Manhandled: A Rockstar Romantic Comedy (Hammered Book 2) (4 page)

“
M
om
, I swear if you keep pacing, I’m throwing you out.”

She stopped at the window. “How can you just lie there reading?”

“Patrick vetoed going outside, and my wrists actually hurt from practicing the piano.” If I didn’t find something to catch my interest, I was going to go insane.

My mother pacing all over the house wasn’t helping.

Wringing her hands and staring at her phone wasn’t helping.

Nothing was helping.

It had been one day since the attack and the cops hadn’t even pretended they were going to offer much assistance. The Special K part of the equation had given them pause, but since I couldn’t remember a damn thing about her—and no one else had seen her—well, it was pretty much the definition of moot.

So, I was under house arrest with Patrick turning my place into a security nightmare. Noah had sent equipment ahead and was en route with his friend.

Just the thought of someone shadowing me for the foreseeable future was mind-boggling. Why the hell would anyone care about me to this level?

That was the worst part. Wouldn’t this be an escalation kind of deal? Uber fan to Crazytown? Not just straight into Kidnap-Keys-to-keep-as-my-very-own? I didn’t even know if that’s what it was.

I slammed down the book I was reading. And this book—10
01 Rock Star Deaths
—wasn’t exactly the best reading material. Even if they were fascinating in a completely masochistic way.

My mother sat next to me and picked up the book. “Oh, Faith.”

I snatched the book and lifted the top of my coffee table and shoved it in the storage space. “It was something Owen gave me as a joke last Christmas.”

“This is no laughing matter.” She sniffled.

“I know.”
Oh, here we go with the waterworks.
“Mom, don’t start.”

“How can you be so calm?” she wailed.

I pulled her into a hug and fought back my own wash of tears. I wasn’t calm. I was going nuts, but crying about it wasn’t going to help anyone. But I also had a tendency toward sympathy tears. If she started, I would probably dissolve into a full-fledged sobfest myself.

Not good.

I stood up and dragged her over to the sideboard. I opened the tall crystal decanter with bourbon in it.

“Faith…”

“Don’t argue with me.”

“It’s too early to drink.”

“It’s never too early for a good bourbon.” I splashed a mouthful into two tumblers. I slung a glass over to her.

She wrapped her shaking fingers around the glass and slowly sipped. Her eyebrows went up.

“I know. It’s like chocolate had sex with alcohol.”

My mom huffed out a small laugh. “I don’t know if it’s more horrifying that you talk like your band, or that I find it funny.” She took another drink. “Don’t tell your father.”

I lifted my glass to clink with hers. “Secrets to the grave.”

“I don’t really appreciate this dark sense of humor you have.”

I finished off the glass. “You never did, but if I don’t joke then what the hell am I going to do?”

“Take it seriously?”

I whirled on her. “Of course I am.” I held my arms out. “I have a huge house and it’s never felt so small in my life,” I shouted. My mom’s eyes filled again and I tipped my head back. “Dammit.”

“Keys?”

I jumped at Patrick’s voice and spun around.

“Sorry.” Patrick stood at the entry of the hallway down to the front door with Noah and another man. His lantern jaw was locked and a scruff of red hair covered his cheeks. His eyes were exhausted, under the worry.

I rushed over to the men and gave Patrick a quick pat on the arm.

He stiffened and backed up. “I’m going to check the perimeter.”

I sighed, waiting until his boots echoed and the door slammed behind him. “He’s just worried,” I said to Noah.

He dragged me in for a tight hug. “How’re you holding up?”

I pulled away and looked over my shoulder at my mother staring out the window at the mountains. “We’re doing okay.”

Noah frowned down at me. “No, how are you doing?”

I gave him a wry grin. “Going stir-crazy.”

“That’s what I thought.”

I peeked over at his friend. He wore a crisp white shirt and black suit. His hair was military short, but his skin was tanner than I’d have expected for someone so…suit-ish.

But man, his eyes.

Arctic blue and assessing.

His gaze surveyed every corner of my living room, and he frowned at every damn thing. Before I could open my mouth and introduce myself, he walked away and checked my dining room, then walked into the kitchen.

I stood in my living room watching him, my hands on my hips.

