Chapter 2
“From what Icould see before it went off, it was plastic explosives with a timed detonator pressed into it,” Nash said to the sheriff and his deputies who had responded to the 911 call.
Within twenty minutes of the explosion, the movie set had been inundated with emergency vehicles, fire trucks and a news helicopter.
Several protestors had received minor injuries from flying debris and were being treated by the first responders.
The evening sun had sunk below the horizon, cloaking the wild Wyoming landscape in darkness, except for the floodlights positioned around the set, blinding at some points and casting long shadows at others.
Nash had refused their care, more concerned about keeping an eye on his client, Miss Tyler-Lovejoy. She stood with the director, a reporter and a news cameraman, a blanket draped over her shoulders. Every so often, she’d lift her head, her eyes shifting back and forth as if searching the crowd. When her gaze connected with his, she held it like she’d been looking for him.
“Why exactly were you looking beneath the trailer in the first place?” the sheriff asked.
“I was hired to protect Miss Tyler-Lovejoy,” he said.
“Were there other attempts on her life that made protection necessary?” the sheriff asked.
“I was told there were two other incidents that raised suspicion,” he answered, his gaze holding Londyn’s.
The sheriff frowned. “Why were these incidents not reported?”
“You’ll have to ask the director and Miss Tyler-Lovejoy. I wasn’t here when they happened.”
“Does Miss Tyler-Lovejoy have any enemies, disgruntled ex-boyfriends or employees who would wish her harm?”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her. I just met the woman today.” And almost lost her within the first thirty minutes on the job.
His pulse raced, and his stomach roiled at the thought of what would have happened if he’d backed down when Londyn had said she didn’t need a bodyguard. She’d have walked right up into that trailer that now lay in twisted pieces. She would have been like the trailer...scattered across the ground.
The recurring flashback of his last mission in Afghanistan blasted through his mind. Of the grenade that had landed less than twenty feet in front of him. Of, Waterson, his battle buddy, throwing himself over the grenade to save the rest of his squad.
Though the temperature had dropped below fifty with the sun”s setting, Nash broke out in a sweat, his heart pounding, his breathing labored as if he’d run a mile uphill at full speed.
Every time the flashbacks happened, he was thrown back into that moment, and his body reacted the same fucking way, leaving a burning, ragged mess in the aftermath.
This time, he couldn’t afford to succumb to PTSD, the panic attack, or whatever the therapists wanted to call it. He had to remain focused on his charge, or she’d end up like Waterson...her body scattered in pieces across the ground.
Nash clenched his fists and forced himself to concentrate on the present, pushing the memories to the back of his mind. He squared his shoulders. “Sheriff, if you’re finished with the questions, I still have a job to do.”
“Of course,” the older man handed him a business card. “If you think of anything else, call, day or night. I’ll answer. This is serious. We can’t have someone going around the county planting explosives. We might have more questions.” The sheriff closed his notebook and tucked his pen into his pocket. “How long are you in this area?”
Nash’s jaw tightened, his gaze pinning Londyn’s. “As long as it takes.”
The woman might not have wanted a bodyguard, but after what had happened, she was stuck with him until they figured out who was behind the attacks, and he neutralized the bastard.
In a warzone, that meant taking the guy completely out of the gene pool by shooting the coward.
Nash had to remind himself he wasn’t in a warzone, though it sure as hell felt like one. After a quick glance around, he shook his head. And it looked like one.
As part of his Brotherhood Protectors onboarding meeting with Stone Jacobs and Hank Patterson, they’d reminded him he wasn’t in a warzone. The enemies weren’t Taliban or ISIS rebels. They were civilians like he now was. As such, they were all governed by civil law. A man was innocent until proven guilty. He couldn’t shoot first and ask questions later—not that he’d done that on active duty.
The briefing had left him feeling a little hand-tied. What did he have to do? Let the enemy throw the first punch, fire the first bullet or blow up his client before he could fight back?
Fuck that. He’d figure out the rules of engagement, but not at the risk of losing his client. If she was in trouble, he’d do everything in his power to protect her, preferably before she was shot, blown up or anything else.
“We have to cordon off the area around the explosion until the state crime lab can get someone in to inspect the damage,” the sheriff said. “We have a bomb-sniffing dog checking the other structures before we can let anyone back in.”
Nash left the sheriff and crossed to where Londyn was surrounded by the press and other members of the film crew. He didn’t like how close they were to her. If one of them was responsible for the explosion, what was to keep him from trying another means of attack? As close as they were, any one of the men surrounding her could easily stab her with a knife.
