office. From her chair at the desk she not only planned and negotiated Gracie’s next career move, but also kept detailed financial records and sifted through the social invitations to decide which events she and her daughter would and wouldn’t attend.

As she waited for Clay to join her, she tackled a stack of invitations that Maddie Walker, their secretary, had placed on her desk at some point during the day.

They were the usual mixed bag: dinner invitations, several charity events and a surprise birthday party for a director who had worked with Libby on her first film. That picture had been filmed years ago when Gracie was a baby and Libby had been focused on her own career rather than her daughter’s.

She tensed as she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He came into the room, bigger than life and, thankfully, wearing a shirt. He carried the papers she’d given him and for a long moment he stood in the doorway of the room and gazed at the photos on the wall.

“You were an actress?” he finally asked.

She noded. “I came to Hollywood when Gracie was three months old. For the first two years of her life I did some modeling and acting.” She started to explain to him why she’d stopped working and how Gracie had been discovered, but then realized it was nothing he needed to know.

“Interesting,” he said. When he sat on the love seat he significantly dwarfed the overstuffed piece of furniture.

“Did you have a chance to look over the things I gave you?” she asked, wanting to get this little meeting over with as soon as possible.

“Very briefly. I notice that Gracie’s schedule is pretty hectic.” There was a hint of disapproval evident in his voice.

“Gracie loves what she’s doing and she manages the schedule just fine,” she replied coolly. How could a smalltown cowboy have any idea about the choices she’d made for her daughter, the choices Gracie made for herself?

“What about her father? You don’t have him listed anywhere. Where is he?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” she replied.

“So he’s not a presence in her life?”

She fought back a bitter laugh. “He wasn’t even a presence in the pregnancy.”

His green eyes narrowed in thought. “No chance he could be the one sending the letters? That maybe he disapproves of how Gracie is being raised.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the way Gracie is being raised,” she replied defensively. “But no, I can’t imagine Raymond sending those letters. If he were going to contact us at all it would probably be for money, not because of some long overdue fatherly concern.”

Even after all these years, just thinking about Raymond Willows caused a hard knot of anger and hurt to form in the center of her chest.

He’d been the one man she’d trusted, the one man who had said all the right things at a time when she’d desperately needed to hear them. And they’d been the empty promises of a young man who’d wanted nothing more than to get into her panties.

She dismissed thoughts of the past. The day she had packed her bags and left Middle Creek, Pennsylvania, she’d made a conscious decision to never look back.

“What about boyfriends or lovers of yours? I see you have none listed.”

She wasn’t sure why, but the heat of a blush warmed her cheeks. “That’s because at the current time there are none.”

His gaze held hers intently. “No close friends, no boyfriends or lovers. Sounds pretty lonely to me.”

“On the contrary, my life is too full for loneliness. Now, are there any other questions you have concerning the schedule or the list of people?”

He glanced back at the papers in his hand. “No, I guess that’s it for now, although I’m sure I’ll have plenty of other questions in the future.”

She picked up a small notepad that was next to the computer mouse and ripped off the top page. “Here is the code number and word for the house security system. And now we’re finished here,” she replied, hoping he’d take her words as a dismissal.

“Not quite.” He placed the papers on the love seat next to him and leaned back, looking every inch as if he belonged. “Now we need to talk about us.”

Chapter 3

“Us?” Her big blue eyes widened in alarm. “What do you mean? There’s no us to discuss.”

“But there is,” he countered. “I mean, if I’m going to play the role of your latest boy-toy, then I think we need to get our stories straight.”

Again her features settled into the cool, ice princess look. “First of all, at thirty you’re far too old to be considered a boy-toy and at twenty-six years old I’m far too young to have a boy-toy.”

She’d apparently done some checking into his background to know his age. Twenty-six. Clay did a quick calculation in his head. So, she’d been eighteen when she’d had Gracie. He’d known she was young despite the fact that she had the self-confidence and cool presence of somebody older.

“A has-been at thirty,” he said dryly.

“Welcome to Hollywood,” she replied, equally as dry. “It’s the land of perpetual youth and make-believe.”

“If I’m going to be part of your make-believe world, then you have to give me some sort of script to follow. You mentioned earlier that we’d tell people we met at a charity function and we’ve been seeing each other ever since. But, the devil is in the details. Specifically, what kind of function was it and when exactly did it take place?”

She frowned and flipped through the pages of a calendar on her desktop. “It was a dinner for the advancement and research of childhood diseases and we attended it in the middle of June.”

“And one month later we’re living together?” He crooked an eyebrow upward.

A tight smile curved her lips. “In Hollywood a month is an eternity when it comes to personal relationships. In any case, that’s all anyone needs to know when it comes to you and me. I’m not given to sharing the personal details of my life with anyone.”