Really?

Not even a “Hi, my name is”?

“Don’t mind Quinn. He’s just thorough. He’s been studying your blueprints on the flight.”

I turned to Noah. “How the hell did you get my blueprints?”

“You don’t really want to know.”

I crossed my arms over my middle and followed Quinn down the hall and up the stairs to the second level.

“Keys,” Noah called after me.

I ignored him and trailed Quinn into a guest bedroom. “Make yourself at home.”

He glanced over his shoulder at me. “Your house is a nightmare.”

“Why, thank you. So glad you could share your opinion.” My house was the one thing I was incredibly proud of, besides my collection of instruments. It was the first thing I’d bought on my own, without anyone’s help.

Okay, so the bank helped, but no one had co-signed with me and the payment came out of my personal account every damn month.

And I loved my house.

He ran his hand along the sill of the huge window in the second bedroom. “These will need to be replaced.”

“Hell no.”

He looked down at me. “So, you don’t mind that anyone could look into your windows from that mountain range across the way?”

I looked out the window at my favorite view. It was the Hollywood Hills, for God’s sake. I could see the Silver Lake Reservoir from my freaking living room.

Suddenly the perfect view seemed a little ominous.

Every window was huge and had a view.

I’d had them lightly tinted against the relentless Los Angeles sun, but that didn’t mean people couldn’t see in.

I backed out of the room and down to my bedroom with my huge sliding door. I’d never wanted to put curtains up, because I loved the natural light that seemed to infiltrate every corner.

This was my house.

My sanctuary.

I loved the road. I loved the venues, and the different places we visited. I loved finding hole-in-the-wall dives with their bar bands, and their seas of strangers who didn’t give a shit who I was.

But when I was home, I loved this house.

Loved the peace.

Loved the space.

Now it felt like a glass box leaving me on display.

I backed away from my huge patio that I’d spent months getting just right. The patio I spent late nights on with my notebook and a guitar. The ancient upright piano I had in the corner of my bedroom that I played with the door wide open so I could hear the night sounds blending with my music.

I turned to the doorway and he was there.

The sunshine lit his blue eyes and accentuated the crow’s feet at the corners as he squinted a bit. His face was a little softer. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice was deep and calm.

“Yeah, well, too late.”

He dipped one hand into his pocket and jangled something. “I know of a company that can give you privacy and let you keep your views.” He walked up to the slider and opened it. He held out his arm. “Come on. Come out here.”

“What, so someone can watch me with binoculars?” Or worse? I shivered even though the sun was flooding my room.

He sighed. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I’m trained to look for problems.” He shrugged. “I worked for an ambassador before this.”

Like that was supposed to be the entire reason behind why he was so rude? I crossed my arms and followed him outside. There were a half dozen lemon trees growing around my patio, providing a lot of privacy.

Instead of improving Mr. Brooding’s mood, it only seemed to make him more pensive. He looked over the waist-high fencing to the valley below. One of the best features of my house was the lack of neighbors behind me, just the view.

He frowned at the rough walking path that wound around my property. “Where does this lead?”

“Down to a small park then out to the main road.”

“How long is the trail?”

I shrugged. “Takes me about an hour to walk it.”

He looked me up and down. “Three miles?”

“I have no clue. I gave up on wearing a Fitbit last year.”

He made a humming sound. “And we have two weeks before you start the tour again?”

I nodded. “We’re heading to the East Coast and into the Finger Lakes region for some summer spots, then inside venues through the third week of October.”

“What happens then?”

“We have our annual charity masquerade for Halloween, then break through the holidays. Start again after the New Year.”

He unearthed his phone and skimmed his finger down the face.

Long fingers.

Blunt ends.

Nails clipped short, a few calluses and a busted knuckle on his right forefinger. He looked down at his finger then at me. “Gun jammed.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Happen a lot?”

He tilted his head. “Never.”

“Well, I guess you can’t say never.”

His nostrils flared. “Wasn’t my gun. My gun doesn’t jam.”

I trailed my fingers over the heated metal of the fencing. “You always carry?”

“Always.”

“Then why did you have to use someone else’s gun?”

A muscle in his jaw flexed. “Because I had to surrender my gun for a political dinner.”

