Beauty and the Bodyguard Read online

  Startled, Allie peered at the shot in question. It was a head-and-shoulders, with her face turned slightly to the left. Her chin tipped upward. Her lustrous dark red lips were parted in a small half smile. Dom had flash-fired through a softbox to slightly blur the wall behind her, which was patterned with ancient Anasazi symbols. Enough of the texture remained, however, to hint at the mysterious past.

  It was a striking portrait of now and then. Of a living, breathing woman and a long-dead civilization. Of the continuum of time. It also, Allie noted with an experienced eye, drew the viewer’s glance to a mouth glossed with Fortune Cosmetics’s newest fall shade.

  At that moment, she fully shared Dom’s confidence that the shot could win him the prestigious Addie award from the National Council on Advertising. Hopefully it would also entice a whole continent of women to try Sunglazed Wine and its sister colors.

  “It’s good, Dom,” she said quietly. “Very good. I think we should use it for the two-page color spread we bought in Cosmo.”

  “I think so, too.”

  The others crowded around the table to examine the shot. Dom’s senior assistants, Xola and the art director all offered their comments. The discussion rose in waves, hot and heavy. Then Dom thrust the contact sheet at the intern and sent him into the darkroom at the back of the unit to make prints of the circled shots.

  Grabbing the next sheet, Dom hunched over the table. Wearily Allie slumped in her chair. Her eyes met Rafe’s over the others’ heads. He looked as tired as she felt, she thought. The tension of the past few days, not to mention their rather strenuous activity last night, had etched a web of fine lines at the corners of his eyes. Deep grooves bracketed his mouth, a mouth Allie longed to kiss. Above the open collar of his blue cotton shirt, his chin wore a late-night shadow. Although he sat on a tall stool with lazy grace, one boot propped on the rung, she could see the tight lines in his shoulders.

  Scooting her chair back, she rolled her neck to ease the ache and moved to Rafe’s side.

  “Tired?” she asked softly over the buzz of heated conversation from the table.

  He shrugged. “A little. Not as much as you are, I suspect. Here, turn around.”

  Shifting her within the V of his knees, he began to massage her neck and shoulders. His kneading fingers worked magic on Allie’s tight muscles.

  Slowly she sloughed off her weariness like a discarded skin. This was good, she thought with a leisurely spiral of delight. Very good. She didn’t even have to will him to touch her.

  By the time she turned back to face him, her eyes were alight with promise. “That was wonderful. I’ll return the favor when we get back to the casita. I’ve still got a good supply of that miracle cream left.”

  Rafe’s mouth curved in a crooked grin. “I don’t think I’ll need any miracles tonight.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure, tough guy. Remember, I’m a professional model. I can hold a position for hours.”

  The buzz of the portable phone cut off Rafe’s rumble of laughter. Dom snatched the receiver out of the leather box, clearly displeased with the interruption.

  “What?” he barked. “Yeah, okay.”

  Slamming the receiver down, he shot Rafe an unfriendly glare. “There’s a fax coming in for you at the front desk. From New York. The desk clerk says it’s stamped Immediate Attention.”

  The tension Rafe had pushed aside during these stolen moments with Allie clamped on to his neck with the force of a vise. His gut tightened as she slewed around, her eyes wide.

  “New York?”

  He nodded. “I made a call earlier. This might be in answer to it.”

  “You’d better go get it.”

  Rafe hesitated, not wanting to leave her alone, even for the few moments it would take to cross the courtyard to the main building. Frowning, he glanced at the group crowded around the table.

  “How much longer are you going to be here?” he asked Avendez.

  “If you’d stop pawing Allie and let her get back to work, we could be done in a half hour or less.”

  “Go get it, Rafe,” Allie urged quietly. “I’ll be all right here.”

  “Do you have your beeper?”

  She patted her pant leg, nodding.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Rafe strode across the courtyard, his boot heels clicking on the tiles. Brushing past the sleepy-eyed doorman, he headed for the front desk. The clerk smiled a greeting, then lifted her shoulders apologetically when he asked for his fax.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Stone. The machine jammed on the cover page. I called the sender and asked them to retransmit. It should be here in just a few minutes.”

