Beauty and the Bodyguard

“Why didn’t you stand up to him?” Rocky asked, picking up the refrain she’d left off last night only when Allie threatened to tie a pillowcase over her head. Perched comfortably on a window seat in the bedroom the girls had shared since childhood, Rocky went after her twin with the piranha-like ruthlessness of a loving sister.

“You should have told Jake to stuff it when he pressed you to do this campaign. You know how burnt out you are. You’ve been trying to stuff acting lessons in between your runway shows and advertising shoots. You only have time for an occasional date with jerks like Hansen. And now you’ve got this creep calling you in the middle of the night. What you need, sister mine, is a hot and fast and furious affair.”

“Right.”

“I’m serious. You need someone to make you kick back and enjoy life again. Preferably a man who doesn’t worship at the altar of your beauty.”

“What I need is for you to get off my back,” Allie retorted, tossing a nightshirt into her weekender.

“Me, or Jake?”

“Both of you.”

“So tell him!”

“I’m not you, Rocky. I don’t make an art form out of challenging people.”

“Bull-loney! Don’t pull that innocent act on me. You never hesitated to challenge anyone when we were younger. You just did it so sweetly, no one but Kate ever saw through your angelic facade. It’s just since her death that you’ve let Jake and Caroline and the whole family take over your life.”

Allie gripped her zippered makeup bag in both hands as a now familiar pain lanced through her. Involuntarily her gaze drifted to the battered tin carousel sitting on the dresser.

Kate had seen her granddaughters’ wide-eyed fascination when she’d first acquired the carousel. Laughing, she’d given the German-made toy to the girls to play with, even though it was an expensive antique. As Kate was so fond of saying, there was nothing more precious in the world than a child’s joy. The tomboyish Rocky had soon tired of the little merry-go-round, but Allie had delighted in its filigreed canopy and prancing horses throughout her childhood. Now dented and dinged from years of use, the tin carousel was Allie’s most cherished reminder of her grandmother. Kate had left it to her in her will as a personal keepsake.

Dropping the makeup bag, Allie walked over to the dresser. Unerringly, her fingers wound the key just the right number of times. Too many, and the melody tripped and hurried, like a twittering sparrow chasing another bird away from its nest. Too few, and it slowed to a sluggish crawl.

She released the key, and a Chopin polonaise tinkled through the air. One after another, the miniature horses dipped and rose, pawing the air in time to the music.

As the music wound down, Rocky sighed. “God, I miss her.”

Allie swallowed to ease her aching throat. “Me too.”

Pulling her nightshirt out of the suitcase, she wrapped it carefully around the little carousel, then tucked the bundle in amid her underwear.

“That’s why I didn’t tell Jake to stuff it,” Allie told her sister slowly. “And why I’m going to New Mexico. Kate spent her life building Fortune Cosmetics. If I can help keep it from falling apart, I will.”

“All right,” Rocky conceded, rising. “Have it your way. But I wish you’d let me fly you to Santa Fe. I’d feel better about the whole situation if I had a chance to shake out this goon Jake’s hired and see what he’s made of.”

Allie shuddered. “The idea of you shaking us out is exactly why I don’t want you to fly us to New Mexico. The last time you took me up in one of Kate’s planes, I lost the contents of my purse, my camera bag and my stomach. At least a commercial charter doesn’t do wheelies.”

A pained expression crossed Rocky’s face. “Bicycles do wheelies, Allison. Skateboards do wheelies. Twin-engine Piper Comanches do three-point reverse spins, of which that was a perfect example.”

“Whatever it was, I’m not anxious to repeat the experience.” Allie zipped her weekender shut, then glanced at the bedside clock. “If you want to check Rafe out, you can come downstairs. He’s picking me up in ten minutes.”

“Rafe?”

“The goon,” Allie replied dryly.

A speculative gleam entered Rocky’s eyes. “Hmm… Maybe this bodyguard business isn’t such a bad idea after all. Two weeks. Just you and him.”

