Sins, Lies & Naughty Games: A Blackwell-Lyon Security Collection Read online

  “Right. Right. It’s just, I’m not supposed to ask, but I’ve been a fan since you started out in LA. I think it’s so cool you’re in the hotel. Are you doing a shoot in Austin?”

  “Just a short one,” I say before Gracie can answer. “Then she goes back home.”

  “Where’s that?” the waiter asks.

  Gracie answers before I can, her smile warm and friendly. “If you follow me online, you know that’s my best kept secret. But I will say I’m enjoying this hotel very much.”

  “Would it be okay if I asked for your autograph? I know I shouldn’t, but…” He trails off with a shrug.

  “Absolutely.” She rummages in her purse and comes up with a set of matte cards that are blank on one side and have a picture of her in a retro dress similar to the one she wore last night on the other.

  “I’m Joseph. Joe.”

  “Nice to meet you.” She signs, then offers him a wide smile as she pushes back her chair. “You have a great day, okay?”

  He beams as we leave, winding our way through the crowd and attracting more than a few stares from a number of the men, many of whom are sitting with their wives. Some even with their children. By the time we’re through the restaurant and to the valet stand on the other side of the lobby, my chest is tight, and I’m scowling.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Since I’m not entirely sure, I brush it off. “Just running late. And it bugs me that you can’t enjoy a meal in peace.”

  She shoots me a quizzical look. “It’s part of the job. And since I’m online so little, I figure the least I can do is be nice to the fans I meet in public.”

  I concede the point, especially since the tightness in my chest is conjuring shadows of Vivien. The way her grad students would fawn. The way she’d tell me it was no big deal.

  But it was a big deal. Turns out it was a very big deal.

  The arrival of the valet with my Grand Cherokee saves me from spiraling down the rabbit hole, and as soon as we’re underway, Gracie turns to me, her broad smile suggesting that she either never noticed my mood or has entirely forgiven it.

  “Are you always this cheerful?” I tease.

  “Why not? Better to go through life smiling than frowning.”

  “Can’t argue with that.”

  “Will you tell me now where we’re going?”

  I’ve been refusing to tell her what our first stop is, and I don’t change that position now. “You’ll be able to guess pretty soon, I think.”

  She scowls, but it doesn’t erase the smile in her eyes. And as soon as we cross the river, she starts guessing. The Long Center. The Botanical Gardens. Barton Springs. Zachary Scott Theater.

  “Peter Pan Miniature Golf,” she finally says, and I shake my head, no.

  It’s not until we’re in the maze of streets that make up the quaint—yet expensive—Travis Heights neighborhood of charmingly restored houses that she settles back in the seat and shakes her head. “Seriously?”

  “What?”

  “You’re taking me home? Am I supposed to be moving back? Out of the hotel?”

  “Not yet. I want to show you something.”

  “What?”

  “Just wait.”

  She slinks down in her seat, clearly not excited about waiting. But she sits up with more interest and attention as we pull in front of her cute little 1920s bungalow. One of the smaller houses in the historic, popular neighborhood, it has two bedrooms and had been completely refurbished before she bought it. I know, because Connor checked the property records before we started our little surprise project.

  Now, Gracie frowns at the array of trucks parked in front of her place and the tech team in Blackwell-Lyon T-shirts moving to and fro over her lawn and roof. “I don’t get it,” she says. “Who are they?”

  “They’re installing your security system. Top of the line. No holds barred.”

  “Um, whoa. I didn’t hire you for that. And I can’t afford it. I may be a model, but I’m hardly a household name.”

  “I saw you with that waiter—you can be a big name if you want to be.”

  She rolls her eyes.

  “And staying at home will be cheaper than staying at The Driskill. Great hotel. Not cheap.”

  “Cecilia has a corporate deal. I’m getting a good rate.”

  “Trust me. Our rate is better.”

  “Which is?”

  I push open my door and start to slide out of the car. “Free.”

