“It’s just Crow,” Meg interrupted. “As far as when, why not now?”
Sara frowned. “Now?”
Meg rose from the overstuffed chair. “He’s in the foyer waiting. I’ll go get him.”
“He’s here?” Sara forced herself to remain calm. She needed to slow things down. The trouble was, she didn’t know how to do that without arousing suspicion. Still, he was only a bodyguard. And he would be working for her.
“You certainly didn’t waste any time getting this all arranged,” James said.
A self-satisfied smile crossed Meg’s face. “Sara pays me to keep on top of things.”
He stiffened as though Meg had struck him.
Sara hid a smile. One of James’s selling points for the new firm was that they’d keep on top of the changes in the industry. But in the year he’d been her publicist, he’d never taken the time to get to know Meg. Or to give her any credit.
In Sara’s mind, there wasn’t a better manager in the business. And it didn’t surprise her in the least that Meg had come with all her ducks in a row, fully prepared.
“What are we waiting for?” Sara said. “Bring him in.”
Salvadore “Crow” Tucci shifted uncomfortably on the rock-hard settee and glanced down at his watch.
The fifteen minutes of waiting had been pure torture. Unlike many guys who could sit in a recliner all afternoon watching football, Crow needed activity—the more physical the better.
That’s why he’d chosen law enforcement after graduating from college instead of becoming a physician like his brother Nick, or a lawyer like his other brother Tony.
At first his parents had been supportive. But when he’d gotten promoted and gone undercover, all that changed. His mother’s fears skyrocketed out of control. She was certain every time he took an assignment that his cover would be blown and he’d get shot. His father worried more about him adopting a new identity for weeks or months than he did about the physical danger.
Crow had dismissed these concerns. And for the first three years he had little difficulty separating his personal life from the life he led as an undercover cop. Recently he’d noticed a subtle shift. He’d started to feel more like Crow than Sal. He’d become suspicious and cynical and his temper had started to flare at the slightest provocation. That’s when he’d decided it was time for a break.
He’d put in for a leave of absence, not knowing what he’d do for six months, but at that point not really caring. When the chief asked him if he might want to take on an assignment helping out an old friend of his, it almost seemed like the offer had been “heaven-sent.”
Of course, Crow didn’t believe in heaven. And Sal used to, but he wasn’t so sure even he did anymore.
Regardless, here he was, in the home of Sara Michaels, a rising star on the Christian music scene, wondering if he’d lost his mind. He’d spent four years surrounded by drug addicts and hardened criminals. Now he’d be guarding a twenty-five-year-old woman the critics said had a voice like an “angel,” while trying to find out who was so determined to bring her down to earth.
Her manager, a nice woman with a lot of street smarts, had insisted up one side and down the other that her client had nothing to hide. Crow wasn’t convinced. It had been his experience that where there was smoke, there was usually fire.
The investigation was the part that Crow liked best about being a cop—trying to find all the parts to the puzzle and put them together until it all made sense.
Barely perceptible footsteps sounded on the wooden floor. Instantly alert, Crow rose, his whole attention focused on the sound.
Meg rounded the corner and stopped short at his intense expression, her eyes widening in surprise. “Hold your fire. I come in peace.”
“Looks like you made it out alive,” he said. Meg had told him she wanted to talk to her client in private first. He had his own reservations about playing the role of Sara Michaels’s boyfriend, but on the other hand it might be a nice change from the hyped-up junkie types he’d been portraying for the past several years. “How’d it go?”
“It’s a no-go on the boyfriend thing. So you don’t have to make an appointment with the barber.” She smiled brightly. “Not yet anyway.”
Crow thought about telling her that cutting his shoulder-length hair had never been an option. It had taken him too long to grow it out. Though he hadn’t yet decided if he was going to return to the narcotics unit once his leave was up, he’d always been a firm believer in keeping his options open. It was a moot point now. “How are you going to explain my presence then?”
It didn’t matter to him, but it had seemed to be a big concern of hers. When he’d met with her and the chief yesterday, he must have heard the words adverse publicity a hundred times. That’s why she’d initially come up with the boyfriend cover story.
“Sara agreed some protection might be warranted,” Meg said quickly. “I think if anyone asks, we should just say it’s a precaution in light of what happened to that country singer last month.”
“Okay by me,” Crow said.
“One more thing.” Meg’s gaze met his. “She thinks that you’re just a bodyguard I hired.”
He hesitated, measuring her for a moment. “What are you saying?”
“Sara is adamant about not having a P.I. or cop involved. I think, for now, it would be best to keep the fact that I’ve hired you to do some investigation just between the two of us.”
“I don’t like it.” Crow narrowed his gaze. “I need her cooperation to make this work.”
“It may be a little more difficult,” Meg conceded. “I’m sure you’ve faced many difficult situations in your years on the force and prevailed.”
“Maybe.” Crow wondered what the woman had against cops. She had to be hiding something. What could it be? In preparation for this assignment, Crow had pored over dozens of articles. The singer had a squeaky-clean image.
For now, anyway.
Someone obviously knew something that could turn this young woman’s life upside down. Had she dabbled in drugs and sex? Maybe even had some brushes with the law?
His initial run on her hadn’t turned up anything but whatever her secret was, he’d discover it. Whether she wanted him to or not.
“Here he is.” The door swung open and Meg entered the room with a large dark-haired mountain of a man at her side. “He’s perfect, don’t you think?”
Sara’s mouth went dry and her heart picked up speed. It took all her strength to pull her gaze from his.
Perfect?
Sara had always used that word to describe men like James. James, who was tall, blond and beautiful. With compelling gray eyes, firm features and a confident set of his shoulders, her publicist garnered admiring glances wherever they went. His hair was always cut in the latest style and his clothing choices complemented his conservative nature. Thanks to regular workouts in a local gym, James’s body was well toned but not overly muscular.
The man before her was anything but perfect. He looked like a refugee from a Harley-Davidson rally, with his burgundy T-shirt, hair past his shoulders and a snake tattoo encircling his right bicep. Standing at least six foot two, he may have been the same height as James, but he dwarfed the man in build. Crow’s chest was broad and his jeans molded against a pair of muscular thighs. If he wasn’t a bodybuilder, he should have been.