Nash shoved his way through the ring and emerged next to Londyn.
“We can’t shut down production for even a day,” the director was saying. “Every day of this effort costs thousands of dollars.”
“Some of our equipment was damaged,” one man said.
The director waved a hand. “Then get replacements.”
“That takes time,” the man said.
“Overnight it, kluge together parts from other equipment, hell, do whatever it takes.” The director paced back and forth, his head down, his brow furrowed. When the others didn’t move, he glared at them. “Between this delay and the protestors, we’re bleeding money like a sieve. Do I have to do your jobs for you?”
“No, sir,” several men said.
“We have a scene to shoot in fifteen minutes.” The director flung his hands toward them. “Go!”
People scattered, leaving Londyn standing next to the director. “My costume for the next scene was in my trailer.”
The director shoved a hand through his hair. “What do you want me to do about it? See the costume designer.”
“She was injured in the explosion,” Londyn said. “She left with the ambulance.”
“Fuck!” the director exclaimed. He ran his hand through his hair. “It’s the scene where Layla’s getting ready for bed. What was the costume?”
“A silk camisole and matching bottoms,” Londyn said.
“Surely, one of the females in the crew has something close to that?”
Londyn shook her head, her lips twitching. “They came with flannel PJs. We’re in Wyoming. It gets cold at night.”
He flung his hands in the air. “So, we’ll do the scene sans clothes.”
Londyn’s head jerked back, and her cheeks filled with color. “Naked?”
Nash frowned. He could tell by the shocked look on her face that Londyn was not happy about the idea.
“Yes, yes, naked.” The director looked at her. “And do something about the dirt on your face and the grass in your hair.” He turned. “Makeup!”
“Mr. Haynes.” Londyn touched the man’s arm. “My contract states no nude scenes. Any nudity was to be handled by a body double. She’s not due here for a couple more days.”
Director Haynes crossed his arms over his chest. “I went out on a limb to bring you onto this project. One nude scene won’t kill you.”
Londyn’s hands tightened into fists. “I didn’t sign on for nude scenes.”
The man stepped up to Londyn and went nose-to-nose with her. “You’ll do it or pack up.”
Nash pulled Londyn back and stepped up to Haynes. “The lady isn’t required to do nude scenes according to her contract. She almost lost her life in that explosion, she has no place to go to clean up, and you haven’t had the decency to ask if she’s all right. I suggest you get a grip and come up with an alternative.”
Standing a good six inches over Director Haynes, Nash didn’t have to do much to intimidate the man.
Haynes blinked up at Nash. “Who the hell are you?”
“Miss Tyler-Lovejoy’s bodyguard,” Nash said.
The man looked around Nash to Londyn. “Who authorized a bodyguard? We don’t have money in the budget for bodyguards for the talent?”
“Don’t worry,” Londyn said. “You’re not paying for it.”
“Good.” Haynes tugged at the lapels of his jacket. “Keep him on a leash. We can’t have him getting in the way.” His eyes narrowed. “Were you injured in the explosion?”
Londyn’s lips rose briefly. “No. Thanks to Nash. He saved my life by keeping me from going into my trailer.”
Haynes stared up at Nash. “Is that right?” His lips twisted. “Good. Glad to hear that. As long as he isn’t adding to my budget and doesn’t get in the way, he can stay.”
Londyn lifted her chin. “What about the costume? I’m not shooting nude.”
“Fine,” the director said. “Do the scene in your goddamn underwear.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you have any objections to that? It’s no more revealing than wearing a bikini. Surely, you don’t object to that. Please tell me you wear undergarments.”
“I do.” Londyn gave the man a brief nod. “I can do that.”
“Good, then get cleaned up and over to makeup. We shoot in...” he glanced down at his watch, “ten minutes.” Haynes strode off, shouting instructions to the camera crew.
Londyn shook her head at Haynes’s departing figure.
Nash stared down at her. “Are you all right?”
She pressed her palms to her ears. “I’m fine, though my ears are still ringing.”
“That’ll fade with time.”
“I hope so. It’s irritating as hell.” She gave him a crooked smile. “Though it could be worse.” She touched his arm. “Thanks for saving my life. And I’m sorry for being so...”
“Rude?” he suggested.
She chuckled. “I was thinking of a different word.”
“Cantankerous,” he said with a cocked brow.
She shook her head. “Not that one.”
He tried again. “Obstinate?”