  Since she’s still sitting in the passenger seat a moment later, apparently a little shell-shocked, I walk around the car and open the door for her, then give her a hand to help her out.

  “Free?” she says once we’re on the walkway to her front door. “You’re just gifting me an alarm system?”

  “Hell, no. It’s a security system, not an alarm system.”

  “But—”

  “And it’s a prototype. You’re getting it for free because you’re helping us test out the upgrades.”

  “Prototype? But it works, right?”

  “Oh, yeah. Or it will once we’re done with the installation. This is a system we designed with a local company. Well, the local branch of an international company. We partner with a tech genius named Noah over at Stark Applied Technology’s Austin office. You’ve heard of them?”

  She nods.

  “Then you know their reputation is stellar. So is ours. Come on.”

  I give her the quick tour, taking her through all the features, then check in with the head of our installation team. I can tell she’s impressed. “You’re sure I’m not costing you money?”

  “I told you. You’re part of our beta team. You’re doing us a favor. My house is the same,” I tell her. “We test all the new features on my place. It’s so small it’s easy to get in and do adjustments.”

  “Smaller than this?”

  “Tiny one bedroom in far South Austin,” I tell her, and I see the surprise on her face. “My ex and I bought it as a rental. After the divorce, she moved to Indiana and I couldn’t stand to be in the same house we used to live in. So I sold it. Never got around to finding a new place and the rental was empty, so I grabbed it. Just under five hundred square feet.”

  “That is tiny. You probably don’t throw a lot of house parties.”

  “Not too many.” I meet her grin, pleased that’s her only comment. I’ve gone out with some women who seem to think that the size of my house has some relationship to the size of my cock. Or my ego. But as far as I can tell, Gracie sees me, not the trappings.

  Now that we’ve gone over the exterior, we head inside the house. She wanders the rooms and chats with my team while I go off to find Pierce, who’s overseeing the installation.

  “It’s looking good,” I tell him.

  “So are you,” he says dryly. “Gracie’s looking fresh and perky this morning, too.”

  I roll my eyes, regretting having such a perceptive best friend. “I haven’t slept with her.”

  “Not yet,” he says. “So...care to fill me in?”

  “Why bother?” I meet his eyes. “You’re doing so good on your own.”

  He chuckles. “Fair enough. I like her. I approve. You want to talk about it?”

  “Really don’t,” I say. Then add, “She reminds me of Viv.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Just—well…” I trail off, regroup, and relay the morning’s drama with Joe.

  “So you’re bugged by the fact that she has fans?”

  I start to deny it, but it’s true, and Pierce would see through the lie. “I know it’s unfair to compare, but I can’t get Viv’s grad students out of my head. They worshipped her. And she just took her pick, plucking them off the tree like ripe fruit.”

  I slide my hands into my pockets “There was more than the one I walked in on.”

  “You know that?”

  “She told me. Not sure if she was feeling guilty or if she was trying to hurt me after the divorce was final. But she told me. Either way
, I didn’t want to know. But then I couldn’t stop seeing them. The men. The easy pickings. And her just tugging them one by one into our bed.”

  “I’m sorry. I had no idea. But in case you hadn’t noticed, Gracie isn’t Vivien.”

  “I know that. Believe me.”

  “Good. Don’t fuck it up, okay?”

  Despite myself, I laugh. “I’ll do my best.”

  Those words linger as Gracie and I drive north, me following her directions to a storefront in a strip shopping center off Mesa Drive in the affluent Northwest Hills neighborhood. “That’s it,” she says, pointing to the unit on the end with a sign that says Off The Grid. “Come on,” she adds opening her door, as soon as I’ve put the Jeep into park.

  She’s lit up like a candle, and I follow, eager to know what’s gotten her so excited. But when we walk in, I find no explanation.