  Rafe bit back both a curse and the urge to inform the clerk that Rancho Tremayo’s fax system was about as efficient as its voice mail. He snagged a cup of coffee from the pot kept ready for late-night guests, blowing at the steam while he cooled his heels in the foyer. His impatience mounted with each passing minute, as did his uneasiness. The detective must have discovered something very interesting from NCIC to be sending it over the wires this late.

  He checked his watch, noting that it was well after 2:00 a.m. in New York. And a good fifteen minutes since the clerk had called.

  “How about checking on that fax?”

  She glanced up, all placating smiles. “I haven’t heard the machine in the back room beep.”

  “Check it,” he growled.

  Her smile slipped. “Yes, sir.”

  As it turned out, Rafe never got to see the fax. He was still waiting impatiently at the counter when the beeper in his pocket sounded a steady alarm.

  Thirteen

  Ever afterward, Allie would remember the sequence of events that night in a stark, slow-moving dreamscape, like an old movie played over and over at the wrong speed. Everything happened so fast, and yet seemed to last ten lifetimes.

  One moment, she was rubbing her temple to ease the strain of the incipient headache caused by the smell of developing fluid and Magic Marker.

  The next, Dom was gathering up the contact sheets and stuffing them in a folder. Tossing the folder into a drawer, he stood. The others looked up at him in surprise.

  “Aren’t we going to go over tomorrow’s production schedule?” the art director asked in surprise.

  “Not tonight,” he said brusquely. “We’re all too tired to see straight. We’ll go over it in the morning. Come on, let’s walk our star back to her casita and see if we can locate her watchdog on the way.”

  Allie rose and stretched, a sensual lassitude sliding through her at the thought of locating Rafe and locking herself into her casita with him. She’d have him beside her all through the night. If they wound up this shoot tomorrow, and that fax from New York resolved the mystery of her calls, then maybe she’d have him through all the nights to come. Away from Dom, away from the crew and the stress of the past weeks, they’d have time to explore each other. To rewrite the rest of his precious rules.

  Her weariness tripping into anticipation, Allie followed Dom and the others to the door. She reached for the switch as she went out, intending to turn off the lights.

  “Leave them,” Dom instructed. “I’m coming back.”

  “I thought you said we were all too tired to see straight.”

  “Yeah, well, some of us are. Come on, kid. Let’s get you tucked in.” He started to hook an arm around her neck, then caught himself. “Guess I’ll have to remember not to do that. Your friend doesn’t seem to like it.”

  Allie heard the challenge behind his sneer, and the need for reassurance. Snagging his arm, she pulled him back a few paces. Xola turned and eyed them curiously, her face an unreadable mask in the dim light cast by the lanterns in the courtyard.

  “Rafe thinks it’s impossible for a man to be friends with a woman he lusts for,” Allie said quietly. “I…I’m beginning to think the same holds true for a woman.”

  The photographer grimaced. “You don’t have to tell me you lust after him. I’m the one on the other s
ide of the viewfinder, remember? I’ve seen every panting little look you’ve sneaked his way.”

  Allie smiled and tugged on a lock of his flowing black hair. “It’s gone beyond lust, Dom. At least on my side. I think… I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him.”

  He didn’t reply for several seconds. Allie thought she caught a flicker of pain, quickly hidden, but she knew there was nothing she could do about it except be honest with him…and be his friend.

  “You’ve thought you were in love before, Allie. You were all set to have me shoot a wedding portrait, as I recall.”

  “I know.” She fell back on the age-old explanation for all things that can’t be explained. “This is different.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Dom’s shoulders drooped infinitesimally, then lifted in a shrug. “Hell. I suppose I’ll have to do another portrait of you for a groom’s present.”

  She grinned at his thoroughly disgusted expression. “I hope so.”