Londyn tipped her head. “I was thinking more along the line of bitchy.”
“I wasn’t going to go there,” he said with a grin. “It rings too much of judgment.”
For the first time since he’d met the woman, she smiled. “Right answer.”
His grin faded. “Did the sheriff question you about possible suspects?”
Londyn’s lips thinned into a straight line. “He did. Other than protestors, I couldn’t think of anyone who knows me enough to hate me.”
“Your mother mentioned that you inherited a ranch from your grandfather,” he said. “Was someone else in line for that property?”
She snorted. “Only my mother, and she has no desire to ever live there again.”
“Would she want the money from the sale of the land?” He held up his hands. “Not that I’m accusing her of trying to kill you, especially since she hired me to protect you.”
“She’d rather die than move back to Montana. She has enough money and doesn’t need the money a sale of the ranch would bring.”
“What about a rival actor?”
She shrugged. “Everyone has been nice to me on the set. I haven’t been in the acting business long enough to make anyone mad that I can think of. I just want to get through this and get back to my ranch.”
Nash’s brow dipped low. “What about an ex-boyfriend or jealous ex-lover?” Something tightened in his gut, and he found himself holding his breath, waiting for her answer.
Londyn snorted. “I don’t have time for a boyfriend and haven’t had a lover since...” She blinked. “Hell, since college. That’s years ago.” Her brows twisted. “I’ve been busy working the ranch.”
“There has to be someone who has it in for you.” He pushed a hand through his hair, oddly relieved and tense at the same time. “Since your trailer was targeted for graffiti and demolition, and the props that were tampered with were the ones you were supposed to use, you’re clearly the target.”
Londyn stared at the mess left by the explosion. “I’ll think about it. You’re right. I’m the target. I just don’t have a clue why.” She stared at the people milling around, and her eyes narrowed. “Unless it all has to do with trespassing on sacred lands. Excuse me. I need to talk with someone.”
She took off toward the cluster of protestors standing in the shadows.
Nash hurried to keep pace with Londyn.
“You don’t have to follow me everywhere, you know,” she murmured.
“Yes, I do,” he said. “I can’t protect you if I’m not near you.”
“True.” She shot him a glance. “Stay close but let me do the talking.”
He nodded.
Londyn stopped in front of a woman with long dark hair, much like hers. “Tala, are you all right?”
The woman she’d called Tala turned to her and gripped her arms.
Nash tensed, ready to step between the two women at the first sign of danger.
“Oh, Londyn, I’m fine, and I’m so glad you’re okay.” She pulled her into a hug. “That was your trailer. You could’ve been inside it when it went up.” She leaned back. “What happened?”
Londyn’s eyes narrowed. “Should I be asking you? Or one of your crowd of protestors?”
Tala shook her head, her eyebrows forming a V over the bridge of her nose. “What do you mean?”
“The explosion wasn’t an accident,” Londyn said.
Tala looked from Londyn to Nash and back to Londyn. “I don’t understand. I thought maybe a gas leak caused it.”
“It was deliberate.” Londyn tipped her head toward Nash. “Tell her what you saw.”
“Someone set explosives,” he said. “If Miss Tyler-Lovejoy had gone into that trailer a minute before...”
Tala’s eyes widened. “Seriously? Who would do such a thing?”
Londyn’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Tala, how upset are the Shoshone over the movie crew being on sacred grounds?”
The woman pressed her hands to her chest. “You don’t think we had anything to do with it, do you?”
“There have been a number of incidents on the set,” Londyn said. “One of which was graffiti on the back of my trailer that said, Go Back Where You Came From.”
“When was that?” Tala asked.
“Last night,” Londyn answered.
“We didn’t get here until this afternoon.” Tala shook her head. “We had nothing to do with it. We didn’t even organize until this morning.” She looked around at the others in her group. “Ours is a peaceful protest. No one is armed—especially not with dynamite or whatever they used to destroy your trailer.” Tala touched her arm. “We don’t like the movie crew tromping all over sacred grounds, but we wouldn’t kill anyone over it. Especially not you.”
“Londyn, darling,” a woman called out from behind Nash.
He turned to find a dark-haired woman wearing a flowing white dress hurrying toward them. A tall, blond-haired man dressed in jeans, chaps, a leather vest and a cowboy hat followed her.
The woman rushed past Nash and flung her arms around Londyn. “Oh, thank God you’re all right.”