  The place is cavernous, just a shell of a building. In one corner is a pile of books and some beanbag chairs. A couple of teenagers look up, then dive back into whatever they’re reading. On the other side, I see several dining-size tables. One has a game of Risk open on it. The other a half-completed jigsaw puzzle. Further back, I see lab tables and what looks like a rinky-dink chem lab. And on the opposite side is a sewing machine and a kitchen that could be from the nineteen fifties.

  “I give up,” I say. “Where are we and why are we here?”

  “Zombie apocalypse day,” she tells me, which really doesn’t answer the question. “Come on,” she adds. “Everyone’s in the back.” She turns toward the kids in the beanbag chairs. “Laura, Craig. You guys coming?”

  “One more chapter,” Laura says as Craig grunts.

  “Uh-huh.” Gracie’s tone is dubious. “I can’t really complain. They both had massive phone withdrawal when they first started coming. Now we can’t get their noses out of books.”

  “Oh.” It’s all I can think of to say. Mostly because I’m completely clueless.

  A tinted back door opens, flooding the dingy interior with light, and a tall man steps in, looking harried. “There you are, Gorgeous,” he says, pulling her into a hug and sending me into a jealous snit for which I’m not proud, but can’t deny. “We’re just about to start.”

  “Great, Frank. This is Cayden. I wanted to show him what we’ve got going.”

  “Well, come on,” Frank says. “I think you’ll be impressed.”

  He swings an arm around Gracie’s waist and my jealousy spikes again. At least until we get outside and a ginger-haired man comes over and gives him a kiss, then tugs Gracie into a hug. “Anson, this is Cayden. Cayden, Anson is Frank’s boyfriend. They’re getting married next month.”

  “Congrats,” I say, taking Gracie’s hand even though my competition has just fizzled.

  Across the parking lot I see an area where the asphalt has been removed, replaced by what looks like an urban garden. Nearby, about a dozen kids are standing around with compasses. They look to be in middle school, and one of the girls raises her hand and calls for Gracie. “We’ve been waiting forever,” she says, even though Gracie assures me that we arrived on time. “They’re just eager,” she says as she hurries that way.

  “For what?” I ask Frank.

  “She didn’t tell you?”

  I shake my head and he rolls his eyes. “She gets caught up when she’s here. I’m guessing that in her head she’s already run through the whole deal.”

  “Feel free to take care of that oversight. I’m feeling a little lost.”

  “This whole place is Gracie’s idea,” he said. “The ironic thing is that she and I met online. I’m a photographer and I was following one of the women who’d shot some pics of Gracie.”

  “Why is that ironic?”

  “Because this whole place is an internet free zone. The way Gracie tells it, she got tired of feeling like she was on social media all day, and at the beck and call of whoever emailed her or texted her, wanting an answer right then. And I think she was getting harassed a bit, though she never talks much about that, but some of her followers can be pigs.”

  “So I’ve noticed.”

  “Anyway, one day she was reading a book—some time travel romance—and she thought about how she’d be in pretty bad shape if she was the one getting sent back to the Scottish Highlands.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “She has a point.”

  “She does. Always be prepared, right?” He nods in agreement with his own wisdom. “And then she was watching The Walking Dead.”

  “Zombie apocalypse,” I say. “I get it now.”

  “She and I started talking. Our grandparents knew how to can vegetables. They memorized poetry and entire speeches from great orators. They knew how to hold a conversation.” He shrugs. “And the amazing thing is not only did she pull this place together from scratch, but it’s actually turning a profit. Parents love the idea and kids love the activities. There’s a non-profit arm, too. Purely educational. Right now, the place is almost like after school care. Parents pay a monthly fee and the kids hang out here. And we have weekend activities, obviously.”

  “And what’s that all about?” I ask, nodding to where Gracie and the kids are scurrying around the parking lot.

  “Compass skills. We’ve hidden prizes around the parking lot. And you can see the vegetable garden. The kids tend it and then do their own canning.”

  “How long has this been around?”

  “Going on a year now. I’ve been involved from the start, so I feel proprietary, but it’s Gracie’s baby. She’s here most of the time, except when she has a shoot. And lately she’s been coming less,” he adds with a scowl.