Why didn’t that surprise him? Something about her bugged him and he was rarely bugged by anyone. It intrigued him. She intrigued him. Her coolness, the slight edge of brittle defensiveness he felt emanating from her and the wall he sensed she kept erected between herself and anyone else definitely fascinated him.

He stood, deciding that it was time to call it a night. He was beyond exhausted and that was probably why she was getting to him in a way he didn’t quite understand.

She stood, as well. “It’s vital to me that nobody suspect that you’re anything but my boyfriend,” she said as they started to leave the office together.

As she stepped in front of him to exit the room first, he placed his hand at the small of her back. She stiffened, as if she found his touch abhorrent.

“I thought you said you’d been an actress. You’re going to have to be a better actress than that,” he said from behind her. “If you want people to think we’re a couple, then you’d better not tense up whenever I happen to touch you.”

She whirled around, a spark of anger flashing in her eyes. To his stunned surprise she coiled an arm around his neck, the anger instantly doused as she gazed lovingly into his eyes. “Don’t worry about my acting skills, darling.” She trailed a finger down the side of his face, a cool touch that shot an unexpected heat through his body. “That’s one thing I do very well.”

As quickly as she turned it on, she shut it off. She stepped away from him, the flash of anger back in her eyes. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She twirled on her heels and left him standing there.

Clay expelled an unsteady breath. She was lethal and he’d have to remember that she was good, very good. Good enough to have just earned herself a freaking Academy Award nomination for her little performance.

As he headed up the stairs to the bedroom he would call home for the duration of his stay, he wondered why she wasn’t working anymore. Had it just become easier to rest on her daughter’s laurels than to work herself?

Certainly, Gracie’s talent seemed to be paying off bigtime. He frowned as he thought of the little girl’s schedule. Work, school, voice and dance lessons, drama coaches and trainers, every minute of every day was filled, with no time for her to just be a kid. It seemed like a heavy load for an eight-year-old to carry just so the adults in her life could live in the lap of luxury.

Before entering his bedroom, he stepped quietly into Gracie’s room. While she’d been with her mother preparing for bedtime, Clay had acquainted himself with the house security and had double-checked the windows in the little girl’s room to make certain they were locked.

The grounds were surrounded by a high concrete wall and the home security system was one of the best he’d ever seen. He felt fairly confident that while Gracie was inside the house she’d be safe.

He’d also learned from one of the maids that the only staff who stayed overnight in the house was Helen, the cook, who had a small suite of rooms just off the kitchen. The rest of the staff either had their own homes or stayed in staff quarters located in a building at the back of the property. So, he wasn’t too concerned with a threat to Gracie coming from within the house itself. Unless Helen hid some maniac tendencies that weren’t immediately apparent. He grinned at the very thought. She might be cantankerous, but he doubted she was murderous.

He left Gracie’s room, his glance shooting down the hallway toward Libby’s bedroom door, which was closed. For just a moment his body remembered the heat of hers as she’d leaned into him and the sweet curve of her lips as she’d feigned affection for him.

Ms. Libby Byrant was some piece of work. He had a feeling she was not just cold, but capable of manipulation and subterfuge to gain a means to an end. But, damn, she was pretty.

He dismissed thoughts of Libby as he went into his bedroom. It took him only minutes to strip down to his boxers and get into bed.

Exhaustion tugged on every muscle. He’d been on a whirlwind of work for the past six months. Before Las Vegas had been Dallas and before Dallas had been a job in Miami. Job after job, city after city blurred together in his mind.

When this particular job was over he was looking forward to some downtime at home in Cotter Creek. Hell, he hadn’t even met his brother Tanner’s new wife yet and they’d been married for two months. In a couple of weeks his brother Zack was getting married to Katie Sampson, the young woman from a neighboring ranch.

Maybe he’d be home by then and able to attend the wedding. As his thoughts turned to home and family, he found himself thinking of his mother, Elizabeth.

From what Clay’s father had told him about his mother, Hollywood had been her town. She’d been a fast-rising star before she’d fallen in love with Clay’s father, Red. The two had met when Red had been working as a stuntman on one of Elizabeth’s movies.

Elizabeth had left Hollywood and her career behind to move with Red to Cotter Creek, Oklahoma, where the two had made a home and begun their family. Clay’s oldest brother, Tanner, had been ten when Elizabeth had been killed and Joshua, the youngest sibling, had only been a baby.

She’d gone to town for groceries one evening and when she hadn’t returned by the time Red thought she should have, he’d gone looking for her. He’d found her body next to her car on the country road between Cotter Creek proper and the West ranch. She’d been raped and strangled.

Her purse was still in the car, money tucked into the wallet, negating the thought that it might have been a robbery. The murder had never been solved.

Clay had always wondered if somehow her past had come back to haunt her, if some deranged, obsessed fan had found her eleven years after she’d left Hollywood and had killed her. Certainly it had happened before. There were lots of stories of stalking, maiming and murdering of stars by fans.