Londyn awkwardly patted the woman’s back and then stepped out of her embrace. “I’m fine. I take it you and Craig weren’t injured in the blast?” She looked past the woman to the man in the cowboy hat.
“I was in my trailer, studying my lines, when the blast practically threw me out of my chair,” the woman said.
“I was getting into my costume for the night scene,” the man said. “My trailer shook so hard my blow dryer fell off the counter.” He stepped past the woman and pulled Londyn into a crushing embrace. “When I heard it was your trailer, I was worried about you and came over as soon as I could get through the crush of emergency personnel.”
Nash frowned at how long the man was holding Londyn. He stepped forward and gripped the man’s shoulder. “Hey, man, let her breathe.”
The man stepped back, his arm still around Londyn’s waist. He cocked an eyebrow at Nash. “And you are?”
“Your worst nightmare if you don’t take your hands off Miss Tyler-Lovejoy.”
Londyn shook her head. “Nash, I’ve got this.” She looked up at the man she’d called Craig. “I’m fine. You can let go.”
He pulled her back into his arms, crushing her to his chest. “I’m worried about you.”
Nash snorted. “So worried, it took you twenty minutes to make your way over to her?” His hands clenched into fists.
“Law enforcement herded us out into the open and wouldn’t let us get closer,” Craig said. “We were told to stay put while they questioned people and ran the bomb-sniffing dogs through.” The man held tightly to Londyn. “I wanted to come, but they wouldn’t let me.”
Nash wouldn’t have let anyone stand between him and someone he cared about. They’d have to shoot him to make him stay away. “Right,” he said with a grunt. “Very heroic.”
Londyn glared at Nash but directed her words to the man holding her. “Let go of me, Craig.”
“You’re my leading lady,” Craig said. “What would’ve happened if you’d been injured or killed?”
“Haynes would find another leading lady,” the woman beside Londyn said.
Londyn reached behind her, grabbed Craig’s thumb and twisted his arm around and away from her body.
“Hey, hey!” Craig cried. “Ease up, or you’ll break my thumb.”
Londyn’s mouth turned up on the corner as she held onto the man’s thumb. “That’s the idea. Save the love scene for the camera.” She let go of Craig’s thumb and waved a hand toward the man and woman. “Nash, this is Craig Ryland and Julia Banes, also known as ‘the talent.’”
“I’m the lead male, and Lana’s—” he tipped his head toward Londyn, “love interest in the movie.” He rubbed his thumb with a frown. “We’ll have to work on the chemistry.”
Londyn turned to Nash. “And this is Nash Nelson, my?—”
“Boyfriend,” Nash said and held out his hand to Craig.
Londyn’s eyes widened briefly, but she didn’t call him out on his lie.
Craig reached for the hand to shake.
Nash gripped the actor’s hand hard enough to make the man flinch. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Ryland.” He released the man’s hand and offered his hand to the woman. “Miss Banes.”
Julia gave him a weak handshake and released it quickly.
“I just arrived today,” Nash said. “And it seems I’m just in time.” He slipped an arm around Londyn and pulled her up against him.
She stiffened but didn’t twist his thumb like she had Craig’s.
“How terrible that you could’ve been caught in the explosion with Londyn.” Craig shoved his hand into his back pocket. “Well, I’m glad neither of you was hurt. Will you be on set for the next scene?” he asked Londyn.
“I’m headed that way now,” Londyn said.
“Good.” Craig nodded. “Haynes likes to keep on schedule,”
Julia glanced from Nash to Londyn. “Nothing makes him crankier than delays.”
“Believe me,” Londyn murmured. “I want to finish this job—the sooner the better.” She hooked her hand through Nash’s elbow. “Come on, boyfriend. I need to get moving before the big, bad director blows a gasket.”
Nash let her lead him to the cabin on the edge of the movie set. Camera equipment was set up all around the front of the cabin, and lights were trained on the porch.
Director Steve Haynes emerged through the cabin”s front door. “We need Lana in place ASAP.” The man’s gaze searched for and found Londyn as she approached with Nash. “There you are.” His brow dipped low. “You’re not ready.”
“She’ll be ready in a minute.” A woman rushed forward with a hairbrush.
Nash stepped away.
Another woman came at Londyn with what looked like a makeup palette.
While Londyn stood still, the woman with the hairbrush worked quickly and efficiently, brushing the tangles, dirt and grass from her hair.
The one with a makeup palette whipped out a soft brush and applied just enough makeup to cover the smudge of dirt on Londyn’s face and to enhance her eyelashes, cheekbones and lips.