  “You know about that.”

  His eyes narrow. “Do you?”

  I hand him my card. “I’m security. I’m not leaving her side until we catch the guy who’s harassing her.”

  “Well, hurry up about it,” he says. “We all want her back.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Hard to survive a zombie apocalypse without combat skills,” I say, glancing sideways at Gracie as I exit MoPac—the western-most north/south highway that runs through Austin. We’re almost back to The Driskill and I’ve spent the drive thinking about Off The Grid.

  She twists in her seat. “Oh, definitely. Those zombies can fight.”

  “They seem like nice kids. I’d hate to see their brains get eaten. Yours, too, for that matter.”

  “Couldn’t agree more. I’m all about keeping my brains from being someone else’s lunch.”

  “I should probably set up some time to pop in regularly. Make a training schedule. Help you out.” I flash her a grin. “In the interest of saving the human race in a post-apocalyptic world, of course.”

  “Just doing your part, Mr. Lyon?”

  “Always.”

  She presses her lips tight together, but reaches out and takes my right hand. I drive that way until I need it again, then reluctantly release her. “Thanks,” she says.

  “You’re welcome. I was really impressed.”

  “In that case, thanks again. It’s kind of my dream.”

  “It shows.”

  Her smile lights up the car.

  We spent the entire afternoon at Off The Grid, so we’ve decided on a lazy evening catching up on paperwork and eating a room service dinner. We park at my office so I can grab my laptop and some case files, then we walk across the street to the hotel. We’re about to take the elevator up when one of the desk clerks recognizes Gracie and hurries over.

  “I was just about to send the bellman up to slide this under your door,” she says, handing Gracie a plain brown envelope with her name on it.

  “What is this?” I ask. “Hotel receipts or something?”

  “No, sir. It was left for Ms. Harmon at the front desk.”

  “Oh.” Gracie’s drops the envelope as if it’s a burning coal.

  “I’ve got it,” I say, as the clerk bends to retrieve it. “Thanks so much for delivering it personally.”

  She gives u
s a friendly, helpful smile, then turns away. I take Gracie’s elbow and guide her onto the elevator. I don’t say that it might not be from him. Of course we both know that it is.

  “Do you want me to open it?” I ask once we’re back in the room.

  She hesitates, then shakes her head, making a face. “My stalker. My responsibility.”

  I consider arguing, but I know she won’t give in. So instead I move beside her once I give her the envelope so that I can see everything at the same moment she does.

  Everything turns out to be one thing, but that doesn’t make it any less effective. Or horrible. And the moment Gracie pulls out the photograph, she sucks in air, then drops it and buries her head against my chest.

  “Please,” she says. “Please.”

  I know the part that she’s not saying—Please find him. Please stop him.

  I look down at the photo that has landed on the table with the image up. The two of us outside of Off The Grid, with Gracie in my arms, my fingers in her hair, and her face tilted up to kiss me. Written across it in ominous red ink is a giant red X.

  I look at it, my blood boiling. And all I can think is Hell yes, I will.

  I order wine to take the edge off, and we spend the evening not thinking about Peterman or photographs or anything at all. I put on another movie, but Gracie only half-watches, more interested in a book. I’m only half-watching, too, as I’m on my laptop playing catch-up on a variety of lingering projects.

  I’m trying to work out a scheduling conflict for an upcoming job in San Antonio, when Gracie’s soft voice interrupts me.

  “Busy?”

  “Nothing that can’t wait. What’s up?” Her head is tilted and she looks a little embarrassed. I frown. “Gracie?”

  “Nothing. I just—I got sidetracked because of the photo. But there was something I wanted to tell you when we got back here.”

  “Okay.” I hear the wariness in my voice. “Tell me now.”

  “I just wanted to say thanks for today. For installing the security at my house. And for being so supportive about Off The Grid.” She lifts her glass. “For ordering wine. You’re taking really good care of me.”

  “That’s the job.”