Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
W ard woke to a face full of sunlight and a gut full of guilt.
Della lay curled up next to him in what should have been an empty bed, her bare shoulder peeking above the covers. Her red curls stuck out in all directions in the most seductive case of bedhead he’d ever seen.
Fuck.
Sleep deprivation and weeks of sexual frustration had resulted in the worst decision of Ward’s personal protection career.
The bitch of it was if he had it to do all over again, he knew nothing would change.
Hell, he’d like to go for round two right now.
He closed his eyes to block the temptation. No personal relationship with the client, huh? He was officially a hypocrite. A real do-as-I-say-not-as-I-did-last-night asshole.
Ward carefully slid out of bed. Della made a soft snuffling noise, but settled down after he pulled the covers up around her shoulders.
He watched her sleep. It fascinated him to see her so still. She normally vibrated with energy. What would it be like to experience this side of her every day? To wake up with her next to him, utterly relaxed?
This was a mistake. A big, bone-headed cluster of a mistake.
Their game of pretend had fooled them both. It was understandable on her part. She was used to going after what she wanted with wild, reckless abandon, and it was easy for someone like that to get confused.
He knew better.
This small-town boyfriend-girlfriend act was just that. An act. A fantasy. A month-long daydream.
It was time to wake up.
She looked like everything he never knew he wanted. It physically ached to walk away from her, but he forced himself out of the room and softly shut the door behind him.
Time to regroup. Figure out next steps.
If someone on his field team had done what he’d done, the idiot would be immediately reassigned, if not fired.
His heart twisted sideways at the idea of letting anyone else step in as Della’s personal protection, but his head told his heart to shut the hell up.
He retrieved his towel from where it had fallen in the hallway and wrapped it around his waist on the way to his room. They’d get through the festival, and then he’d switch with Annie and relocate Della.
He picked up his phone from where he’d left it charging on the nightstand to check the house security status.
The stream of texts he found waiting for him put him on instant high alert.
The latest one was a direct message from Annie five minutes ago.
What the hell is up with you? Are you dead? This is a really bad time to ignore your phone.
“What the hell…” He flicked through the messages and alerts to get to the first in the string, sent at 4:16 a.m.
Ward’s stomach tightened. He hadn’t heard the texts come in. He hadn’t heard anything but the blood rushing through his damn ears and Della’s soft moans.
His grip on the phone tightened as he read.
Spencer — This just popped on social media. 10k views and climbing fast. It might have reach.
A video waited below the text. The preview image was blurry, but he could make out shelves and a curly-haired figure in the background.
He didn’t even have to watch the video to know things had gone to hell. It was spelled out in the hashtags.
#WiresCrossingGotTalent #SmallTownBigTalent #NextBigThing
It was too much to hope that it was his brother being featured.
Mason didn’t have curly red hair.
Dread crawled into his chest as he hit Play.
A pair of voices he knew drifted out from behind the half-open door of the Sevens storeroom.
Ward swore under his breath.
She’d lied. She’d flat-out lied to him. Betrayal and self-loathing for believing her burrowed into his skull and pounded.
“Dammit.” He forced himself to watch all twenty-nine seconds.
Della’s voice was unmistakable, and her red hair glowed, even in the low light of the storeroom. Was she recognizable as the internationally famous pop star?
Even without the blonde hair it would be idiotic to believe that a true Della Bellamy fan wouldn’t recognize that voice. Her rabid fans would see through the red hair and clean face to the truth after the first five notes.
His gaze flicked to the account that had just blown their cover.
KenDahl.
As in Ken “the Doll” Cassidy. The damn bartender.
There were already thousands of comments, likes, and look-at-me shares.
It was only eight, Eastern time. What would happen once the rest of the country woke up?
Ward flicked through the messages he should have seen hours ago, his mood darkening with every line.
Annie — That her? Where r they?
Spencer — Voice recognition says yes, although not everyone has access to that kind of software. The hashtag popped my alert.
Annie — Nobody caught on yet, right?
