Chapter Eleven
Val was exhausted. The show was over, a complete and total success, TV viewership heightened by the drama of the brutal murder of a famous fashion model.
So far no one knew about the notes. Both Matt Carlyle and the police were determined to keep the information out of the press. They were afraid it would put the women in even more danger.
After the show, Val had changed back into her floaty black skirt and peach silk blouse, spent a few minutes talking to Samantha and her husband Nick, the only friends who had come to see her in the show.
One of the reasons she was using a stage name was so she could go to school without the rest of the students knowing who she was. She wouldn’t know if it worked until the tour was over and she started school again in the fall.
Val bent to hug Samantha, petite and half a foot shorter, her light brown curls framing her pretty face. Nick kissed her cheek, and both of them congratulated her on a job well done. Val thanked them for coming and for worrying about her safety, told them what a capable job Ethan had been doing.
“You can trust him,” Nick said. “Ethan won’t let anyone hurt you, Val.”
She flicked a glance toward where she’d last seen him, but he was off somewhere working. “I really appreciate the way he looked out for me. I felt better just knowing he was there. I heard he’s going on tour with us.”
“That’s right,” Nick said. “Ethan, Dirk, and the additional men Matt Carlyle brought in to help with security.”
“After . . . what happened, I’m glad they’ll be coming along.”
They talked a few minutes more, then Nick and Sam said good night. Eventually, the theater emptied out, but instead of a celebration, Val joined the members of the cast and crew backstage for a few brief words in remembrance of Delilah Larsen.
At the beginning of the evening, Matt Carlyle had dedicated the fashion show to her memory, then asked for a moment of silence. Now the words Matt spoke, saying her life was like a bright star that had flashed and burned out far too quickly, made a lump rise in Val’s throat.
Daniel Clemens said Delilah was one of the best models he had ever worked with and told them how much he would miss her, words that weighed heavily on all of them.
Now it was time to go home and get some badly needed sleep. Val returned to the dressing area to grab her tote and purse and was walking back out when she spotted Ethan standing just a few feet away.
Something eased inside her. She hadn’t realized how anxious she was beneath the layers of fatigue until she saw him. Ethan would take her home and make sure she was okay.
He strode toward her in a pair of black jeans and a black blazer over his T-shirt. When the jacket swung open, she caught a glimpse of the shoulder holster he wore underneath.
She had noticed the weapon when he’d come to the Perfect Pup.
It should have bothered her. When she’d been in foster care, she’d seen the terrible damage a gun could do, had seen kids shot by gang members, been with one of the teenage boys when he had been killed. The memory still haunted her dreams.
But Ethan was a professional. She didn’t doubt he knew exactly what he was doing. Knowing he was armed just made her feel safe.
“You ready to go?” he asked.
“I’ve been ready for hours, but I still had work to do.” She gave him a weary smile. “I’m finished now. I don’t have to worry about the show for a couple of days. Not until we get to Dallas.”
Ethan motioned toward the back door and she started walking in that direction. Before she reached the exit, he caught her arm, stopping her in the hall, his hold strong and reassuring. Val looked into his handsome face and a curl of heat slid into her stomach.
“What is it?” she asked, forcing her thoughts in a safer direction.
“Paparazzi. They’re everywhere, front and back. No easy way out.”
Worry slipped through her. “What should I do?”
His sexy mouth edged up. “Nothing.” He left the purse hanging on her shoulder but took her tote and tossed it to one of the security people, who seemed to know where to take it. “Getting you out safely is my job. Just follow my lead.”
It sounded easy. “Okay.” But when one of the guards shoved the back door open, she saw it wasn’t going to be easy at all. A sea of reporters rushed forward, cameras rolling, microphones thrust into her face.
Ethan stepped in front of her. “Let the lady through, gentlemen.” A dark-haired female reporter thrust a microphone toward her. Ethan blocked her approach. “And ladies,” he added.
All the while, he continued easing Val toward his Jeep, which was driving toward them, rolling through the crowd in their direction.
The brunette with the mic didn’t budge. Val recognized her as an anchor with KIRO News. “How did you hear about Delilah’s death, Valentine? Was she a close friend? Will you be going to the funeral?”
“Ms. Hart has no comment,” Ethan said, nudging the reporter aside and moving Val forward through the determined throng pushing toward them.
A fan, a tall young man with a wide grin, broke through the line and rushed toward her. “Valentine, I love you! Will you marry me?”
