Beck: Hollywood Hitman (6 page)

“Call Ari,” the driver said, and turned onto Sunset toward the Hollywood Hills.

Natalie closed her eyes and thanked God that she was on her way home.

Chapter Eight

“You got me a babysitter?” Natalie sat at the kitchen island with a cup of coffee and a glass of water .

The blond guy, Mr. Badass, smirked and turned toward . . . what was the other guy’s name? Remi. Mr. Badass shot Remi a look that screamed “get a hold of this chick” then mumbled something like, “I’m not the only one.”

Remi’s expression remained unchanged. Not that Natalie could interpret anything right now—between the adrenaline rush and the skull-splitting headache, she could barely keep her eyes open. She’d popped four ibuprofens once they got to the house. She guessed a near-death experience could do that to a girl.

Ari raised an eyebrow. “These guys aren’t babysitters.” His voice just above a whisper. “Look at them. They’re professionals. Highly trained professionals. I’d think after today you’d know that.”

Her gaze slid toward Remi and Mr. Badass. Her assessment at Villa Blanco had been semi-accurate, because these two weren’t desk jockeys. Not actors either. Although their bodies could compete with any action star she’d met or worked with. No, those two were the real deal.

She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. Thank God they’d been in the garage.

Remi now stood beside Ari. “We have specific contacts in the LAPD.”

“No police.” Natalie didn’t open her eyes.

“You’ve got a serious threat here, with a heightening level of aggression.”

Pain tightened her skull. “No. Cops.” She pressed her fingers to her temples and started to rub. There were too many strands of her life that weren’t clean and she didn’t need a cop nosing around her past. Nor did she want anyone who wasn’t on her payroll tipping off the press about her private life. She had so little privacy left. She opened her eyes, and her gaze landed on Mr. Badass.

Heat zinged through her entire body. She’d just been chased and yet a deep and compelling desire slid through her as she looked at this guy. Deep breath. She shook her head. A crescendoing need to keep a piece of her life for herself fought with her fear. “I don’t want a bodyguard.”

“You don’t have a choice.” Ari set a hand on the marble kitchen island.

“Bullshit. I always have a choice.” What was it about afternoon hangovers that made the pain particularly acute?

“Not this time.” Ari’s usual “hey-I-got-this-covered” smile was replaced by a thin-lipped grimace. “The studio is requiring a bodyguard. With the threats and the break-ins, you need your own personal security. Otherwise they can’t get the
Shemax
sequel bonded, which means they can’t go into production. If you say no to that guy”—Ari nodded toward the action-hero blond who now stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows and surveyed the view and the hills beyond—“they recast
Shemax
.”

Natalie’s heart stutter-stepped and heat rolled through her belly.

“
Recast
?”

Shemax
was her breakout role and her biggest moneymaker. Action films were huge and leading roles for women didn’t come often. She wasn’t about to give up this earner.

“I
am
Shemax.”

“Yes you are, and if you want to remain the one and only woman to play that kick-ass character, then you’ll agree to that guy.”

“Why is now the first I’m hearing about this?”

“Because we just closed the deal and that guy, the cross between Gerard Butler and Chris Hemsworth, was the sticking point in the negotiation. I knew you wouldn’t go for a bodyguard, but when they threatened to pull you and recast because of the financial risk to the studio, what else could I do?” Ari lifted his palms toward the ceiling and shrugged.

Ari was a solid agent. He schmoozed, he found good scripts, he managed her career, and if he said her accepting a bodyguard was a deal-breaker for Worldwide Studios , then it was. Damn. She slid her head down onto her arm. The cool marble surface pressed against her cheek. She closed her eyes.

Make it all go away. The threatening letters, the late-night phone calls with hang-ups, the black sedan, the break-ins . . . Rico . . . her parents. If only she could cut the bad parts from her life like an editor cut a film.

“If you want the part,” Ari said. “He comes with it.”

“
He
has a name.”

Stealth. Damn, he’d been on the other side of the room and now Blondie and Remi both stood beside Ari.

“Oh yeah?” Natalie rolled her head so that she peered up at his shocking blue eyes. They were brighter than the sky peeking in the window.