Spencer — Not that I can tell, although if the stalker stays true to pattern he will most likely probe for more information when he sees this. My best guess is he hasn’t discovered it yet because the hashtag means nothing to him.
Annie — Maybe will tank around the 10k mark. That happens. Ward? Weigh in? — Annie
Annie — Ward? You there? Where the hell is he?
Spencer — His phone pings at his home address. — Spencer
Annie — K. Might be sleeping. Keep an eye on this, Spence. Getting in shower.
The next text had come in at 4:45, just after he’d drifted off to sleep with Della in his arms like a man with his girlfriend, not a bodyguard with his protectee. He clenched his jaw and continued.
Spencer — 250k views and climbing. This is problematic: That girl sounds familiar. I know that voice. Anybody know who that is?
Annie — No names yet?
Spencer — So far, no.
Annie — Ward check in?
Spencer — No. His phone remains stationary.
Annie — Keep an eye on it? Getting dressed. Have a feeling will be on the move soon. Sorry, Spence. No sleep for the wicked. Which means Ward should be awake.
Spencer — There’s no sleep for the gamer with an all-night raid in progress either.
Annie — Hah!
It only took two more hours for the problematic comment to escalate into full-on problem.
Spencer — 730k views and climbing. I think the cat is out of the proverbial bag. Comment: “Chick sounds like Della Bellamy. Any DellBells verify?”
Annie — That’s bad. Very bad. Ward? You up?
Spencer — His phone hasn’t moved. He may be in a deep sleep cycle.
Annie — He’s a Marine. They don’t sleep. They get the hell out of bed before the sun.
Spencer — What else could it be?
Annie — Don’t get me started on what else it could be.
Spencer — Maybe he took a morning run? He does like to start the day active, and early morning exercise is optimal for digestion.
Annie — He doesn’t run without his phone. Keep pinging him. If he doesn’t answer in thirty, get the cops to go knock on the damn door. I’m getting Diggs and heading to WC.
Ward swore and tapped out a text. No cops.
Before he could hit send, an incoming text shook his phone while a baby’s scream filled the silence.
Ward winced and hastily pushed the Volume Down button. How the hell had he slept through that? It was the most obnoxious noise he’d ever heard, and that was saying something considering basic training.
Spencer — Officially viral. Over 1.5 mil views and climbing. KenDahl: “That’s not Della Bellamy. That’s Lucy Carmichael, one of the waitresses at Sevens in beautiful downtown Wires Crossing PA.” DellBell4Evah: “You blind? That ain’t no dive rat. I know that voice. That Della Fckng Bellamy.”
“Fuck!” The word exploded out of Ward as he kicked the metal trash can next to his desk. It clanged off the leg of the desk and clattered to a stop under the bed.
Pain radiated up his foot.
If he’d slept in his own room, he’d have learned about this hours ago. They’d have cleared out by now.
If he’d stayed in his own room, his dick wouldn’t have controlled his head.
Odds were high that the stalker had seen the video by now. He’d have an alert set to any variation of Della and Bellamy that he could think of because the guy was tech savvy and smart.
Ward’s gut told him the stalker had hit the road already, heading for Wires Crossing.
Even if he wasn’t, they had to assume he was.
Della was at risk because he’d paid more attention to her happiness and his own damn desire than his damn job. It was the one and only time he’d ever done anything like that and it put her in danger.
It was a rookie mistake.
With short, sharp jabs, he punched up an audio-only conference call with Annie and Spencer.
Annie picked up first. “What the hell have you been doing?”
“Later.” He could hear road noise in the background. “Where are you?”
“On the way to you. I have Diggs.”
“Good,” Ward said, tone clipped. “Speaker?”
“Earbuds. What the hell happened? I was about to send a wellness check.”
“Not relevant.” He jerked open the top drawer of his dresser, yanked out clothes, and threw them onto the bed.
“What’s not relevant?” Spencer said as he joined the call.
“Sit rep,” Ward barked as he pulled on clothes.