Once they’d completed their work, they melted into the shadows.
“The crew’s inside, ready to go when you are.” He turned to Craig Ryland. “Mount up. You’ll ride in on my cue.”
Ryland nodded and strode to the edge of the floodlights, where a man held the reins of a black horse.
Londyn’s lips twisted. She shot a glance toward Nash. “You can’t go in with me.”
He frowned.
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “This shouldn’t take long. I’m just inside for a few minutes and then come rushing out to defend my ranch.”
“Has anyone checked the cabin for explosives?” he asked.
Haynes nodded. “The sheriff had a bomb-sniffing dog run through the set and around all the other trailers. We’re clear. Apparently, the only affected trailer... Well, you know.”
“Was Miss Tyler-Lovejoy’s.” Nash’s jaw clenched.
“If you want to stay,” Haynes said to Nash, “you’ll have to hang back behind the camera crew and stay quiet while they’re filming.”
Londyn nodded. “Go.”
Nash hesitated another minute, not liking that she wouldn’t be in sight. He didn’t trust that the crew would look out for her, but he didn’t have a choice. He moved back behind the camera crew and took a stance, ready to race forward should she need him.
Director Haynes ducked into the cabin.
For the next fifteen minutes, he waited. While he waited, he texted Swede, letting him know what had happened and asking him to locate lodging for Miss Tyler-Lovejoy for the night since her trailer had been destroyed. Swede promised to get back to him as soon as he had something.
Voices sounded inside. Haynes emerged, glanced left and right, nodded and yelled, “Action!”
Everyone grew silent as the cameramen focused on the cabin.
Movement sounded from inside the cabin.
Haynes, standing at the edge of the set, motioned toward Craig, who was seated on the black horse. The man dug his heels into the animal’s flanks.
The horse bolted forward at the same time as Londyn burst through the doorway carrying a rifle and wearing nothing but her bra and panties.
“Cut!” Haynes shouted.
Craig yanked back on the reins.
The black horse reared.
Craig slid out of the saddle and landed hard on the ground.
People stood back while the horse reared again, whinnying excitedly.
Londyn stepped forward as the animal came down on all four hooves.
Nash was halfway to her when Londyn snagged the bridle.
The horse reared again, lifting Londyn off the ground as she held on tightly to the leather straps, speaking softly, insistently.
When the beast dropped back down, Londyn kept talking, her voice soothing.
The handler who’d been working with the horse rushed forward, causing the frightened animal to skitter sideways.
“I’ve got this,” Londyn said firmly. “Back off.”
The man stepped backward as members of the crew grabbed Craig off the ground and carried him to safety.
Londyn kept talking to the horse until his nostrils stopped flaring, and he stood still.
She ran her hands over his forehead and along his neck, speaking to him in a soothing tone.
Nash eased up behind her and ran his hand along the opposite side of the horse’s neck. “Want me to take him?”
Londyn shook her head. “No. He’s going to be fine. He just wasn’t ready to stop running when Craig pulled back on the reins.”
“That horse is impossible,” Craig said from the sidelines.
“It’s not the horse,” Londyn whispered. “Is it, Reggie?” she murmured as she scratched behind the animal’s ear.
The horse tossed his head as if in agreement.
“That’s right,” she said softly. “You’re beautiful and not used to working at night with someone who doesn’t know the first thing about handling a creature as magnificent as you.”
“Where’s our stuntman?” Haynes called out.
“Here,” said a man dressed exactly like Craig as he stepped up beside Londyn. “I’ll take Reggie from here.” He took the reins out of Londyn’s hands and led the horse away.
“Everyone in place,” Haynes called out.
“You have to get back,” Londyn said. “We’re about to shoot the next sequence with the stuntman.”
“Why? What’s he going to do?”
“You’ll see,” she gave him a nudge toward the cameramen. “I think this is the last shot for the day—if we get it right on the first take.”
Nash backed into the shadows of the camera equipment and crew, his brow furrowed. He wasn’t sure he could protect this woman in such a chaotic and fluid environment.
The man who’d taken the reins from Londyn led the horse back into the shadows and mounted.
The animal danced sideways for a moment, then settled.
Londyn grabbed the rifle from where she’d dropped it on the ground.
“Ready?” Haynes called out.
Londyn nodded and went back into the cabin.
“Ready,” the man on the horse called from the shadows.
“Action!” Haynes commanded.
Londyn burst through the door with her rifle as the man on the horse shot out of the shadows, racing straight for Londyn.
