Operation 8 No Safe Place #2
Maybe he needed real bodyguards, professional ones.
Not exhausted men collecting overtime while staring at their phones.
He leaned his head against the door and closed his eyes.
The truth was simple.
If he could’ve chosen anybody to stand between him and the world, he would’ve chosen Cassidy.
But he wasn’t an option.
…in any capacity.
Xander
By the time Xander finished dinner, he was so full he could barely move.
The butter noodles sat heavy in his stomach along with the two sautéed chicken breasts.
He shouldn’t’ve eaten both, but the first piece had tasted too good to leave the second, especially after not eating all day.
Now he regretted it.
He leaned against the kitchen island with one hand over his stomach and groaned.
“Good job, Lane,” he muttered. “Real disciplined.”
He was supposed to be shedding a little weight, not for appearance, but just trying to live healthier. Nothing dramatic. He wasn’t about to become a vegetarian or take some prescription shots, but he wanted to develop better habits.
The problem was he wasn’t used to sitting around the house all day. He loved to comfort eat, so getting out and moving around helped to eliminate that.
On his rare days off, he usually went somewhere. Grocery store, flea market, bookstore or the gym. Somewhere. He liked driving himself around with music playing or a good audiobook.
Now, the idea of dragging security through a damn produce aisle while they stared over his shoulder at his selections would be as miserable as it sounded.
He didn’t trust them anyway, so the next day he’d stayed home and did a bunch of senseless crap.
He’d worked on the giant jigsaw puzzle consuming half his dining table. Caught up on a few episodes of a crime series he’d started months ago, cleaned out his refrigerator and pantry, then reorganized his cabinets.
The only highlight in his day was visiting Devyn and Luke.
Now here he was back home again, stuffed full of noodles and anxiety.
He sighed as he turned off a couple of lights—too afraid to make it completely dark—and pushed himself upstairs.
“A little cardio might make me feel better.”
The home gym overlooked the front of the property through floor-to-ceiling windows.
Usually he loved the room, however, tonight it felt too exposed. But since there were guards in the front and back, he fought his fear, turned on the treadmill, and started walking.
He gradually increased the pace, moving briskly until his Under Armour shirt started sticking to his back.
He breathed deep through his nose and tried to keep his mind from wondering. Loud rock music often helped with that, but he wanted to be able to hear if one of the guards hollered out or rang his doorbell.
After twenty minutes, he was ready to stop, until he glanced down at the soft pudge pushing at his waistband and cranked up the speed again.
Forty-five sweaty minutes later, he stepped off the treadmill breathing hard but feeling very accomplished.
He grabbed his towel and wandered toward the back windows to check outside before showering.
He frowned, his mood souring.
One guard stood near the end of the patio, face down in his damn phone, the bright glow illuminating his face. Another had made himself comfortable at the edge of the pool, shoes and socks off, pants rolled to his calves, dangling his bare feet in the water.
Were they on break?
“This is fuckin’ ridiculous,” he muttered.
Another leaned against the fountain on the west side of his lawn, in front of his vegetable garden, smoking lazily as if he were at a barbecue instead of on a security assignment.
Xander looked toward the darker edges of the property but there were no signs of the other two.
Maybe they were actually patrolling.
He rubbed tiredly at his forehead. Tomorrow morning he was calling Jesse and insisting they start interviewing real protection firms, not this crap the studio assigned.
Still, six armed men outside should deter anybody from trying to get to him.
Right?
God, he hoped so.
He thought the shower would relax him.
Steam curled around the large glass stall as hot water pounded across his shoulders, but his brain refused to slow down.
He tried running lines in his head and focusing on his upcoming scenes—and not thinking about Cassidy.
He was failing.
Because all he could picture were those deep brown eyes staring down at him. A serious, penetrating glare. Melancholy and hardened.
Eyes that were somehow focused and fatigued at the same time.
Xander leaned one forearm against the cool tile and rested his forehead against it.
He wondered what was Cassidy doing right now?
Working probably.
In the seven months of filming, Xander couldn’t remember a single time he hadn’t seen Cassidy somewhere on the lot.
Moving, watching, directing. Always so present. That kind of work ethic was crazy attractive to him.
