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  When they met in the living room again after a few ticks of the clock, he wore a charcoal T-shirt that hugged every muscled ridge of his body and a pair of dark jeans. A worn leather shoulder holster crisscrossed over his back. Backup ammo sat in his holster at his left hip, and some wicked gun at his right. Cutter appeared infinitely more dangerous, and somehow the sight of him suited up for battle made everything more real.

  He looked her up and down with an approving nod at her black turtleneck, spandex exercise pants, and black athletic shoes. “Let’s go.”

  As much as she was loath to carry a gun, she had to ask. “Sh-should I have some way to defend myself in case . . .” Shealyn didn’t want to think about the worst happening. “If he’s violent, I know some self-defense but I doubt he’s coming to this meeting without some firepower.”

  “He’s not, but I won’t give you a gun if you don’t know how to use it.”

  “I grew up hunting.”

  “Using a rifle on animals for meat and killing a person with a handgun are two very different things.”

  Shealyn hesitated. Cutter spoke as if he knew the distinction between those two well. She shivered. Of course he did. He’d been a soldier. Now he was a bodyguard and operative for hire. He wasn’t a Boy Scout. He definitely wasn’t an angel.

  “So, what do I do if . . .”

  “You should be long gone before he shows up. If he surprises you, run. Put distance between you and him. I’ll have him in my sights the whole time. He won’t get far. I won’t let him hurt you.”

  She nodded. She’d paid him for protection. He might be angry that she wasn’t being completely honest with him, but he was a professional who clearly took pride in his work. It was up to her now to follow the blackmailer’s instructions and hopefully put an end to this problem.

  “All right. Let’s go.”

  “When we get there, stay in your car until I give you the all-clear.”

  Shealyn left her truck at home and took the sleek gray Audi she kept in her garage. It was much faster . . . just in case she needed the speed.

  The drive to Culver City streaked by entirely too fast. Gripping the wheel tightly, Shealyn kept looking in her rearview mirror to make sure Cutter was following her. In his shoes, she’d probably be tempted to stay on the freeway and just keep going until she hit home. At the realization, she winced. When she thought about it like that, she had to wonder . . . How would she live with herself if something happened to him because of her secrets?

  With the disturbing question circling in her head, they pulled into the lot next to the ball field. She parked in a spot against the fence, facing third base. Other cars were scattered around the lot, mostly behind her, overlooking the unobstructed view of Los Angeles lit up in Tinseltown glory.

  As he’d instructed, she killed the lights and the engine, then sat, waiting for his signal. In her rearview mirror, she watched him ease out of his SUV, pretend to take a picture or two with his phone of the amazing city view, then wander the parking lot aimlessly as if he was simply curious and had no destination in mind.

  Finally, he wended his way along the fence line, past her car. He didn’t pause to look her way, didn’t act as if he had any idea he knew her. Instead, he seemingly meandered beyond the locked double gates, meant to keep cars out, she supposed. He cut through a gap in the fence to the left, near a sign about park hours and rules, which they were probably violating.

  Then he disappeared onto the field, away from the lights of the city. The darkness swallowed him up. Shealyn trembled and glanced at her phone. Five minutes after nine. The blackmailer wouldn’t sneak up on her two hours early, would he? Put a gun to her head and demand the cash now? She had it in the trunk. A quarter of a million in unmarked twenty-dollar bills, just as he’d asked.

  She double-checked that her car doors were locked and waited, staring at the baseball diamond dipped in night, wondering when she’d see Cutter again . . . and wondering what she’d do if she didn’t.

  A moment later, her phone vibrated. She held her breath, hoping it was him telling her to follow or that he was all right. Instead, it was a text containing further instructions on the cash drop.

  Leave the money under the first bench in the home team’s dugout. I’m watching.

  Suddenly, Shealyn could swear she felt eyes on her. Her breath froze. Her heart raced. She had to warn Cutter and hope it was the right thing to do.

