Glass Slipper Bride

She considered her reflection in the mirror for a moment, smacked her lips and said, “Not intentionally.”

Jillian made a slight movement that he caught with the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he lifted a brow, inviting her to speak. She did so as if explaining for her sister was something she did every day. “Janzen was drunk. He took a swing at Plato, missed and clipped Camille on the chin.”

“She could hardly speak for a week,” Geraldine said, as though it were somehow Jillian’s fault.

“And never missed a newscast,” Camille said, batting her eyelashes as she brushed mascara into them.

Zach asked, “Who’s Plato?”

“Camille’s hairdresser,” Jillian answered.

“The gray ponytail? What’d Eibersen have against him?”

Camille capped the mascara and tossed it away. “Jan liked my full attention,” she said, giving her full attention to her reflection in the small lit mirror standing atop the dressing table.

Zach could just see a drunken Janzen trying to talk lucidly with a preoccupied Camille while the hairdresser fluttered around her ratting her hair until it filled the room. He could almost feel sorry for the guy, but that didn’t mean he could overlook the fact that Eibersen had thrown that punch. He sighed. “Any other episodes of violence?”

Camille picked up a hairbrush and began dragging it through her shoulder-length hair, smoothing and caressing. Jillian said, “He used to throw things, stomp around yelling and screaming.”

“He threw a bowl of caviar on the kitchen floor,” Geraldine said, no doubt considering it proof of insanity. “A crystal bowl.”

“He drove his car up onto the sidewalk, knocked over some potted trees and crashed right into the barrier in front of the TV station,” Jillian said quietly. “I was at the reception desk. I thought he was going to come right through the glass into the building.”

No doubt about it, the guy definitely had a screw loose. Zach finished scribbling in his notebook, flipped it closed and dropped it into his pocket. “Okay. Here’s the deal. I’ve heard enough to believe he can be dangerous, and you’re a public personality, Ms. Waltham, which makes you even easier to get at than the average individual. So I propose we bring in a couple of subcontractors to keep an eye on you.”

She turned away from the mirror then. “I can’t have a couple of goons trailing me everywhere I go. What would people think?”

Zach just barely curbed the urge to roll his eyes. “I don’t use ‘goons,’ as you put it. These men are professionals. They can keep a discreet distance. It won’t be enough to completely protect you, so you’ll have to be on your guard.”

Camille turned back to the mirror, her reflection laughing at him. “For Pete’s sake. Keller, all I want you to do is stop the man from bothering me. He’s not trying to kill anybody.”

“Not yet,” Zach said. “But who can say he won’t cross that line if he gets frustrated enough.”

She had coaxed her hair into a sleek flip. She smoothed it now with her hands, turning her head this way and that “Jan was born frustrated,” she said in a bored tone, “but he’s not stupid. He won’t do anything in front of witnesses, and since I’m never without an escort in public, I don’t see what the problem is.”

Zach felt an instant of relief. He could just turn around and walk out now. He’d given her his take on the problem, and she’d rejected it. Nothing was keeping him here now—except a pair of big, sky-soft eyes clouded with worry. It occurred to him that if he washed his hands of Camille Waltham right here and now he could ask her sister out on a proper date, and just the thought of that kind of freedom scared him right back into Camille Waltham’s corner.

“Is that tuxedo in there an example of the kind of escort you take out in public with you?” he demanded.

It was Geraldine who came to the man’s defense. “And just what’s wrong with my ex-stepson?” she asked in a mystified tone.

Zach smirked. “I’m sure he’s from the very best of families, ma’am, but I doubt he could disarm a cranky toddler with a sucker, let alone a drunk with a grudge and a gun.”

The color bled right out of her face. “We don’t know that Jan has a gun,” she said weakly.

“We don’t know that he doesn’t.”

He gave that a few seconds to sink in before he went on, addressing himself to Camille this time. “Maybe we can compromise with protection in public only, provided you follow my instructions.”

“Listen to him, Camille,” Jillian pleaded softly. “Please.”

Camille rolled her eyes. “Oh, all right, if you’re that scared of the harmless loser, I’ll let the big, bad expert handle it.”

Jillian seemed relieved, but Zach frowned. He didn’t like being put down by a stuck-up little broad with more hair than sense, but he really didn’t like watching her put down the sister who was so obviously concerned for her. Still, their interpersonal relationships were no business of his. His business was protecting the little witch, and he got down to it without further ado.

“Starting tomorrow,” he said, “I’ll want a list of your public appearances so I can have someone on hand to protect you. I’ll need a photo of Eibersen to show them.”

“I’ll have my secretary take care of both,” Camille said tersely.

“You should be safe at the office,” Zach went on. “Security’s usually pretty tight at television stations, but I’ll check to be sure. How do you get to work?”

“The station provides a limo.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to the driver. Now about this house. I noticed a security system monitor in the front hall. Is it activated?”

Camille shook her head. “It was here when I bought the place. I don’t know anything about it.”

“Well, I do,” Zach said. He took out his wallet and went through it until he found the card he wanted. Walking forward, he laid it on the corner of her dressing table. “Call that number and get the system activated.”

She glanced at the card, picked it up and held it out to Jillian, who hurried forward and took it. Obviously Jillian would be deputized to take care of the details on the home front, so he addressed the next order to her.

“Call a locksmith and get the locks changed. Even if Eibersen never had his own key, the locks I’ve seen so far are more decoration than security. I want a dead bolt and chain on every outside door. Got that?”

Jillian nodded solemnly. He took another card from his shirt pocket and handed it over, knowing that it contained nothing but a ten digit number. “That’s how you can reach me, anytime, anywhere, in case of an emergency. And I do mean an emergency.” He turned back to Camille, brushing back the sides of his coat to settle his hands at his waist. “If you want to talk over arrangements or check on my progress, you call the office. Understand?”

Camille swiveled all the way around on her upholstered stool then. “What progress?” she asked.

“I’m going to do some investigating,” he said, “see if I can locate Eibersen and figure out what he’s up to. I should have a better handle on the situation in a few days. I like to know what I’m up against”

Camille sniffed at that. “You’re up against a hapless boozer,” she said dismissively.

“Maybe so,” he said, “but all it takes to pull a trigger is a finger that works.”

“You don’t really think he’d try to kill her, do you?” Geraldine asked worriedly.

He gave her his most reassuring look. “I don’t know, but until I do, I don’t want her taking any chances. That clear?” He addressed that last to the room at large and got murmurs and nods. “Okay. Now, where’s that window?”

“I’ll show you,” Jillian said, and he held out an arm, turning toward the door with her.

It was then that Camille Waltham finally remembered her manners. She came up off the tuffet and flitted across the room toward them, calling, “Oh, Mr. Keller.” She stopped and smiled. “Zachary.”

“‘Zach,”’ he responded, letting her know that he had no objection to the familiarity and that she had his attention.

She sparkled in a very deliberate manner and said, a little breathlessly, “Thank you. I appreciate you taking the time to handle this.”

“You’ll get a bill,” he told her ungraciously, disliking the sparkle as much as the hauteur.

She turned on a brilliant smile. “Of course.” She tugged on the sash of her robe, letting it fall open as she switched her attention to her sister. “Send everyone in, Jilly. And tuck in that shirttail. You look like a rebellious teenager.”