Wyoming Cowboy Bodyguard

He wasn’t sane. He couldn’t be. She was stuck in the middle of nowhere Wyoming with an insane person.

But Vaughn would never let that happen. So she forced herself to get out of the car and slung the duffel bag over her shoulder. She tried not to mourn that she hadn’t been able to bring her guitar. This wasn’t a musical writing escape. It was literally running for her life.

She stepped next to Zach. She still didn’t trust him, but she trusted her brother. She looked up at the building like Zach Simmons did, though not with nearly the amount of reverence he had in his expression.

“I know it looks intimidating from the outside, but that’s kind of the point.”

“The point?” Daisy asked, studying a board that hung haphazardly from a bent nail.

“From the outside, no one would guess anyone’s been here for decades.”

“Try centuries,” she muttered.

He motioned her forward and she followed him up a cracked and sunken rock pathway to the front door.

“Watch the hole,” he announced cheerfully, pointing at the gaping hole in the floorboards of the porch. He shoved a key into the front door and pushed open the creaky, uneven entry. “Even if someone started poking around, all they’d see is decay.”

Yes, that is all I see. She looked around. She had to admit that although everything appeared to be in a state of decay, there were some important things missing. She didn’t see any dust or spiderwebs. Debris, sure. Peeling wallpaper and warped floorboards, check, but it didn’t smell like she’d expected it to. There was the faint hint of paint on the air.

He led her over the uneven flooring, then pushed a key into another lock. When this door opened she actually gasped.

The room on the other side was beautiful. Clean and furnished, and though there were no windows, somehow the light he switched on bounced off the colors of the walls and filled the room enough that it didn’t feel dank and interior.

“This is the common area,” Zach said. And maybe he wasn’t totally insane. “Then over there past the sitting area is the kitchen. You’re free to use it and anything inside as much as you like. Once we ascertain that you weren’t followed on any leg of your trip, you’ll be able to venture out more freely, but for now you’ll have to stay put.”

Daisy could only nod dumbly. Was this real? Maybe she’d gone insane. A break with reality following a stressful tragedy.

He locked the door behind them, which was enough to jolt Daisy back to the reality of being in a strange ghost town with a man she didn’t know.

But he simply moved forward to a set of two doors. “Your bedroom and bathroom are through here.” He unlocked the one on the right.

“What’s that one?” she asked, pointing to the door on the left as he pushed the unlocked door open.

“That’s where I’ll stay.”

“You’ll... Right.” He’d be right next door. This stranger. Hired to protect her, and yet she didn’t know him. Even Vaughn didn’t know him, and Jaime hadn’t known him since they’d trained together in the FBI. Why were they all so trusting?

He handed her the key he’d just used to unlock the door. “This is yours. I don’t have a copy. The outside doors are always locked up in multiple places, so how and when you want to lock your room is up to you.”

She knew he was trying to set her at ease, but she could only think of a million ways he could get into the room even without a key. Or anyone could.

People could always get to you if they wanted to badly enough.

He studied her for a moment, then gestured her inside. “You can settle in. Make yourself at home however you need to. Rest, if you’d like.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“You’ve been through an ordeal. Take your time to get acquainted with the place. I’m going to do a routine double check to make sure you weren’t followed from Austin. If you need me...” He moved over to the wall, motioned her over.

Hesitantly, she stepped closer, still clutching her bag on her shoulder. He tapped a spot on the wallpaper. “See how this flower has a green bloom and a green stem instead of a blue flower like the rest?”

She nodded wearily.

He pushed on the green flower and a little panel popped out of the wall. Inside was a speaker with a button below it. “Simple speaker to speaker. You need something, you can just buzz me through here. I can either answer, or come over, depending.”

He closed the panel and it snapped shut, seamless with the wallpaper once again. How on earth had her life become some kind of...spy movie? “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”

He smiled briefly—something like pride and affection lighting up the blank, bland expression. Just a little flash of personality, and for one surprising moment all she could really think was gee, he’s hot.

“That’s what they pay me for.” Then the blankness was back and whatever had sparkled in his blue eyes was gone. Everything about him screamed cop again, or, she supposed in his case, FBI. It was all the same to her. Law and order didn’t suit her the way it had her brother, but she’d be grateful for it in the midst of her current situation.

She studied the room around her. Gleaming hardwood with pretty blue rugs here and there. Floral wallpaper and shabby-chic fixtures. The furniture looked antique—old and a little scarred but well polished. The quilt over the bed looked like it belonged in a pretty farmhouse with billowing lace curtains.

It was calming and comforting, and in a better state of mind she might even be able to ignore all the facades and locks and intercoms and the lack of windows. But she wasn’t in the state of mind to forget that Tom, who’d been paid to protect her, was dead.

“Settle in, Ms. Delaney. You’re safe here. I promise you that.”

She carefully placed her duffel bag on the shiny hardwood floor. Exhaustion made her body feel as heavy as lead, and she went ahead and lowered herself onto the bed with its pretty quilt. “I’m not safe anywhere, Mr. Simmons.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but she wasn’t in the mood, so she waved him toward the door. “But I feel safe enough to take a nice long nap, if you’ll excuse me.”

He raised an eyebrow, presumably at her regal tone and the way she waved him off, but she was too tired to care.

He moved to the door, twisted the lock on the interior knob, then closed the door behind him as he exited.

Daisy took off the wig and then let herself fall into sleep.

* * *

ZACH SPENT THE afternoon going over the information he’d been given about Daisy’s stalking, and the information he’d gathered himself in anticipation of her arrival.

The murder of her bodyguard while she’d been on stage was certainly the tipping point. The formal investigation had been lax up to that point. Except for the private one her brother had launched.

Zach appreciated the detail of Ranger Cooper’s intel, and since he knew too well the stress and helplessness of trying to keep a sibling safe, Zach was grateful for his willingness to share.

Still, there were things that had been missed—well, maybe not missed. Overlooked. Probably still not fair. One of the things that had allowed Zach to do so well in the FBI was his ability to work out patterns, to find threads and connect them in ways other people couldn’t.

The stellar way he’d handled himself as an agent prior to his brother’s involvement in a case and Zach going rogue was what had kept him from having a splashier, more painful termination from the FBI.

He shrugged away the tension in his shoulders. He hated that it still bothered him, because even if he could rewind time, he’d do most things the same.

Daisy’s doorknob turned, and she took one tentative step out. She’d finally ditched the heavy black wig, and her straight blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She’d done something to her face—it’d take him a little more time to get to know her face well enough to know exactly what. If he had to guess, though, he’d say she’d freshened her makeup.

She’d changed out of the sleek black outfit into a long baggy shirt the color of a midsummer sky and black leggings. On her feet she wore thick bright purple socks.

She’d been in there for five hours, and from the looks of it, she’d spent most of the time sleeping—unless her makeup magically fixed the pallor of her skin and the dark circles under her eyes.

“Got any food in this joint?”