Remi tapped Ari on the shoulder and pointed at the large sliders on the back side of the house. They wandered away with words such as “closed circuit,” “team,” and “motion detector” coming out of their mouths.

“What is that name?” Hangovers didn’t prevent her from running her mouth. Nope. If she was stuck with this guy as her shadow, she wanted to know if he was a complete dick or someone who could hang. Fastest way to discover that answer was to find his buttons and
push
.

“Beck. Beck Tatum.”

“Any relation?”

Uncertainty flickered in Beck’s eyes, and his head tilted.

“To Channing?” Natalie asked, her voice conveying that she thought he was as bright as a burned-out bulb. Had he lived under a rock for the last decade? Guess brains didn’t go with brawn.

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Not to my knowledge,” Natalie mimicked, her voice deep and her eyes wide. How much could she poke at him before that tough-guy exterior broke? Hmm . . . could be interesting to find out.

“Don’t be rude.”

Across the room, Ari’s chattering stopped. Natalie’s head popped up from her arm. “Excuse me?”

“I said”—the muscle in his jaw tightened—“Don’t. Be. Rude.”

She squinted. Wait, had she heard him—

“Natalie.” Ari was already crossing the room his arms outstretched in full-on agent mode. “I’m sure Beck—”

Natalie held up her hand and stopped Ari in his tracks. “Did you just tell me not to be rude?”

His face was stone but his eyes conveyed more than words. “I’m here to protect you. I saved your life and that was
before
you knew my name. So yes, if we’re going to work together, then
don’t be rude
.” The tone was businesslike, with a slight emphasis on the final three words.

Heat swirled through her belly. Her chest tightened. No one talked to her this way. No one.

“Can you believe this guy?” She turned toward Ari. Remi still stood beside the sliders. A small smile decorated his face.

She waited. What? No one? Not even Ari, her agent, was going to say anything to Beck? Tell him that
he
was rude and
employed
by her? That he needed to check his attitude at the door? Her gaze flicked from Beck to Ari. Ari stood very still in the middle of the room and dropped his gaze. She glanced back to Beck. There was nothing smug or satisfied in his expression. If anything . . . was that
sympathy
in his eyes? Shoot her now. Sympathy was waaaaay worse than a smirk.

Remi broke the silence. “I need to know where all the outdoor cameras are located. I don’t think this system is comprehensive.”

Ari turned away from Natalie and toward Remi. “But they were just here. Said this system was the best, state of the art.”

“They lied.”

The conversation went on as though she wasn’t in the room, as though she wasn’t completely pissed at how Beck spoke to her, as though she hadn’t said no to having a bodyguard.

Fire flashed through her body. Just like when she was a kid. She was a nonentity, take that back, she was a
commodity
, without opinions and feelings.

Her eyes heated. Scared. Hungover. Ignored. Fuck it. She was too tired for all this. She wasn’t winning this battle now.

The conversation went on around her as though Natalie were an object to be secured and protected. Just like childhood and adolescence . . . just like her parents and then Rico. To all the people in her home right now, just like all the other people in her life before, she was simply dollar signs and digits. A product that provided what seemed like a never-ending stream of dollar bills to those who worked for her.

Enough. A throbbing pain pounded in her head and the desire to argue fizzled as Remi and Ari turned away, but not Beck. His attention remained fixed on her. She rose from the chair and walked toward the stairs. A bone-deep fatigue spread through her limbs. Sleep. She wanted sleep. Could she sleep forever and never wake up? Maybe sleep until she was dead.

“Ari?”

He turned to her.

“I don’t want this.” Her voice just above a whisper the fight drained from her as the adrenaline oozed away.

“I know, doll, but you do want to work and we all want your safety.”

She glanced at the cameras dotting the corners. “In every room?

“Not your bathroom or your bedroom.”

She took a long deep breath. The alternative was way worse. She couldn’t imagine her life without her work. Who was she without her films? Work provided structure, provided her with value, with self-worth. What else did she have? One friend, one agent, no family, but loads of work.

“Can we . . . where did they find these guys?” Defeat laced her voice.

“We work with Estrella Leone.” Remi’s voice was soft.

