Jess sent a text to Harper. “Let’s see who’s working the case first. Then we’ll know whether or not we have to worry about finding the truth. As for the other, I agree. If Amber is being framed, it’s quite possible she could be in danger. Personal security would be a wise step until we know what we’re dealing with.”
“Buddy said you do protective services as well as private investigations.”
“We do,” Jess agreed. “Right now the only investigator we have available is Sean Douglas.”
Gina’s gaze narrowed. “I’m sensing some hesitation. Do you have reservations as to whether he can handle the job?”
Jess considered how to answer the question. “He spent the past five years as a bodyguard to various celebrities in Hollywood.” She shrugged. “Based on our research into his background, he was very, very good at his job. For two years prior to that he was a cop with the LAPD. He’s had all the right training, and his references are impeccable.”
Gina said, “There’s a but coming.”
“His last assignment was Lacy James.”
Gina sat back in her chair. “Damn.”
Lacy James had been a rising pop star. The rumors about drug abuse had followed her from singing in the church choir in her hometown of Memphis all the way to her Grammy nomination in LA last year.
“Her agent hired Douglas to keep an eye on her,” Jess explained. “According to Douglas, she had been straight for a while and her agent wanted to ensure she stayed that way. Six months into the assignment, she died of an overdose.”
Gina pressed her hands to her face, then took a breath. “Do you think what happened was in some way his fault?”
Jess shook her head. “Responsibility for what happened to Lacy James lies with her agent and her other handlers. They cared more about her career than they did her health and welfare. My only hesitation is that Douglas is a little too cocky for his own good. I think he uses attitude to cover the pain and guilt he feels about James’s death.” Jess paused to weigh her words. “I’m concerned his need to prove himself again might be an issue, but as for his ability to protect a client, he’s more than capable.”
Gina’s expression brightened. “Trust me—whatever this guy’s attitude, Amber can handle it. You don’t rise as rapidly in my business as she has without a tough skin and a little attitude. I’m desperate, Jess. I promised Barb I would take care of this.”
Jess felt confident Gina was right about Amber. Putting herself in front of the camera every day was hard work, and it wasn’t for the faint of heart. “Why don’t I learn all I can from the BPD and then I’ll brief Douglas. I’ll arrange a meeting with Amber, and we’ll go from there.”
“I will be forever in your debt.”
“We’ll take care of Amber,” Jess assured her friend.
Gina stood. Jess did the same, albeit a little less gracefully.
“I’m aware that we don’t always know a person as well as we believe—even the people closest to us,” Gina confessed. “But I would wager all I own that Amber had nothing to do with this man’s death.”
Jess nodded resolutely. “Then all we need to do is ensure she stays safe until the BPD can find the killer.”
Forest Brook Drive, Homewood, 12:32 p.m.
Amber Roberts entered the necessary code to stop the infernal beeping of her security system, tossed her keys on the table by the door and then kicked off her heels. This had been the longest morning of her life. She closed her eyes and reminded herself to breathe as the man assigned to keep an eye on her rushed past her to have a look before she went any farther into the house.
Forcing her mind and body to focus on her normal routine, she locked the front door and set the alarm. Without waiting to hear the all-clear signal, she grabbed her shoes and headed for her bedroom. This was her home. The alarm had still been set, for God’s sake. If anyone was in her house, he or she had been there since Amber left that morning. Otherwise the alarm would have gone off, right? She closed her eyes for a moment. At this point she wasn’t sure of anything.
Her stomach knotted at the memory of the police showing up just as her early morning news broadcast ended. Everyone had watched as the detective explained she was needed downtown and then escorted her from the station. She didn’t have to look to know her face would be plastered all over the evening papers as well as the internet and television broadcasts.
The damage control had to start now. She’d already tweeted and posted on Instagram and Facebook. The station had backed her up, as well. If the reaction didn’t make her sound petty and paranoid, she would swear Gerard Stevens from the station’s primary competitor had set her up.
Amber walked into her closet and shoved her shoes into their slots. Her head spun as she dragged off the dress that would forever remind her of the interview room where she’d endured a relentless interrogation by one of the BPD’s finest. She tossed the dress into the dry-cleaning hamper and reached for a pair of sweatpants and a tee. Worst of all, a man was dead. Though she only knew him in passing, she felt bad about his murder. He was someone’s son. Probably someone’s brother and significant other. She pulled on the sweatpants. Most people had a life—unlike her. Gina and Barb warned her repeatedly that she was going to be sorry for allowing her life to fly by while she was totally absorbed by work.
Who had time for a social life? Gina should know better than anyone. Amber was fairly confident her mentor was saying what Barb expected her to say. It didn’t matter either way. Amber was twenty-eight; her top priority was her career. She still had decades for falling in love and building a family.
Even if her narrow focus on her career did get lonely sometimes.
She yanked on the tee and kicked the thought aside. The police believed she was somehow involved in a man’s murder. Her love life, or lack thereof, was the least of her worries.
How the hell the police could think she was involved was the million-dollar question. Why in the world would she hurt this man, much less kill him? She scarcely knew him. He had made a few deliveries to her house. He was always pleasant, but they never exchanged more than a dozen words. None of what she’d been told by the police so far made the slightest bit of sense.
“The house is clear.”
Amber jumped, slamming her elbow into the wall. Frowning at the broad-shouldered man filling the doorway to her closet, she rubbed her funny bone.
“Thank you,” she said even though she didn’t quite feel thankful. She did not want a babysitter. She hadn’t killed anyone, and there was no reason for a soul to want to harm her. Reporting the news for the past six-plus years had given her certain insights into situations like this one, and hiring a bodyguard this early in the investigation was overreacting. There could only be two potential explanations for her current dilemma: mistaken identity or a frame job. Both happened. As hard as she tried, she could come up with no other explanation.
Her bodyguard’s gaze roamed from her face all the way to her toes and back with a couple of unnecessary pauses in between. Now that annoyed her. He was here to keep her safe—supposedly. He had no business looking at her as if she was the next conquest on his radar. Though she suspected Mr. Sexy-as-Hell usually didn’t have to work very hard to get what he wanted. The man was gorgeous. Tall, with those broad shoulders that narrowed into a lean waist. Thick blond hair just the right length for threading your fingers through and deep blue eyes. His muscular build attested to his dedicated workout ethics. With every extra thump of her pulse she understood that beneath his smooth, tanned skin was an ego