“Secondary site’s ready,” Spencer said. “All quiet here.”
“Annie, how far?” Ward put on his gear belt.
“About an hour out, give or take,” Annie said.
“Shave that.” He clipped his holster into place.
“Oh, sure. We’ll teleport right over.” Annie’s sarcasm tweaked his last nerve, but he let it pass.
“Do what you can.” He keyed open the safe where he’d stashed his weapon and checked it before placing it in the holster. “Okay. Here’s where we stand. Our protectee is safe for now, but her cover and location are blown.”
“I’m honestly shocked it held this long,” Annie said. “I expected her to be on that stage with Mason last night.”
“She’s been surprisingly quiet, actually,” Spencer chimed in. “She hasn’t been in any of the other videos posted from the festival.”
“This was an accident, and more my fault than hers,” Ward cut in. “I let my guard down.” He was the one who should have known better, on several levels. “That’s on me.”
“You can’t control her every move. And you can’t be everywhere,” Annie said in a calm, reasonable tone that just made him feel worse. “You do have to sleep sometime.”
Oh yeah, he’d slept all right.
He resisted the urge to punch something. Barely.
He couldn’t change the past, and he shouldn’t be taking his screwup out on his best and brightest.
Focus, focus, focus , he told himself. Work the problem . “Good news is we have a little time if our guy was in Rochester when he saw the vid the same time we did. Let’s see if we can use this fuck-up to our advantage.”
“Use it how?” Annie asked suspiciously.
“We know where he’s headed. We can be ready when he gets here.” He was damn sure going to make the most of his mistake by using it to catch this asshole.
“You can’t know exactly what he’ll do,” Annie said. “It’s a major assumption that he was even in Rochester.”
“It’s an educated guess.” Ward paused in his prep work to stare at the phone. “Unless you have a better idea?”
“No.” Annie drew the word out in a patient sigh. “I agree he’s been in information withdrawals for a month, and this is a nice juicy fix. He’ll jump on it, especially after the fake out we tried. We’re relocating her, right?”
“Yes.” Ward continued loading his utility belt with items that might come in handy. Two clips. Knife. Zip ties. “Spencer, stay vigilant. She’ll be coming in hot, and I don’t want any surprises. Annie, you and Diggs get here as fast as you can. Every second counts. Be aware our stalker is probably taking the fastest route here and may be ahead of you. I’ll get set up on my end while we’re waiting.”
“Wait…what are you setting up?” Annie asked. “We’re all bugging out, right?”
“Not this time,” Ward said with grim determination as he pictured how it would play out. “You and Diggs are going to relocate our protectee. When you get to the secondary location, the three of you lock it down and keep her safe until you hear from me.”
“And what will you be doing while we’re watching the paint peel?” Annie asked, this time with an edge of suspicion and disapproval.
“Waiting for him.” Ward pulled his tactical go bag out of the closet and double-checked the contents. Rope. Duct tape. Foldable shovel. Water. Ration bars. Portable battery. It looked like the kind of kit a camper would put together—or a serial killer.
Satisfied, he zipped it closed.
“Very Butch Sundance,” Annie said with heavy sarcasm laced with concern. “But you’re missing your sidekick. You shouldn’t face this guy alone. You’re the one who taught me that the opponent doesn’t have to be good. He just has to get lucky.”
“I won’t be alone.” Ward ended the call.
What irritated him was that the stalker’s luck was a result of Ward’s failure. He’d let his guard down. Gotten comfortable. Now there was a trail of digital neon that led straight to Della.
They were blown. Exposed.
Because of him.
Ward rubbed his face with both hands. The self-blame wasn’t getting him anywhere. He forced himself to put aside the mental ass-kicking he richly deserved, but it wasn’t easy.
Next steps. Focus on next steps.
He needed to call Dad. He needed to arrange backup protection for his family. For the bar.
Hell, even for Ken Doll the Instigator.
He typed out a quick text to Brick as he headed downstairs.