His last conscious thought before sleep claimed him was that it was his job to make certain that little Gracie Bryant didn’t become one of those tragic Hollywood stories that filled the tabloid papers.

He awakened before dawn, as was his custom. By the time he showered and dressed for the day, splashes of the sunrise filled the eastern skies.

According to the schedule Libby had given him, a car would be arriving at seven to take them to the studio where Gracie was filming her latest movie. That gave Clay a little more than an hour to drink some coffee and study the list of names Libby had provided him.

As he left his bedroom, there was no noise to indicate that anyone else in the house was awake. It wasn’t until he hit the bottom step on the staircase and smelled the faint scent of fresh-brewed coffee that he realized there was somebody else up and about.

Helen stood at one of the counters in the huge kitchen, slicing up fresh fruit. She frowned as he came into the room. “If you’ll have a seat in the dining room, coffee will be served in just a minute,” she said.

“You don’t have to serve me,” he replied. “Just point me to the cupboard with the cups and I’ll pour my own coffee.”

She hesitated a moment, then pointed to a nearby cabinet. Clay set his papers down on the countertop, got a cup and poured himself some coffee. As he seated himself on one of the stools at the counter, Helen’s frown deepened.

“Guests always sit in the dining room,” she said.

“The kitchen is fine with me,” he replied. He had a feeling Helen and Smokey, the cook at the West ranch, probably had a lot in common, especially the fact that they were both territorial about their kitchens.

He took a sip of the coffee, eyeing the older woman with curiosity. “Have you been working here long?”

“I’ve been working for Ms. Libby and Gracie for almost six months,” she said.

“It must be interesting, working for a strong woman like Ms. Libby,” he observed.

Helen put down the sharp knife she’d been using and glared at him. “If you think you’re going to sit here in my kitchen and try to pull information out of me about Ms. Libby, you’d better think again.” She picked up the knife, looking as if she’d rather use it on him than on the fuzzy brown kiwi in front of her.

Clay sighed and focused his attention on the papers in front of him. He was still there thirty minutes later when Libby came into the kitchen. Instantly a tension filled the air.

“Good morning,” she said to Clay, then directed her gaze to Helen. “Gracie should be down in about ten minutes for breakfast.” Helen nodded and Libby once again looked at Clay. “Are you going to join us for breakfast in the dining room?”

“Of course.” He got up from the stool and followed her into the dining room, trying not to notice the subtle sway of her hips or the slender curve of her calves beneath the short black skirt she wore.

They had just gotten seated at the table when Gracie whirled into the room. Clad in a pair of yellow shorts and a matching T-shirt, she looked like a little ball of sunshine. The bright smile she offered Clay did nothing to spoil the image.

“Are you going with us to the studio today, Mr. Clay?” she asked as she settled into the chair at the table.

“I am. If that’s all right with you?” he replied.

“Oh, yes, it’s fine with me. You can meet all my friends and you can see me work. Want to see how I can cry?”

Clay looked at Libby helplessly, unsure how to respond. “Might as well indulge her,” Libby said with a wry smile. “She loves to show off.”

Gracie stared at Clay with wide blue eyes, eyes that quickly filled with tears. Those tears splashed down her cheeks and her lower lip quivered as if her little heart was breaking.

She laughed then, and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “That was pretend tears,” she explained.

At that moment Helen came into the room to begin serving breakfast, and Clay found himself wondering how in the hell with these two females anyone ever knew what was truth and what was pretend.

Maxim Studios, where Gracie’s current film, Revenge of the Kids, was being filmed was just off Sunset Boulevard. As always, when they passed through the security gates of the movie studio, Libby felt a small thrill tremble through her. She had spent most of her childhood dreaming of the day when a security guard at a movie studio would greet her by name and flag her car through with a welcoming smile.

As they parked and got out of the car to enter the building where Gracie would work for the day, Libby tried to keep her attention focused on Gracie and not on the man who accompanied them. But it was difficult.

He wasn’t wearing jeans today, but instead wore a pair of black dress slacks with a silver-and-black pinstriped dress shirt. He’d looked raw and male in his jeans. He looked hot and utterly male in dress clothes.

Why hadn’t Charlie hired somebody who was fifty pounds overweight and balding? Why couldn’t he have hired somebody about fifty years old instead of this thirty-year-old man with evocative green eyes and taut six-pack stomach muscles?

“What happens now?” he asked Libby as they entered the building where there seemed to be people and activity everywhere.

“She goes directly to makeup.”

“There’s so many people around,” he said, obviously tense.

“It’s a movie set, Clay. It takes a lot of people to make a movie.” She still clung to the hope that the threats in the letters would turn out to be nothing, that Clay’s presence in their lives was nothing more than an unnecessary precaution.

