Ruined With You, Page 2

  As the star’s personal assistant, being a wall between Ellie and the world was part of Xena’s job description. Considering she was at her boss’s side more than Rye, Liam knew she took her job pretty damn seriously. Seriously enough to question everything he did and every command he issued to his team and Love’s staff.

  On one level, she’d irritated the shit out of him. But she’d also gotten under his skin in ways he hadn’t expected, and he’d been relieved to escape when the case finally wrapped. Because despite being a badass security professional who’d traveled all over the globe, spent years in military intelligence, and endured far too many heart-pounding seconds staring down the barrel of some nasty motherfucker’s gun, he didn’t need extra complications in his life. And though he’d never seen it coming, he learned quickly enough that Xena had the potential to be one hell of a complication, and not just because he was so inexplicably attracted to her, even though she wasn’t his type at all.

  Assuming that a man who rarely dated and avoided relationships could even say that he had a type. He’d started building that fence years ago, brick by solitary brick, until it was a fortress. And though he’d occasionally breach the wall when temptation or lust or whatever the hell you called it grabbed him by the balls, when he did, he went for women with curves, not Xena’s straight lines and hard angles. Plus, she was blond, and blondes had never done a damn thing for him. He’d spent too many nights making inane conversation with overly bleached socialites at the endless stream of parties in the Hamptons that Dallas had dragged him to back when they were both still in their twenties and early thirties.

  Hell, if he was going to have inappropriate fantasies about an off-limits woman, it should be Ellie. But no, he’d gone and fixated on a reedy blond girl with a sharp tongue and eyes that seemed to look right through him.

  He told himself he didn’t know why, but that wasn’t entirely true. She was sharp and determined. She spoke little, but when she did it mattered. And her loyalty to Ellie shone like a beacon.

  All admirable qualities, but there was more to Xena Morgan, he was sure of it. And it was that mystery that intrigued him. Something raw. Edgy. He didn’t know exactly what was buried deep inside her, but he’d seen enough damaged people to know that her soul was at least as scarred as his.

  But that didn’t make them compatible. On the contrary, that made them combustible.

  And that meant that Xena Morgan was a complication he simply didn’t need. And the sooner he exorcised her from his thoughts, the better.

  A burst of white light flooded the backstage area, and Liam realized with a start that rehearsal had ended. Ellie was leaning against a giant set piece, talking with one of the roadies, and there was no longer anyone standing in the wings opposite him.

  Frowning, he started to step onto the stage, then hesitated, wondering if Rye would prefer he go straight to the dressing room. He turned to look for the manager, only to find Xena instead, her head slightly cocked, a knowing smirk playing at the corner of her wide, tempting mouth.

  Too tempting, and he thanked his lucky stars and a deep well of self-restraint that he’d kept himself in check despite that final night at Ellie’s after-party when they’d stood too close together as the alcohol flowed and the city twinkled below them.

  Her hair had been loose, and her soft curls had fluttered in the midnight breeze. Today, those blond strands were pulled back into a severe ponytail, a style that put her face on display.

  It was a beautiful face, albeit in an unusual kind of way. The kind of face that probably photographed incredibly well, but in real life seemed a little too sharp, an effect that was softened by a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks as well as by her hypnotic blue eyes.

  She wore skinny jeans and a white tank top, which clearly revealed that she was about as flat as your average twelve-year-old boy. Even in the flirty black dress she’d worn at Ellie’s party, she’d looked delicate. Ephemeral. As if he could break her with nothing more than a hug. He’d imagined her in his arms, their limbs entwined. His black skin in stark contrast to her pale white, so delicate she probably burned if she even thought about the sun. He wanted her under him, her fragile body crushed beneath him, her heart skittering in passion as she surrendered, trusting him not to hurt her despite his power to do exactly that.