“Of course you did.” I leaned my hip on the post at the corner of my patio. “Noah said you like boring jobs.”

His brows furrowed. “I like order.”

I smiled for the first time since he’d arrived. “Oh, honey…you’re going to hate me.”

That jaw thingie flexed again and he tipped his chin up, peering down at me like I was a puzzle to solve.

I held out my hand. “Faith Keystone, by the way.”

He tucked his phone back into his pocket and took my hand. “Quinn Alexander.”

I
dropped
her hand as soon as I could without being rude. Her grip was surprisingly strong and warm with multiple rings on every finger. But not all at the base of her knuckles. Some at the top joints, some in the middle, some traditionally set.

All of them slim and gold in an array of symbols. Her nails were short, and painted a deep red that reminded me of my favorite California merlot.

She wore white cutoffs that barely grazed her thighs. A red tank top hugged her body, covering the shorts so only a few inches at her legs showed. She wore a purple shirt that fell off one shoulder and skimmed a few inches below her breasts. Her feet were bare, with more flashes of gold there too. Gold hair was piled at the top of her head in that magical way that women had.

She didn’t look twenty-nine, thanks to her lack of make-up.

Oh, and she was stunning.

As if this job didn’t suck enough.

I’d seen photos during my research on the plane. Objectively beautiful in every damn one of them, but in person? Photos had nothing on Faith Keystone in the flesh.

I’d already decided she was going to be nothing but trouble the moment I’d walked through the door—her house was a security nightmare. Five egress points from my quick count on the exterior of her house, not to mention a shit-ton of windows that I could climb through without even ducking my head.

Inside was even worse.

Anyone with a couple hundred dollars could watch from across the hills. Binoculars, a high-powered rifle scope, hell…even a telescope from a bordering house could do the job.

Security hell.

I’d tried to ignore her as I’d gone through the house. She just kept following me. Noah couldn’t keep her busy, for fuck’s sake?

And now I was the one trailing after her.

I’d checked out the last of the guest bedrooms, saving her sanctuary for last. I understood that everything about me was intrusive—necessary, but ultimately I was going to have a hand in changing her life. Usually not for the better, in a client’s eyes.

I’d walked into her domain and swallowed hard. I’d caught it earlier, but now her scent wrapped around me. Peaches—fresh peaches. The kind my mother cut up to jar this time of year.

Christ, where had that thought come from?

It had been ages since I’d helped her with canning. Not since I was a boy. It was a scent that meant summer was ending and cool nights were on their way.

I pushed those thoughts back. I needed to concentrate and get the lay of the land—make sure she understood just how things were going to be from now on.

Out here on her patio was much better.

The lemons and the fresh air from the trees helped. The skyline had the familiar haze of California smog that was prevalent this time of year. All of it grounded me again.

Protection detail was my specialty, but it had been a very long time since I’d had a woman as a client. The fact that she was so important to Noah was another layer I had to come to terms with.

I met her gaze. She didn’t break the stare—in fact her shoulders straightened and she stood a little taller. There was an innocence in her huge eyes that didn’t belong to someone who had been in the music industry for over ten years. There was fear too—probably because of me more than anything—but, she needed to hear the hard truths.

Maybe if she was afraid, she’d actually make my job easier.

I sat on the bench. “Can you sit for a minute?”

She licked her lips as she twisted a slim ring on her thumb. “All right.”

“I’d like to call my contact over at Carson Covenant. They have specialty glass that I think you’d like.”

“I don’t want my house dark with tinted glass.”

I shook my head. “This is special. It’s just like the kind you have from your point of view inside. Outside? Opaque.”

She pulled her knees together and turned toward me. She rubbed her palms down her legs. “If you could give me the details, I’ll look into it.”

“I can do it.”

“My house, I’ll research it.”

No winning this one. And I had a feeling I was going to need to pick my battles. “Fair enough.”

“All I know about you is that you’re Noah’s friend. Were you a Ranger too?”

I nodded. “I’ve been in the private sector for five years.”

Her knee bounced and her ring kept going round and round. “Have you ever lost anyone?”

Well, fuck. Right down to brass tacks. “Not while I’ve been in the private sector.”