  Quickly, she typed out a message to him with the thug’s instructions. No reply. Long minutes slipped by. She fidgeted. Get out of the car and drop the money now? Or stay and wait for direction from Cutter? She turned every possible scenario over in her mind, one thought chasing the next until she felt caught in a logic loop of pros and cons. But really, what did she know about being badder than the bad guy?

  Shealyn had decided to stay put a bit longer when she received a text from Cutter. Head to the drop point and leave the money, then return immediately to your car, lock it, and drive away. I’m hunkered down under the visitors’ bleachers. I can see every inch of the home team’s dugout. I’ll stay until he makes the pickup and deal with him.

  She didn’t like that plan at all . . . but she didn’t have a better one. She couldn’t hire Cutter for this very purpose, then call him off at the last minute . . . why? Because she worried about him. Because she didn’t want anything to happen to him.

  Because she cared.

  Terrible time to realize that.

  With trembling hands, she opened the car door and stepped out, braced for someone to attack her. No one did.

  Telling herself to keep calm, she pressed the trunk button on the key fob and the latch popped. Inside, she retrieved the shopping bag stuffed with money. Thank goodness she had a banker who was willing to go the extra mile for her and didn’t ask questions.

  She sucked in a bracing breath as she lifted the bag and made her way through the break in the fence Cutter had used more than forty minutes ago. Her gaze darted here and there, as if she could scour every square inch of this baseball diamond in the dark. As if she could possibly spot enemies ready to attack her. Shealyn wished she could because she still felt as if she was being watched. In fact, the toxic spew of malice coming at her seemed almost tangible.

  Hoping that was her anxiety merely spooking her, that no one would shoot her before they got their money, she hustled across the field. As soon as she began trekking across the grass, she shivered. God, she was so completely vulnerable out here. One pull of a trigger and she could be dead. There was nothing to shield her, nothing to hide behind.

  She prayed the entire way across the diamond. Thankfully, she didn’t see or hear anything dangerous, but her heart wouldn’t quit pounding. Shealyn swore it had bruised the inside of her chest. She tried to calm herself with deep breaths as she descended the handful of stairs into the dugout.

  The space was still and empty. She could almost hear the echo of kids laughing, coaches encouraging. This weekend, those sounds would ring out again. Tonight, there was no one here except her, Cutter, and someone who wished her ill.

  She dropped the bag of money at her feet and kicked it under the first bench. Her palms were sweating. Her fingers ached where the twine of the handles had dug into her. But it was done. All she had to do was make her way across the shadowy field again, secure herself in her Audi, and head home to wait.

  Swallowing, she retraced her steps, hugging third base then tiptoeing toward the opening in the fence. Less than a hundred steps to safety.

  But what about Cutter?

  She looked back. Of course she couldn’t see him anywhere in the darkness. She peered into the visitors’ bleachers but saw absolutely nothing. The foolish part of her wanted to stay and wait for him. It felt wrong to leave before she knew he was safe. But keeping herself in harm’s way might only endanger him more.

  Letting out a shuddering breath, she ap
proached her car and tapped the button on the fob to unlock it.

  Suddenly, Shealyn heard tires screeching across the lot. She whirled and found herself blinded by high-beam headlights in her face, heading directly toward her—and coming fast.

  She didn’t have time to devise anything incredibly clever. She didn’t even have time to scream. Spinning back toward the field, she sprinted to the fence. The car jerked, spun out, then followed.

  Her heart chugged as she managed to jump the waist-high fence. Behind her, the car revved. Once he mowed down the chain-link, he’d have no trouble mowing her down, too. The only possible place to take shelter would be the dugout, and she would never beat him there.

  God, the big, open field made her such easy prey. Was this how she would die?

  As the car plowed down the chain-link with a clang, shots rang out. She peered through the dark at the sound. Was someone shooting at her, too?

  A shadow appeared out of the night, gun raised. Cutter. He was firing at the car, and she heard bullets ping off metal. A moment later, the sounds of cracking glass reached her ears. Maybe that would distract the madman long enough for her to cross the field, hop the fence beyond, and hide in the trees.