Besides, surely the person responsible for the horrid letters couldn’t be somebody they knew, couldn’t be somebody who really knew Gracie. Everyone who knew Gracie loved her. Not only was she incredibly talented, but she had a heart filled with love and a sweet nature that brought smiles to everyone around her.

They followed Gracie into the room where her makeup would be applied. As she sat in the chair and the makeup artist got to work, Clay leaned toward Libby.

“Are all these people’s names on the list you made for me?” he whispered so nobody else would be able to hear.

She looked around the busy room and frowned. “Some, but not all of them,” she admitted. She wished he’d step back from her. He stood so close she could smell the pleasant clean scent of him, could feel the heat from his body radiating toward her.

“Can you get a complete list of everyone working on the film from the director?”

“I guess I could try, although such a request might bring up difficult questions.”

“I have every confidence that a woman of your resolve will think of something,” he said smoothly. For some reason he made it sound like a bad thing that she was a strong, determined woman.

He probably liked his women soft and warm and subservient to his big, strong, silent type. He wouldn’t find a woman like that in Hollywood. Here it was eat or be eaten. Only the strong survived.

They didn’t get an opportunity to talk again until Gracie was on the set and Clay and Libby made their way to a section of chairs designated for the parents of the little actors.

“Libby, dear, tell me where you found this handsome hunk.” Delores Gleason, the single mother of six-year-old Malcolm, heaved a sigh that nearly burst her D breasts completely out of their C cups. She held out a hand to Clay. “Please, tell me you have a brother,” she exclaimed.

“I’ve got four, but two are already spoken for,” Clay said as he pulled his hand from her grasp. “And those remaining two live a long way from Hollywood.”

“Hmmm, too bad. I was just telling my little Malcolm the other day that it was time for Mommy to find a new man, but of course I assured him that he’d always be the number-one little man in Mommy’s life. He’s going to be a big star, you know. It’s just a matter of time.”

Libby could almost see Clay’s eyes glazing over as Delores extolled the talents of her son. Delores was a bore…a caricature of a pushy, overbearing stage mother.

“We’re just waiting for the right vehicle to come along to carry him to stardom.” Delores smiled thinly at Libby. “Sooner or later something is going to come along.”

“Ah, but right now the movie industry seems to be hot for little girls.” Richard Walker joined them and Libby quickly made the introductions. Richard was the father of Gracie’s best friend, Kathryn. He was also a single parent.

Libby introduced Clay to the rest of the parents, then it was time to take their seats as the director, Jordan Rutherford, came onto the set to begin the day’s work.

Libby still didn’t know what she felt about Clay West. Most of the people who came to work for her or for Gracie were overtly eager to please, deferential to the point of being irritating.

In the brief time she’d spent with Clay, he certainly hadn’t been particularly deferential. Rather, she had the distinct impression he didn’t like her, didn’t approve of her lifestyle and couldn’t wait to get out of town.

What she found odd was that what people thought of her had never bothered her before, not since she’d left that dreary little town in Pennsylvania. She’d known she’d need to be hard and cold to survive in this world. What she didn’t know was why Clay West bothered her in a way nobody had since she’d arrived in Hollywood.

The morning passed quickly. Lunch break came and while Clay sat with Gracie, Libby went in search of Anna Baxter, the director’s assistant.

“Anna, could I speak to you for a moment?”

Anna looked like she was somewhere between the age of twelve and fourteen. She was a tiny young woman with gamine features that belied her real age of almost thirty.

“Of course, I can always make time for the mother of our little star.” She looked harried and busy, but the smile she offered Libby was genuine.

“I was wondering if there’s any way you could get me a list of all the people who are working on the movie.” Libby forced a light burst of laughter. “Gracie has it in her head that she wants to start a scrapbook and insists she wants to know the names of everyone who worked on this film.”

“Sure, I can probably get a list from payroll. How about I have it for you first thing in the morning?”

“That would be great,” Libby replied, relieved that she didn’t ask questions about the request but seemed to accept Libby’s explanation.

Lunch passed and the workday concluded at two. They were getting ready to leave when the director called to Libby, “I need to talk to you.”

A cold dread filled the pit of her stomach. Had her request for the list of people set off some sort of alarm? Or had somehow word filtered out that Gracie was receiving threats?

“Talk to me about what?” she asked after she’d made the introductions between him and Clay.

Jordan Rutherford smiled and ruffled Gracie’s hair affectionately. Rutherford was a big man with a frizzy head of snow-white hair that he wore too long and that gave him an almost demented look. “About our little girl, what else? A script hit my desk yesterday that I think is perfect for her. I’d like to finish up this project and roll right into another with her.”

“I don’t know, Jordan. We’re currently in the preliminary negotiations with Walter Zicar for a new project.”

“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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