  He hesitated, then answered her grin with a smile. “I can’t think of any portrait more perfect than the one we picked tonight for the Cosmo ad.”

  “Oh, Dom,” Allie breathed. “That shot would be perfect! Something from New Mexico. From our time together here.”

  “God, don’t go all squeaky and gushy and supermodelly on me,” he said gruffly. “Let me go get the contact sheet. You can show it to this jerk you’re pretty sure you’re in love with and tell me if that’s the one he wants.”

  She started to nod, then caught sight of Xola. For an unguarded moment, naked longing showed on the other woman’s face. Allie caught Dom’s arm as he turned to head back toward the processing unit.

  “Wait. I’ll get it. You’d better explain to Xola what I’m doing, though. I don’t want her thinking I’m messing with any of the props she’s pulled together for tomorrow.”

  Giving Dom a gentle shove in the stylist’s direction, Allie walked back to the unit. She stepped inside and let the door bang behind her as she walked to the desk. Pulling out the folder she’d seen Dom stuff the contact sheets in, she shuffled through them. When she didn’t find the one she wanted, she fanned through the sheets again.

  It took her a moment to remember that Dom had given it to Jerry to take to the darkroom at the back of the processing center to develop. She was halfway to the darkroom when she noticed a faint glow of light under its door. Frowning, she stared at the strip of gold, then stopped suddenly.

  She remembered Jerry heading for the darkroom, but she couldn’t remember whether he’d come out or left with the crowd of others. Recalling Rafe’s suspicions about the intern, Allie started to back up. At that moment, the door opened and Jerry stepped out, swiping the back of his hand across his nose.

  He jerked to a stop when he saw Allie, his eyes widening. Then he frowned and scanned the empty room behind her.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “We decided to quit early,” she replied. “They’re waiting outside.”

  His nostrils flared, and he sucked in a quick breath as he stared at Allie. “Why are you here?”

  The sudden intensity of his gaze unnerved Allie. She edged backward.

  “I, uh, came back for one of contact sheets. Look, I didn’t know you were here. I mean, I forgot you were working in the darkroom. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  Allie knew she was babbling, but Jerry’s stare had raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Her hand crept into her pocket. She took another step back, and felt her legs bump against the table.

  “I’ll just get the sheet tomorrow,” she told him. “When you’re not busy.”

  “Wait.”

  At his growled command, her startled gaze flew back to his face. His voice had dropped, almost to a whisper.

  “No, really. I’m tired. I’ll…”

  Jerry’s gaze slid to the shelves of supplies beside him. While Allie edged around the table toward the door, his hand darted out and closed around a glass bottle filled with orange liquid.

  It was only indicator stop bath, she told herself, trying not to panic. He needed it to process the prints. Despite her best efforts to keep calm, her hand shook as she reached for the door and started to pull it open.

  He was beside her instantly, his palm slamming against the door. Allie jumped back. She squeezed the beeper in her pocket at the same instant he lifted the jar and twisted off its cap.

  A corrosive chemical odor tainted the air, adding to the coppery tang of fear swamping Allie’s senses. She opened her mouth to call out, then snapped it shut when he lifted the jar menacingly.

  “Don’t scream, Allison,” he ordered softly.

  Allison! He called her Allison!

  Rafe was right, she thought, her throat clogging with fear. He was right.

  “Don’t call out to the others. I don’t want to hurt you more than I have to.”

  Oh, God! She squeezed her fist around the beeper as hard as she could. Rafe! Please, Rafe! Hurry!

  Wiping her tongue across her lips, she backed away as far as the close confines of the unit would allow. One thigh hit the stool Rafe had perched on earlier. Allie groped behind her with her free hand, never releasing her death grip on the beeper.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “I have to.”

  “Why, Jerry? I…I thought we were friends. I thought you…you liked working with me.”

  “I do. I’m sorry, Allison.”

  Keeping his eyes locked on her face, he fumbled with the bolt to the door. Allie tried frantically to distract him while she scrabbled for a grip on the stool. If she could get a good enough hold to swing it one-handed, she might deflect enough of the corrosive chemical to keep it out of her eyes.