Ward — Need a favor. Might be dangerous. You in?
Three dots appeared immediately.
Brick — Always. What’s up?
Ward — Can you take the day off?
Brick — Duh. I’m the boss.
Ward — My place. ASAP
Brick — cya 15.
That would be just long enough to squeeze in a call to Dad to explain why Sevens needed to close down and why his family needed to take a sudden vacation.
Brick arrived with two cups of coffee and a curious look on his face. “Where’s the body? I brought shovels.”
Ward eyed the truck in the driveway. He saw several shovels next to rakes, a leaf blower, and an industrial-sized lawn mower. “You’re serious.”
Brick handed a cup to Ward as he stepped inside. “I got your back, unless you want to go zip-lining. You’re on your own with that shit.”
“You’re still not over that heights thing?” Ward led the way to the office. “You realize how ironic that is, right?”
“I don’t have a heights thing.” Brick flopped into the visitor’s chair and stretched his legs out. His six-foot-six frame dominated the room the same way he’d dominated the football field. “I have a strong, perfectly rational desire to keep my feet on the ground. Height has nothing to do with it.”
“Sure it doesn’t.” Ward leaned against the desk. “Thanks for coming. I appreciate the assist.”
“So what the hell is going on?” Brick’s wary gaze fixated on Ward’s utility belt and holster. “You know I don’t do guns.”
“No need,” Ward said. “You’re here for intimidation.”
Some of the tension went out of Brick’s face. “That I can do.”
Ward took a sip of coffee and wished his problems could be so easily solved. He brought his friend up to speed in short, clipped sentences. When he was finished, Brick stared at him while silence yawned and settled in.
“You get all that?” Ward prompted. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but the background isn’t relevant for what I need from you. You watch my six, I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Wait a minute.” Brick held up a hand to stop him. “You really think you can dump info on me like that and I’ll just breeze past it like a billboard on the highway?”
“Yes.” Ward put a firm finality to the word.
“Oh hell no, captain.” Brick leaned back and crossed his arms. “If you want me to cover your blind side, you can take a damn minute to explain how you started dating Della freaking Bellamy.”
Ward dragged a hand down his face. His father’s reaction had echoed Brick’s. Dad had gone so far as to call him delusional before flatly refusing to close down Sevens or leave town during the last day of the festival.
“I’m not dating her,” Ward said.
“Yeah you are.” Brick’s tone mirrored Dad’s, right down to the you’re-not- that -blind sarcasm. “That’s exactly what you’re doing.”
Ward’s jaw hurt from clenching. Not only had he spent fifteen minutes arguing with his dad about this, he’d had the same damn conversation with himself more than once over the past few days. “That’s just our cover story.”
“Bullshit, man.” Brick waved a hand to swat that idea away. “You brought her home to meet your family and friends. You took her to the festival. You were staring into each other’s eyes so hard up there on that balcony that I saw sparks, and I wasn’t the only one who noticed.”
Ward flashed him a warning look. “We are not dating.”
Brick raised an eyebrow. “So you’re telling me you haven’t kissed her?”
Heat crept into Ward’s cheeks.
“Yeah.” A look of smug satisfaction spread across Brick’s face. “That’s what I thought.”
Ward gripped the side of the desk. “Back. Off.”
Brick pointed an accusing finger at him. “You’re in denial. I get it. It’s new, and she’s…damn, man. Della freaking Bellamy. God, that’s a trip and a half to say.”
Ward pushed off the desk and into his friend’s personal space. “As far as you’re concerned, she’s Lucy. You can’t tell anyone about this. I mean anyone . Got me?”
Brick considered him. “Oh-kay.”
“She’s not a celebrity. She’s not my girlfriend. She’s my protectee . Her safety is all that matters. Period. Understand?”
Brick held up his hands in mock surrender. “Yeah, man. I get you.”
“Good. Move your truck over to the neighbor’s, would you? I’ll be back in five.” Then, Ward went upstairs to deal with last night’s mistake.