  She’d wanted him, too; he was certain of it. He’d seen it in her eyes. He’d heard it in her breath. But he’d known damn well that he’d never risk having her, not knowing where it might lead and what demons he might unleash. He’d learned that lesson the hard way, and he’d been so fucking grateful to drive away that night with only his memories of her to take with him into his bed, despite how much he craved the woman herself.

  But now here he was all over again, staring temptation in the face and wondering if she knew.

  In front of him, she shifted her weight, then laughed. “Cat got your tongue, Foster? Or do you just not know what to say after such a royal fuck-up?”

  He sucked in a breath as a swath of anger cut through him. Apparently, she didn’t know the ramblings of his mind. All she saw were his mistakes.

  “Good to see you, too, Xena. Let’s go see if we can get to the bottom of whatever the hell is going on.”

  Chapter Three

  They entered the dressing room to find Ellie Love seated on a padded stool, her pink-tipped hair pulled back from her face by a matching pink headband and cleansing cream smeared all over her face.

  “The fans love the look,” she said to their reflection in the mirror, referring to the dramatic makeup that had become her trademark, “but it’s hell on my skin.” She turned then, aiming her sparkling white smile at Liam. “Hey there, Foster. It’s good to see you again.”

  “Is it?” He crossed to the table to take her outstretched hand, then leaned against the wall as she wiped the creamy residue off with a cloth.

  “Hell, yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  Liam frowned, his gaze darting toward Xena, who sat in the chair next to Ellie, her expression flat.

  He cleared his throat. “Ellie, I—”

  “It’s Ella, remember? Ellie is for the stage. Ella is for my friends. And Ms. Love is for everybody else. You, sir, are now a friend. Isn’t he?” she added, turning to face Xena.

  “Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer?” Xena quipped, causing Ellie—Ella—to roll her eyes.

  “My assistant aspires to be me. If not on the stage, then in her ability to be a bitch.”

  “Xena’s worried about you,” Liam told her, glancing sideways at Xena as the door opened and Ella’s fiancé, Rye Callahan, stepped in. “She has reason to be.”

  “I’m worried, too,” Rye said, moving to Ella and putting a hand on her shoulder.

  “Exactly,” Liam said, with a nod to Rye. “Gordon confessed, and I cleared the case. Next stop on the tour, you’re attacked. That shouldn’t sit well with anyone.”

  “It doesn’t sit well.” Ella pushed back from the dressing table and looked him straight in the eye. “But does that mean it was your fault?”

  “It might. Maybe I didn’t dig deep enough. Maybe there was a buried threat, and I missed it.”

  “Well, aren’t you the dedicated martyr?”

  “Ella…”

  “He’s right,” Xena told her boss. “Gordon obviously had a bigger agenda than his asinine publicity stunt. That whole story about releasing the fake threats to the media? What if it was a blind to cover up a bigger agenda? And Mr. Foster missed it?”

  Her words, so damn true, twisted inside Liam. “That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to say,” he told Ella, because he couldn’t hold his head up if he didn’t admit it. He took pride in his work. Hell, his work was his life, and the thought that he’d missed something so important—that his mistake left this woman open for attack—

  Ella waved her hand as she stood up, clearly dismissing his runaway thoughts. “Maybe you did and maybe you didn’t. I don’t know. What I do
know is that Mr. Foster did something for me in LA that very few men have managed.”

  “Whoa there,” Rye said, feigning shock. “You’re wearing my ring, baby. Do I need to be worried?”

  She ran a fingertip from the V-neck of Rye’s Love Hurts concert tee all the way down to the button fly of his jeans. “Never, mo chroí.” They shared a smile, and then she turned her attention back to Liam. “All kidding aside, I was a wreck in Los Angeles with those damn notes and texts. You’re the one who got to the bottom with Gordon. You made me feel safe. And now I want to feel safe again.”

  Without thinking, he glanced toward Xena, who looked right back at him, her expression an unspoken challenge.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded. “All right, then. The attack this morning was either random or it wasn’t. It was either related to Gordon’s bullshit scam last week, or it wasn’t. So let’s figure it out.”