Natalie’s jaw dropped. “
The
Estrella Leone?”

“The one and only.”

“But I thought she was dea—”

“She isn’t.” Remi’s gaze conveyed something deep, something important, something that Natalie didn’t want to question. “Her agency, Greystone, works with the studios or for individuals for whom Estrella has concern.”

Natalie wasn’t sure which group she fell into, but she had a sense based on Remi’s gaze that maybe she fit both categories.

A shiver chased up Natalie’s spine. The stories . . . what had happened to Estrella was a warning to anyone with a public career. If the stories about Estrella were true, then she would have concerns for Natalie, because Estella would have concerns for any young star where a stalker was concerned.

***

Beck welcomed darkness. The night was a cloak of anonymity that provided him with a freedom the daylight never did. When he chose to be, Beck was soundless in his movements. Swift and stealthy under the cover of night, he could move before anyone knew of his presence. You didn’t get nineteen confirmed kills without embracing silence.

He entered Natalie’s bedroom. Moonlight glanced through the window and shone on her face. Her dark hair lay like liquid night on a pillow. Those perfect lips barely parted. Her sleep was peaceful. Restful. A thought . . . a memory . . . a moment from before, with Marisol, flashed through Beck’s mind like lightning in a summer sky, then was gone.

Natalie was tough. She might appear like a sexy girly-girl, but with all the treachery she’d endured from her family and friends, she’d developed a thick hide to survive and thrive.

Beck circled the room. Tested the locks on the French doors that led to the balcony. Her room was on the second floor, but if a person was determined they’d find a way to get inside. He scanned the bathroom. Pretty damn swank. Next was the walk-in closet, which was bigger than his last apartment and filled with more shit than one of those fancy-ass high-end department stores.

He circled back to the bedroom and stopped beside Natalie’s bed. She had no reason to trust Beck. All the people in her life had failed her when she’d trusted them. Why would she expect anything different from him?

Because Beck wouldn’t fail. Not again. Not this time.

“What are you doing in my room?”

“My job.”

“Watching me sleep is your job? Sounds a little stalker-y to me.” She reached out and flipped on the light beside her bed.

“You already have a stalker—you don’t need two.”

No reaction to his words. She scrubbed her hands over her face. “My head hurts.”

She reached for the water glass on the nightstand. Empty. Beck wasn’t her maid, but against his better judgment, he liked her. He slid from the shadows and lifted the glass from her hand. Minutes later he returned with water and ibuprofen.

“Thank you.” Her tone was soft and her gaze gentle.

His heart pinged. Dangerous territory when she was kind. Much easier when she tested his resolve.

She threw the pills into her mouth and swallowed the water. “So the security system Ari had installed sucks?” She sank back against her pillow and watched him with those eyes. Every word, every look from her, every movement seemed to assess who he was and what he was after, as well as where his vulnerable points might be. She’d make a good operative. So far, aside from when she was drunk, he hadn’t seen her let down her guard. Even then, after the booze, she’d been calculating a way to get what she wanted, which at the time wasn’t him so much as a way to remain alone.

“The system is inadequate for our level of need.”

“You say inadequate, I say sucks. Same difference. You don’t have to kiss Ari’s ass.” She pulled at her comforter and tucked it up higher around her. Her gaze dropped to her hands. “I’m the one who pays you”—her gaze locked with his, a weariness in her eyes—“not him.”

“Then I don’t have to kiss your ass either.”

She squinted.

“Because Estrella pays me.”

“Ah.” A smile slid over her face. “That explains why you’re such a jerk. You think I can’t fire you.”

“Oh, I know you can fire me, but I also know that I’m the best person on the planet for this job, and the studio believes I’m the best person on the planet for this job, and for you to keep the
Shemax
role with the studio, you need to keep me.”

Red flooded up her neck and spotted her cheeks. He’d already pissed her off once today; looked like he’d gotten in two solid shots. How long since anyone had told Natalie the unvarnished truth? Years? A decade? Before her first big role when she was nine? The inhabitants in Natalie’s world depended on her for their rent, their house payments, their groceries. None of them, Ari included, wanted to upset the rainmaker. Nope, they would go along to get along where Natalie was concerned.