Nash started forward.
The man on the horse leaned down, grabbed Londyn’s free hand and swung her up, rifle and all, landing her across his lap in the saddle. Then he nudged the horse, and it raced out of sight into the darkness of night.
Nash didn’t wait for Haynes to yell, “Cut!” before he ran after them.
He caught up with them a few yards later as the stuntman lowered Londyn to the ground.
She stood barefoot on the cold, hard ground, her arms wrapped around her chest in the cool night air.
Nash removed his leather jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, a shiver shaking her entire body. “I am. Thanks.”
He rubbed her arms in an attempt to warm her. “Is that it?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. The director might want to run the scene again.”
Nash shook his head but didn’t say anything. Instead, he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her.
She stiffened against him.
“I’m just trying to keep you warm,” he said. “Don’t feel the need to twist my thumb. It’s just me doing my job and protecting you.”
“From what?” Londyn shivered again.
“Hypothermia,” he answered. “You can’t stand out in the cold for long.”
“I’ll stay as long as it takes to get the scene right.” She turned in his arms and stared out at the camera crew.
Haynes and the cameramen had their heads together next to the camera, replaying the video. After a long moment, they all backed away.
“It’s a wrap,” Haynes said. “See you all in the morning, bright and early.”
“You can go?” Nash asked, his lips against her ear.
She nodded. “Yes. But the big question is to where?”
Nash’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. The text from Swede made him smile. “My team has you covered.”
“How so?” she asked.
“We have a cabin in Yellowstone National Park.”
“We do?” she asked, her brow furrowing. “Since when?”
He grinned. “Since now. Are you ready to go?”
She looked toward the area where her trailer had been. “My purse, driver’s license and truck keys were in my trailer.”
“You’ll ride with me. I’ll have my team work on getting replacements for all those things. For now, let’s get you somewhere you can get a shower and some sleep.”
She frowned. “Isn’t it too far to drive each day?”
“I’ll get you there and back in time. Given what happened earlier, I think you’ll be safer away from the set.”
Londyn sighed. “You’re probably right. And right now, I’m too tired and cold to argue.”
“Good. Then come with me.”
“Let me grab my clothes,” she said.
Nash walked her to the cabin and checked inside before he allowed her to enter.
The cabin was empty. Members of the crew were either gone or stowing equipment for the night.
Londyn entered the cabin, went to an antique cupboard against the far wall and fished her clothes out of the bottom drawer.
She shrugged out of Nash’s leather jacket.
Nash turned away, allowing her a modicum of privacy as she dressed.
Once she was done, she joined him. “You want your jacket back?” she asked, handing it over to him.
He shook his head and draped it over her shoulders again. “I don’t need it right now.”
She pushed her arms through the sleeves and wrapped the excess around her. “Thanks.”
She shivered again and fell in step beside him as they left the cabin.
When they reached a black pickup parked beside the other vehicles in the grass on the opposite end of the camp, he opened the passenger door and held it for her as she climbed inside.
Londyn fumbled with the seatbelt until Nash took over, securing it over her lap. Still leaning over her, he stared into her eyes. “It’s going to be okay.”
She gave him a crooked grin. “I hope you’re right. If I didn’t need this job, I’d be tempted to tell you to keep driving and take me as far away from here as we can get.”
“I can take you anywhere you want to go,” he said as he straightened.
Londyn shook her head. “Part of me wants to take you up on that offer.”
“But?” He cocked an eyebrow.
She stared straight ahead, her chin lifting. “When I leave this set, this production, it will be on my own terms, not with tail between my legs scared of some asshole too cowardly to show his face.”
Nash closed the door and rounded the front of the truck to slide into the driver’s seat. Londyn was nothing like the women he’d known. He’d arrived expecting the tedious task of protecting a diva incapable of taking care of herself. Instead, he’d found an independent young woman with a gorgeous body and a stubborn streak that might just get her killed.
His eyes narrowed as he shifted into drive and pulled out of the parking area.
His assignment had almost ended as soon as it had started. Fortunately, he’d managed to keep the woman from dying on his first day. She might not have wanted a bodyguard, but he’d already saved her once. And once you saved someone, you were morally, ethically and superstitiously responsible for that person’s life in perpetuity.
At least, that was how Nash felt. Until the threat was neutralized, this stubborn, headstrong woman was his responsibility.
One thing was certain.
Guarding Londyn was going to be a lot more difficult and dangerous than he could have imagined.