  Ella’s bright smile gave her makeup mirror a run for its money. “That’s my guy. What do you need to know?”

  “Let’s start with everything,” he said. “And we’ll work our way up from there.”

  “All right then.” She frowned at the small couch, currently covered in costumes. “Damn Christy,” she muttered, and Liam recalled being introduced to her costume manager. “Xena, pull up some chairs. If she’s got those outfits in a particular order, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “We’re doing this now?” Xena protested. “You have a show in under three hours, and you need to rest and then go over notes with the techs. Shouldn’t we wait until morning? Or at least after the show?”

  Ella’s brow furrowed and her lips pursed as she settled herself on the stool again. She sighed deeply, then leaned forward as if thoughtfully considering a tricky problem. “Who works for who, again? I think one of us is confused.”

  Liam bit back a grin as Xena scowled, then silently turned toward a stack of folding chairs in the corner. He followed, then grabbed two.

  “I can get my own,” she said.

  “No doubt. These are for Rye and me.”

  Her eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. Just continued back with the chair for herself, as Liam brought the other two, feeling unreasonably smug after his minor victory.

  “Here’s the situation as I see it,” he said, not letting anyone else have the chance to take the lead. “You two call me and tell me I have to come, which suggests that you think I have some culpability. Neither of you gives me any details on the phone other than that Ella was out for a morning jog and was attacked. How am I doing so far?”

  Ella twirled her hand. “Keep going.”

  “I come here ready to do whatever I can to learn who attacked you, and if necessary to make amends for my failure to properly assess the threat, despite having a full confession and a stack of corroborating evidence taller than I am. Then you announce that you don’t think I’m culpable at all—something you didn’t mention on the phone—while you,” he added, turning from Ella to Xena, “suggest that you’ve never met anyone less competent.”

  He opened the flimsy plastic chair and sat, feeling a bit like a giant on a stool made of matchsticks as he turned to face Rye. “And to be honest, I haven’t got a clue what you think.”

  “Well, actually—”

  Liam held up his hand. “At this point, it doesn’t matter.” He stretched out his legs, hoping the chair wouldn’t crumple and send him toppling backward. “Just tell me what happened. Not what you think, but what you know.”

  “Right,” Ella said. “Well, I went out for a jog this morning, right after six. The hotel has a nice park area with a track, and I wanted to go while it was cool.”

  She paused long enough for Liam to nod, then continued. “My picture’s all over this town right now—which is great because that’s the point of this career—but I didn’t want anyone to notice me looking all sweaty and gross. So I took one of the dancer’s wigs from wardrobe—”

  “Ella!” Xena’s voice rose indignantly. “You didn’t tell me that.”

  “It’s not a big deal. Liam just wants the details.”

  “But it is a big deal.”

  “Why?” Ella asked, and though Liam expected the answer to fly off Xena’s obviously irritated lips, instead, she just hung there, like a fly in amber with her lips parted and her brow slightly furrowed. It was only a moment—a brief, odd moment—but then her frown deepened. “Because all those wigs are styled and fitted. Christy’s going to have a fit, and I’m going to be the one who gets lectured.”

  Ella waved the concern away. “Considering my job title, I think I can protect you. Besides, I took it from the swing closet. Just a blond wig that wasn’t assigned to any dancer. Seriously, Christy won’t notice or care.”

  Xena leaned back, her arms crossed over her chest. “If you say so.”

  Liam hesitated, studying Xena as he directed the next question to Ella. “You went out jogging wearing the wig and what? Shorts?”

  “Right. One of my concert tees and black running shorts. And I put a ball cap over the wig—the thing didn’t fit that well, so I figured the cap would keep it secure.”

  “A concert cap, or…”

  “One of the Love Hurts caps. It’s all I had, so I grabbed it, and then I headed out. The track is a mile, but it meanders through the park that’s part of the Delphi property.”

  “I’m familiar with it. Where were you attacked?”

  “Right past the pond. The trail goes behind some trees and there’s a children’s play area. It was too early for there to be any kids, and as I rounded the trees, two guys jumped me.”