Ethan had him in an armlock and was moving him out of the way before her admirer even got close. “Take it easy, buddy. The lady’s not interested.” Then he was back, moving a little in front of her, using his body to protect her, at the same time urging her forward.
“Valentine! Valentine! We love you, Valentine!” It was a group of young girls. They were high school age at the most. Val blew them a kiss, waved, and grinned so big her dimples popped out. All the while, she kept walking.
“Where’s the damned Jeep?” Ethan grumbled, though the driver was moving the vehicle as fast as safely possible through the crowd. “We need the effing Jeep.”
She could feel the heat of his big, hard body, his muscles flexing and bunching against her as he moved. Though she shouldn’t be thinking about the way it felt to have him so close, a wash of heat spread through her.
Another reporter, a pretty woman with short black hair, rushed forward, microphone in hand. “Hey, Ethan! How about giving us a break? Just a few words from Valentine. What do you say?”
Ethan managed to smile, though Val thought it looked a little forced. “Valentine’s had a rough day, Sheryl. Call La Belle’s media people, see if they can set something up.”
Like that was going to happen.
“Come on, Ethan.” Moving along with them, Sheryl held the mic toward Val. “How do you feel about the murder, Valentine? Was Delilah a friend?”
“Leave her alone, Sheryl. I’m sure La Belle will be holding a press conference sometime tomorrow.”
The woman started to argue, but Ethan ignored her and closed the last few feet to where the Jeep was just pulling up.
He jerked open the back door and settled her inside, followed her in, and slammed the door.
She noticed her tote in the back of the vehicle as she snapped her seat belt in place. The man was efficient for sure.
In the front seat, a middle-aged man with shiny black skin pressed his foot down on the accelerator, and the vehicle rolled forward, the big Jeep bullying its way through the crowd.
“Val, meet Joe Posey,” Ethan said, relaxing back against the rear seat. “He’s going to get us out of here.”
Val smiled. “Hi, Joe. Thanks for your help.”
“My pleasure, Ms. Valentine.” Joe checked the mirror as Ethan turned in his seat to look out the rear window.
“Christ, the bastards are following us,” Ethan said.
Val turned, saw some of the reporters scrambling for their cars, some already inside, pulling out behind the Jeep.
Joe just grunted. “The lady’s a celebrity, chief. After what happened, they’ll dog her and the rest of the models till they get some kind of story.”
“Lose ’em. You buckled up?” he asked Val, saw she was, and snapped his own belt in place. “Joe’s an ex-cop. He’ll get us out of here safely.”
The engine gunned and they were off. Ethan was right. Joe knew exactly what he was doing, when to slow, when to run a yellow without chancing a wreck, when to put the pedal to the metal and shoot through an opening in traffic.
A slow smile stretched across her face. She’d been wild as a kid. She’d loved motorcycles and fast cars, loved the feel of the wind in her face and the adrenaline rush. That hadn’t changed.
Ethan’s eyes came to hers. “So I guess you like speed,” he said, amusement in his voice.
Val grinned. “Long as it doesn’t kill me.”
Ethan chuckled. Joe made a couple more fancy turns before they were completely in the clear.
“Nice job,” Ethan said to him as the car slowed, began to roll quietly on down the street.
A mile or so later, Joe pulled over to the curb near one of the bigger hotels. “Good spot to catch a cab,” he said. “My car’s parked a few blocks down from the theater.”
Ethan nodded. “You’ll find cab fare and a little extra on your paycheck. Good work tonight. I’ll see you Tuesday at the airport.”
“Ten A.M. sharp. I’ll be there.” Joe got out of the Jeep, waved, and started walking. Ethan climbed out of the back and slid into the driver’s seat. He looked surprised when Val slid into the front seat beside him.
She gave him a smile. “I don’t need a chauffeur. Just a ride back to my house.”
He smiled slightly, started the Jeep, and headed for Montlake. As the car rolled along, fatigue trickled through her. Resting her head against the seat, she closed her eyes, trusting Ethan to get her safely home.
Ethan pulled the Jeep up in front of Val’s duplex apartment. She’d fallen asleep on the way. As he opened the door, she straightened in her seat, blinking owlishly up at him.
“We’re home. Can you make it inside all right?”
She yawned, then smiled. “What, if I say no you’ll carry me? I make it home by myself every night.”