“And a crew of forty or so.”

Rocky dismissed the crew with a wave of one hand. “Whatever. I definitely have to check the guy out.”

“Come on, then. He should be here any moment, and I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

Her twin sketched her a salute. “Yes, ma’am! Right away, ma’am!”

Thirty minutes later, Allie’s leather sole was tapping the polished vestibule floor. Rocky had temporarily deserted her, gone to the kitchen in search of a cup of coffee. She had only her growing irritation for company while she waited for her bodyguard.

Pushing back the sleeve of her pink gabardine tunic, Allie flicked another glance at her watch. Normally, she handled delays with more patience. They were inevitable in her profession. Photographers always seemed to need a different lens. Props mysteriously disappeared just when they were needed. But Rafe’s tardiness only added to her burgeoning doubts about their tentative arrangement. So much for his promises to accommodate himself to her schedule.

When the chimes sounded a few moments later, she opened the door, wincing a bit as splashes of fire-hydrant red, carroty orange and violent purple filled her vision. Last night, Rafe’s tie had intrigued her. In the bright light of day, it assaulted her senses.

“Good morning,” she offered in a clipped tone, reaching for her bag. “We’d better hurry. We’re late. The others will be waiting.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. After three years, he should be used to the reaction his appearance caused. But Allie’s involuntary flinch and curt greeting came on top of a near-sleepless night and several long hours on the phone this morning, nailing down the status of the investigation into her calls. Rafe didn’t like being late, any more than he liked the information he’d finally pulled out of the New York Police Department. Consequently, his greeting was as terse as hers.

“They’ll have to wait a little longer. You need to change. You’re too conspicuous.”

Surprised, she glanced down at her outfit.

Rafe didn’t have any problem with her black slacks, but the hot-pink tunic with the black braid looped under one arm and the military trim in glittering jet would catch any man’s eye, especially with Allie wearing it.

“I’ll share one of the tips of the trade with you,” he told her. “Unless you’re baiting a trap, you do your best to disguise the prey.”

Rafe could see that she didn’t particularly like hearing herself described as prey. But after listening to the transcription she’d given the police of her late-night calls, he couldn’t describe her as anything else.

“For the next few weeks, at least,” he continued, “you need to remain as inconspicuous as possible.”

Thick, shining hair brushed her shoulder as she tilted her head, studying his face. Rafe braced himself as her gaze drifted to his neck.

“It might be easier for me to remain inconspicuous if my bodyguard didn’t wear red and orange fish-eyes,” she suggested.

Rafe fingered his tie, wondering for a moment if he’d misread Allie’s reaction when she opened the door. He’d barely restrained a wince himself when he first saw the item in question. But it had been a gift from the five-year-old he’d rescued from an enclave of vicious, heavily armed white supremacists. The girl had been kidnapped by her father, who didn’t believe that the courts or his ex-wife held any authority over him. Jody had picked out the tie herself, she’d told Rafe solemnly. He’d worn it then to please her, but the thing had since become a sort of personal talisman. In this instance, at least, it served a useful purpose.

“I’d rather people’s eyes were drawn to me than to you,” he told his client. “The tie helps, almost as much as the scars.”

Her eyes widened slightly at his reference to his disfigurement. Rafe had learned that most people preferred to tiptoe around the subject, if they mentioned it at all. He’d never learned to tiptoe.

“You can do your part by dressing a little less like a…” He raked her with a quick glance. “Like a supermodel.”

Rafe half expected a pout or a protest. In his admittedly limited experience, the last thing a beautiful woman wanted was to downplay her attractions. To his surprise, she curbed her obvious impatience at the delay and motioned him inside.

“I didn’t bring much with me from New York, but I can borrow some jeans or something from Rocky.”

Rafe turned the name over in his mind as he stepped inside. Rocky. Rachel Fortune. Allison’s twin sister.

“Do you want a cup of coffee or something while I change?”