  “Why, Jerry? Just tell me why?”

  Rafe! Hurry, please!

  His free hand left the door bolt and dragged nervously across his upper lip.

  “You must know, Allison. You’re too beautiful. Too perfect. You—”

  She heard the sound of running footsteps outside the door a bare half second before Jerry did. That instant gave her just enough time to snatch up the stool. She swung it wildly, yanking her other hand out of her pocket to protect her eyes and face as she twisted away.

  She heard a grunt, followed immediately by a crash as the door kicked open. Keeping her eyes shielded, Allie dived for the door.

  “Rafe!” she screamed, shoving at the solid figure before her. “Get back! He’s got chemicals! He’s—”

  A hard hand closed around her arm and thrust her outside. Allie fell face forward, hands splayed out, at the same moment Jerry gave an enraged scream. Pain splintered through her wrists when she hit the dirt on her outflung hands. Behind her, Rafe shouted above Jerry’s raging, incoherent fury.

  “Drop it, Philips! Drop the damn—”

  As Allie rolled to her knees, a shot rang out. She heard a crash, like the sound of a body slamming back against the supply shelves.

  “Drop it!” Rafe roared again a moment later.

  Just as Allie pushed herself to her feet, another shot split the night, An instant later, the world exploded.

  Blinding white light seared through the processing unit as a batch of chemicals ignited. The force of the explosion threw Allie backward. She staggered into something behind her, then struggled to right herself.

  “Rafe!” she screamed. “Oh, my God! Rafe!”

  “What the hell—!”

  Dom slapped an arm around her waist, yanking her back before she’d taken a half step toward the door.

  “Rafe’s in there!” she screamed, clawing at his arm. “And Jerry!”

  Her nails gouged flesh. Her heels kicked shins. Dom went down, and Allie broke free of his hold. She threw her arm over her face and ran into the unit.

  She found Rafe crumpled on the floor, blood pumping from a gash on his head. Sobbing, gasping for breath, she grabbed his arm and dragged his dead weight. Flames leaped all around her, licking at the walls and fu
rniture. At her clothes, and Rafe’s. Deadly fumes left a thick, clogging miasma in the air. Closing her eyes and her mouth, Allie tried not to breathe as she stumbled backward toward the open door, dragging Rafe with her.

  Heat seared her face, her hands, her throat. Hissing white flames blinded her. Suddenly another shape thrust in beside her. Dom grabbed Rafe’s leg and yanked. Moments later, the three of them fell out the door in a heap, arms and legs tangled.

  Distantly Allie heard shouts. Dimly she felt hands drag at her to help her up. More figures bent to grasp Rafe and pull him away from the flames now shooting out the door. Allie gripped his vest and tugged with all her might.

  “Dom!” Xola’s voice was shrill with panic as she yanked at the photographer’s arm. “Get up! That thing could blow sky-high any moment!”

  “Jerry’s in there!” Allie gasped when the group stumbled to a halt. “We’ve got to—”

  Suddenly the entire processing center lifted off the ground. A huge boom split the night. Allie fell over Rafe’s body, protecting it with her own.

  Rafe drifted slowly out of the blackness around him. Sounds impinged on the dark, impenetrable fog. A siren wailed somewhere above his head. Metal rattled. Voices rose and fell, one masculine and unfamiliar, the other a deep, raw croak.

  He frowned, trying to identify the speakers and the vibration under him. Pain lanced through him with the slight movement of his brow. White sparklers lit up the darkness with incandescent, agonizing brilliance.

  A single desperate need emerged through the pain. He had to identify the speakers. He had to know whether that was Allie croaking so hoarsely. Fighting back a grunt of agony, he forced his eyelids up, first the right, then the left. Before the blinding light stopped spinning in front of his eyes, fingers feathered lightly on his chin.

  “Rafe. Can you see me?”

  He squinted in an attempt to stop the cartwheeling lights. “Allie?”

  “I’m here, darling. I’m here.”