  Still running as fast as her feet could move, she glanced at Cutter, who was bearing down on the car. The headlights illuminated his face. He looked like a mercenary of death, come to demand his price and extract his pound of flesh.

  The black car chasing her veered in his direction and lurched forward, going even faster—now heading right for him.

  A scream trapped in her chest. She dashed toward Cutter. To help him. To save him. With a vicious wave of his left hand, he demanded she leave. With his right, he fired off another shot, this one again hitting the windshield. He popped another off, but the car didn’t stop its pursuit, merely continued at Cutter full speed.

  “No!” Her screeched denial wouldn’t do any good but she couldn’t stop the wail.

  No one should die to keep her secrets. God, she wished she had a do-over on all of this.

  She didn’t. Instead, she was forced to watch that car barrel toward the man who’d sworn to save her life—even at the cost of his own. And in mere seconds, he’d be dead.

  Just before impact, Cutter dodged sharply to his right, rolling out of the car’s path and popping off another shot into the driver’s window. The assailant punched on the brakes. The car slid sideways, back tires kicking up dirt, before crashing into the fence on the far side of the field.

  As she approached Cutter, he pointed to the parking lot. “Get out of here!”

  Then he turned to stalk after the car—and its driver—again.

  “Don’t do this,” she shouted at his back.

  He turned to her long enough to grab a magazine of ammo from his left, eject the empty one, and pop the new clip in place. “Go. Let me do the job you paid me for.”

  “It’s not worth your life,” she pleaded.

  “After what he nearly did to you, it’s worth anything to me to stop this fucker.”

  She didn’t hear mere anger in his voice, but something far more terrifying: resolve. He wouldn’t stop until her blackmailer was captured . . . or dead.

  Then he turned his back on her once more, stalking toward the car, gun raised, stance threatening.

  Cutter would do whatever it took to keep this guy from hurting her. And she couldn’t stop him.

  When gunfire rent the air again, she let out a sob and ran for her car. If she stayed, she might distract him. She’d definitely make herself another target for this would-be killer. Neither would help Cutter. As much as it killed her, she had to get in her Audi and leave. At the bottom of the hill, she would wait for him and call the police. Right now, she hardly cared if her secret came out. She’d brace for it, give Tower as much of a heads-up as she could so he’d have time to do the same. But she refused to leave Cutter there to die without calling for help. She could only hope he managed to stay alive long enough for reinforcements to arrive.

  Shealyn shook as she swerved to the bottom of the narrow road, then pulled onto the barely existent dirt shoulder. She fumbled for her cell phone and dialed.

  “911. What is your emergency?”

  Before she could open her mouth and spill the details jumbling in her brain, Cutter’s truck rolled up behind her sedan. He slammed on the brakes and lunged out of the vehicle, running toward her as if he couldn’t reach her fast enough.

  She muted the phone and hopped from her car, clutching the device, feeling jittery and overcome by the urge to touch him and assure herself he was truly unharmed. “You’re alive.”

  “Of course.” His tone dismissed her concern, as if his safety was a given. “Are you all right?”

  She gave him a jerky nod of her head. “Yeah.”

  He glanced at the phone in her hand. “Who are you calling?”

  “The police. In case you needed backup . . .”

  “I don’t.” His face turned grim. “And you don’t want the attention they’ll bring. The leaks. Tell them it’s a false alarm and hang up.”

  Shealyn hesitated. Finally, she fumbled to unmute the call. Her voice shook as she told the dispatcher that her crisis was averted, then pressed the button to end the call. Cutter wasn’t in danger of being run over by a madman now. She had another chance to do this right. To let him investigate. To end this once and for all.

  “I didn’t know what else to do. I was just a little . . . terrified.”

  He grabbed her shoulders, his grip solid and whole and strong. He represented safety. She clung to him and searched his eyes, looking for something she couldn’t explain. Assurances? Peace? Whatever it was, she needed it.

  “I know, sweetheart. It’s okay. You did great.” Understanding softened his face. “Come here.”