  “What were they wearing?”

  “Shorts and T-shirts. Plain black, I think. I don’t remember a logo. But one of the guys had a tattoo on his upper arm. I couldn’t see all of it because of his shirt, but I think it was a snake.”

  “Had you seen them before?”

  “No. I mean, I’m not sure. I used the fitness center entrance to get to the track. I guess they might have been using the equipment or hanging around the juice bar. There were a dozen or so folks in there.”

  “But you didn’t notice anyone follow you outside? And there were no other joggers on the track?”

  “I saw two women early on, but nobody else by the time I got to the play area. But to be honest, I had my music on and was in a groove by that time. So I can’t say for sure.”

  Liam nodded, making a mental note to check the hotel’s security tapes just in case someone fitting the description did follow Ella out the door. “Go on.”

  “They—they were behind me, but one of them grabbed my hair—or, rather, the wig. I heard one of them say, ‘Guess you didn’t see this coming,’ and that’s when I jerked around, and as I did, the whole wig came off, ball cap and all. Thank God I hadn’t taped it on. That would have hurt like a mother.”

  Beside him, Xena let out a sharp “Oh!” That was followed by, “I’m—I’m sorry. I just realized. I need to go talk to Tommy. Shit.” She jumped to her feet and hurried toward the door. “It’s nothing you need to worry about, but if I don’t catch him before he’s checked the board, it’ll be—anyway, I’ll meet you on stage. You’re going over the new encore with the dancers once more, right?”

  She was out the door before Ella even had a chance to answer.

  Liam watched the door slam behind her, his thoughts spinning as he turned to Ella. “She okay?”

  “Some nonsense with one of the microphones. Nothing that interrupted the show, but I’m sure she just wants to check that everything is good.”

  He nodded. The explanation made perfect sense, but it didn’t sit right. He just couldn’t put his finger on the reason why. Yet.

  “We do need to hurry,” Rye said. “A lot to do before a show.”

  “What happened after the wig came off?”

  “I started to run, but I stumbled. I expected them to grab me, but they didn’t. Instead, one of them cursed—I think he was from Jersey—and then they looked at ea
ch other. I still hadn’t caught enough air to scream when they bolted.” She shrugged. “I did, too, but in the opposite direction. Sprinted all the way back to the hotel.”

  “The wig?”

  “I—” She frowned. “I don’t know. I don’t think they took it. Maybe it’s still out there.”

  “You told hotel security?”

  She shook her head. “I called you.”

  He ran his hand over his head. “We talked about this. You need a full-time security staff.”

  “Liam’s right,” Rye said. “Even if it’s only one guy. Maybe this guy,” he added, hooking his thumb toward Liam.

  “Not my gig, but I can recommend good people.”

  “Not on the table, boys. I’m not hiring a bodyguard to shadow me everyday, and the Delphi provides security during the shows. This was a fluke, right? They were thugs who were trying to mug a random woman and freaked when the wig came off.”

  “It’s a solid theory,” Liam agreed, “but I’m not assuming anything.” He thought of the way Xena reacted when she heard about the wig. And he thought of how similar in color her hair was to the wig the dancers wore.

  “Foster?” Ella pressed. “What are you thinking?”

  He shook his head. “Just running through it all. Right now, I’m going to—”

  “Hold up there, guy,” Rye said. “Whatever you’re doing now is fine, but Ella’s got a show, and she needs to start preparing.”

  Born on a Nebraska farm, Rye had washed away any lingering small town innocence, replacing it with a hard-hitting business sense and a cool demeanor. With his total access to Ella, Rye had been at the top of Liam’s suspect list last week. But the background check had come back clean, and when Gordon had confessed, Liam had mentally cleared the manager.

  Now, though, he intended to take another look. It was probably a random attack—and if so, he could take off the damn hair shirt he’d been wearing since that morning’s call—but he wasn’t hanging Ella’s life on probably.