She stopped spinning her ring. “But you have lost people?”

I inclined my head. “Being a Ranger isn’t a walk in the park. We get sent to the worst places on the planet. I’ve lost people in my unit.”

And Lissa. I lost Lissa, too.

Shut it down.

It seemed like she was going to ask more questions, instead she sat back against the cushion. “I’m sorry.”

I nodded.

There really wasn’t much to say on that. I didn’t like thinking about that time in my life. Wars would always be waging, and there would always be someone there to fight. It just wasn’t going to be me anymore.

I’d served my time, and watched dozens of friends die in the name of fighting for peace.

“So, what happens now?” Her lips tipped up at one corner. “You watch me read books for the next two weeks while I wait for the tour?”

I pressed my lips together. “Somehow I doubt there’s even an ounce of truth in that statement.”

“Well, there was a drop. I was actually reading a book when you came in.” She stood up. “In fact, you should probably meet my mom before she busts in here. Noah probably had to sit on her to keep her out of our hair this long.”

“That’s it?”

She shrugged. “Why explain it twice? My mom’s going to ask the same questions plus twenty more.”

I opened my mouth, and shut it again when she rushed on.

“If you say you’re shocked I’m not peppering you with questions like most women would, I’ll slug you. Even if you’re some hot-shot Ranger.”

“I was going to say you’re pragmatic. Nothing about your gender.”

“I’ll take it.” She swept by me and the wash of peaches made me suck back a groan.

Had to be peaches. Couldn’t be some fancy French perfume that I could ignore.

Son of a bitch.

I followed her out into the living room. A blonde that had to be her mother was pacing in front of the kitchen counter. Evidently Noah had given her a similar pep talk about being near the windows.

“There you are. You were gone forever.” Mrs. Keystone rushed up to her daughter.

“Mom. We just had to talk. And he needed to look around.”

“Right, of course.” She dragged Faith into her arms. They were similar in height, save for the extra three inches her mother had with the ice-pick heels.

Faith rolled her eyes. “Mom.”

“Just a minute longer.”

She sighed, and looped her arms around her mother’s waist. “We’ve got two Super-Rangers here. The cavalry has officially arrived.”

Mrs. Keystone gave a watery laugh. “Must you make light of everything?” She looked up at me. “You should have seen what she was reading before you got here.”

I quirked a brow in Faith’s direction.

“What? Who knew there were one-thousand-one ways to kill a rock star?”

Noah stood up with the book in hand. “Some of them are pretty entertaining. Not shockingly there are far too many…” He trailed off and cleared his throat. “Never mind.”

“Could you dog-ear that chapter?” Faith asked.

“Cheeky girl,” he said, and shoved a piece of paper in the book with a wink.

“Can we be serious here?” Faith’s mother asked.

I nodded and crossed the room to her. “I’m Quinn Alexander. I work with Roth Defense out of New York City.”

“And you came all the way out here?”

“We go where the work is, ma’am.”

“Meredith.”

I inclined my head. “My specialty is home and personal security. Some of my clients have included the French Ambassador, a councilman, and a billionaire from Nebraska.”

Mrs. Keystone stood up straighter. “Well, then.”

“I don’t say that to brag.”

“Liar,” Noah quipped.

I gave him a side-eye. “I just want you to believe that I’m well qualified to make sure your daughter stays safe. That is, if she cooperates.”

“Oh, she’ll cooperate,” Mrs. Keystone said.

From the smart remark in our first five minutes, I doubted that, but I would reserve judgment until we went over the rules. “Why don’t we sit down? I’ll explain how things are going to be for the foreseeable future.”

“I should probably get the bourbon now,” Faith said.

“I’d prefer you kept a level head. And a clear one.”

“Yeah, water definitely isn’t going to cut it with this conversation.”

“Faith, please.” Mrs. Keystone twirled her wedding ring. A Keystone women thing?

I walked over to the dining room table and pulled out two chairs. “Ladies, please sit.”

Mrs. Keystone sat in the chair I was clutching.

Faith went to the sideboard, dropped a fat spherical ice cube into the glass, then splashed two fingers of bourbon over it.

Oh, yeah. She was going to be a cakewalk.