Xander began to breathe faster, his inhales shallower, as his thoughts drifted to the size of Cassidy’s hands, his big chest. His voice. The heat of him when he was close.
He swallowed hard.
Was Cassidy alone too?
He opened his eyes, his pulse beating, the heat from the shower doing more than making his muscles feel good. He groaned as he massaged the steam into his sore pecs.
He glanced down—
“Oh my God.”
His cock was hard as stone, jutting straight out like a locked and loaded weapon.
Warmth flooded his face.
He hurried and finished washing and shut off the water.
He wrapped a towel sheet low around his hips, grinding his jaw when the soft cotton rubbed over his sensitive head.
Damnit.
He was still too awake and now overstimulated to go to sleep.
He grabbed his script again.
If he botched another rehearsal, the director might have an aneurysm.
An hour later, Xander sat cross-legged on the chaise in his bedroom, concentrating on a particularly intense scene when every light in his house shut off.
It was pitch black, and his heart stopped at the frightening silence that followed.
Don’t panic. It’s probably a neighborhood outage…or a blown transformer.
He rushed toward the window trying to see through the darkness, but he didn’t see anything. No flashlight beams from the guards, moving silhouettes or radios crackling.
Fear tried to shut him down.
He almost called out to security until he spun around at the sound of glass exploding downstairs.
Xander jerked as the blood drained from his face so fast it made him lightheaded.
“No no no—”
He scrambled toward the nightstand and grabbed his phone with shaking hands.
He dialed 911 and almost cried when he got a busy signal.
He stared at the screen in disbelief and dialed again.
…busy.
Xander thought he was going to throw up.
Something heavy scraped across the floor downstairs.
He crept toward the railing before common sense could stop him.
He glanced over, and saw a tall shadow of a man, stalking through the darkness.
Xander bolted backward into his room and eased the door closed. His hands shook so bad he just managed to turn the lock. When it clicked, he knew it wouldn’t stop anybody determined enough to get in.
Where was his security? Were they unconscious? Dead?
His eyes filled with tears. Had someone else been hurt because of him?
Another crash downstairs.
Xander dialed 911 again.
Busy.
“How is that possible?” he whispered hysterically.
Something else shattered.
His entire body shook, his teeth chattering hard enough to hurt.
Maybe it’s a robbery. Please let it just be a robbery.
Amidst the panic, a clear thought cut through the frenzy building inside him.
Cassidy.
Xander called the number he’d memorized from staring at the same card a hundred times.
It rang once before the call connected.
“Xander, what’s wrong?”
The way Cassidy recognized it was him and answered so quickly, coupled with the steadiness in his voice, damn near broke him.
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
“Xander?”
“I—” His breathing hitched. “Someone’s in my house.”
Silence.
He heard faint beeping in the background as though Cassidy was calling somebody.
“There’s no 911,” he choked out. “It’s busy.”
“Where are you?”
Cassidy was so calm and measured…stern.
“My bedroom.”
Another loud bang sounded, but closer, maybe in one of the other bedrooms.
“Cassie help me.”
“I’m already on my way.”
Xander was squeezing the phone so hard he was surprised it didn’t break.
He could hear footsteps now. Maybe more than one, he couldn’t tell.
“They’re coming,” he whispered.
“Do you have balcony access or a big window?”
“Yes.”
“I need you to open it. Then go hide somewhere else in the room. Right now.”
Xander forced himself to move.
He threw open the balcony doors before darting into the connected workout room and closing the door behind him.
He crouched behind the six-foot tall weight rack, fear pumping through him so fast and hard he was surprised he hadn’t passed out.
“I have people coming to you,” Cassidy assured him. “Keep quiet. I’m gonna stay on the line with you.”
Xander never heard Cassidy’s vehicle start, but he knew he was driving because he could hear the roar of his engine.
Hard banging sounded as if somebody was in the upstairs hallway trying to smash the bedroom doors off their frames.
There was a long stretch of silence, before two sharp, muffled pops made him clamp both hands over his mouth to keep from yelling—gunshots—then his bedroom door burst open.
Xander pressed his fist against his mouth trying not to make sound.
“They’re coming,” he whispered. “Oh God, Cassie, I don’t wanna die.”