His lips twitched. As she started up the sidewalk toward the front porch, he fell in beside her, then took the key from her hand and unlocked the door.
Ethan walked into the living room, heard her big gray cat meow, and flicked on the light switch, which turned on the lamp on the table next to the sofa.
“Stay here.” Pulling his pistol, he cleared the house, checking every room to make sure the place was secure. He had no idea who was next on the killer’s hit list, but if the guy was as crazy as the notes made him seem, the perp was going to do his best to murder a second victim.
Ethan walked back into the living room, saw Valerie kneeling to pet the big tom. He holstered his weapon. “And here I thought you were a dog person.”
Val laughed at the reminder of her encounter with the big English sheepdog. “I love dogs. Cats. Horses. Birds. Fish. That’s why I want to be a veterinarian. I like animals a lot more than most people.”
“Yeah, I get that.” He thought of the man who had coldly murdered Delilah Larsen. A crazy, or a cold-blooded killer? Either way the woman was just as dead. “Lots of good people around, though, if you look for them.”
“I know. Like Nick and Samantha. They were there tonight for my show. It was really sweet of them to come.”
“They like you.” And he was beginning to understand why.
Besides the superficial turn-ons like a great body and a fabulous face, Val had substance.
She was smart and hardworking, and she was kind to other people.
He was beginning to like her, too. Which, under the circumstances, wasn’t necessarily good.
“What about your family?” he asked. “I saw Isabel talking to her mom and dad and half a dozen brothers and sisters. I figured some of your family might show.”
Val shrugged. “No siblings. Mom and Pops are older. They live up in Bellingham, and Pops wasn’t feeling too well. Besides . . .” She let the words trail off and shook her head.
“Besides what?”
“They’re pretty old-fashioned. They know what I’m doing and why, and they’re okay with it, but seeing me up there almost naked . . . I’d just rather they didn’t.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “You know, Valerie, the show wasn’t what I thought it was going to be. It wasn’t sleazy. It was entertaining. You did a great job.”
She shrugged. “Maybe. On the other hand, how would you feel if your girlfriend was up there strutting around in nothing but skimpy lingerie?”
There was no point in lying. He was who he was. “You want the truth? I wouldn’t want my woman doing it. I’m a selfish bastard when it comes to a lady I’m involved with. I’d want her all to myself.”
Her eyes searched his face. “So I guess you’re a little old-fashioned yourself.”
“Maybe . . . yeah, in some ways I guess I am.”
Val glanced away. Walking to the front door, she pulled it open, letting in a rush of cold night air. “Thanks, Ethan. I really appreciate everything you’ve done. I’ll see you at the airport on Tuesday.”
He’d been putting off this moment. He had a feeling this wasn’t going to go well. He walked over and closed the door. “Obviously, you still don’t get it. I’m not going anywhere. Not until they find the bastard who killed Delilah Larsen.”
Her dark blond eyebrows drew together. “What are you talking about? I’m exhausted. I need to get some sleep. You checked the house. There’s no one in here. Now it’s time for you to leave.”
He just shook his head. “I’ll take the sofa. If it makes you feel any better, there are five other women under personal protection tonight in Seattle, including your friend Megan.”
“Megan?”
“That’s right. I don’t mind the couch, but I could really use a pillow.”
She cocked her head, eyeing him with suspicion. “Who’s with Megan?”
“Dirk Reynolds. She’s in very good hands.”
“‘Good hands?’” She glanced down at the big hand he’d jammed into the pocket of his jeans and he couldn’t help thinking how good he could make her feel if only he could touch her. When the corner of his mouth kicked up, her shoulders stiffened. “Are you telling me I don’t have any say in this?”
“Not if you want to keep your job.”
“I need this job and you know it.”
“A lightweight blanket would be nice, too.”
She made a huffing sound and flounced away, and Ethan couldn’t stop a smile. She was going to be even less happy when he told her she’d have to leave the bedroom door open. He was a very light sleeper, so any little sound and he’d be wide awake.
On the other hand, considering the skillful way the killer had entered Delilah Larsen’s condo, Ethan was giving her a break not insisting he sleep in her room.
Val returned with a pillow and a blanket, tossed them on the couch, which looked comfortable but about six inches too short. With a sideways glance, she turned and marched back down the hall. The sound of her bedroom door slamming shut made him grin with anticipation for the coming confrontation.
Ethan couldn’t remember the last time a woman had made him grin.