  Closing her eyes and breathing out her need, Shealyn went with a grateful sob when Cutter pulled her into the safe circle of his embrace.

  CHAPTER 6

  When Cutter pulled Shealyn tighter against his body, his heart finally stopped drumming madly. He cradled her pale face in his hands, aching to feel her. Any second now she would push him away. She might even fire him for not keeping her completely out of harm’s way.

  Instead, she threw her arms around him and sank deeper into his embrace. God, it felt frighteningly good to hold her. And so, so right.

  Cage had asked him what he’d do if he coupled up with Brea then fell for someone else. In that moment, Cutter knew that if he didn’t tread carefully he may have to answer that question really damn soon.

  He released Shealyn, but instantly hated not touching her. That wasn’t good. Not good at all. But if he fell, the only upside was the feelings would undoubtedly all be on his side. She was a TV star, unattainable. She would never feel anything for a soldier from a nowhere town, abandoned by his alcoholic daddy to be raised by a dirt-poor single mother. At the end of this assignment, Shealyn would be safe. She would send him back to Louisiana and move on with someone Hollywood beautiful. He’d likely marry Brea, take care of her and the baby . . . and never forget the epic moment he’d held the woman who made his heart thunder like no other.

  “I’m relieved you’re all right,” he murmured in her ear. “I was worried.”

  “Other than a scratch on my ankle from the fence I hopped, I’m unharmed.”

  Cutter scanned her delicate face. For once, she was telling him the truth.

  He cupped her cheek. “Good. We should leave here. We’re too vulnerable out in the open.”

  They’d rehash tonight back at her house. He hoped this incident had convinced her to be honest about her blackmailer’s scheme. Screw her career; she could die.

  “Yeah.” Still, she didn’t move. “I just . . . I keep seeing that lunatic gunning his car while he tried to run you over and . . .”

  Cutter reared back. She’d n
early been killed, and she was thinking of him? Most clients didn’t give a second thought to the safety of their bodyguard. But despite being on TV’s hottest drama and gracing so many magazine covers, his safety mattered to her. Her concern warmed him in places it shouldn’t.

  “I’m fine,” he assured her. “It’s not the first time something like that has happened.”

  “Maybe not to you. But for me?” She shook her head, sniffling, her body shaking. “Oh, god . . .”

  If tonight’s violence had stunned her, a war zone would undoubtedly send her into terrified shock. She was so sheltered, and Cutter felt even more determined to protect her. She might lose that last blush of innocence to Hollywood someday, but he wouldn’t let the evil savagery breathing down her neck take it now. Not on his watch.

  “It’s all right,” he assured.

  “Leaving you with that maniac was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

  She was actually shedding tears for him? Yes. Little silvery drops were falling down her cheeks. They astounded and humbled him. They fired his libido and his blood.

  With gentle thumbs, he dried her face. God, her caring melted his defenses and the professional wall he’d been trying to maintain between them.

  Cutter knew he shouldn’t touch her. He should never even think about it. But death could have claimed one—or both—of them tonight, so to hell with shouldn’t and never. He gripped her tighter, reveling in the feel of her quivering body against his own, her breathing in sync with his.

  “You did the right thing, sweetheart,” he murmured in her ear. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him from trying to run you down. I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t be.” She eased back, shaking her head. “You didn’t know what he was going to do. How can anyone sane think like a crazy man?”

  “It’s my job, damn it . . .” He sighed, frustrated by tonight’s failure— and his growing hunger for her. “Even after I shot out that asshole’s window, I couldn’t see him clearly. I’m pretty sure I hit him. I saw blood splatter. But after that, he busted through the fence on the far side of the field, hopped a curb, then sped away on the side road. I couldn’t chase him on foot. And couldn’t read his plates since he killed his lights. I’ve got nothing except that he’s driving a sporty black sedan.” He cursed. “After that, I ran to collect the bag of cash for you. It’s gone. There’s no way he could have reached it himself, so he must not be working alone.”