Caught by Surprise (19 page)

“On your honor, Melisande.”

Her chin rose proudly. “On my honor. I won’t give you a thing to worry about.”

Brig knelt beside the bed and took her face between his hands. Concern for her washed away any trace of levity. His eyes were cold, his voice low and hard. “Don’t cross me on this, Melisande.”

She stared at him with a puzzled frown, amazed at the fierceness in his attitude. “I won’t,” she assured him gently.

When she reached out and caressed his jaw with one fingertip, his eyes flickered and the harshness left them. Millie tried to smile. She’d gratefully vow to ignore her protective instincts this once in order to please him, but a little knot of anxiety began to build under her breastbone. Would he expect her to make the vow permanent?

The next day they met his band backstage at the sprawling, modem Birmingham Civic Center, the site of the concert. The six men gathered around them, studying Millie curiously.

“Melisande Surprise,” Brig told them.

“Howdy.”

“Howdy.”

“Howdy.”

“Howdy.”

“Stop,” Brig complained jokingly. “Couldn’t you boys do this in harmony?”

“Howdy,” Millie told them. Her mouth crooked up in a wry smile. “That’s a group howdy. You’ll have to share it.”

The blue-jeaned bunch grinned at her, and she could tell that their first impression was positive. It was mutual. They had clever eyes and well-lived-in faces. These men didn’t believe in standing on the sidelines of life.

Two were Australian, musicians who’d been with Brig before he came to the States. Three were American. And one, who revealed short dreadlocks when he removed a battered western hat, was Jamaican.

He flashed a friendly smile at her and said in the lilting accent of his homeland, “I know what you’re thinking. But though I’m black, I sing like a redneck.”

Millie laughed. “Bravo. If an Aussie can sing at the Grand Ole Opry, so can you.”

Each of the six had either a girlfriend or a wife to
introduce to her. The whole group finally made its way to a nearby steak restaurant and commandeered a small banquet room.

Joking insults flew back and forth between everyone at the table. Requests for ketchup and other condiments were handled bluntly, often with a deliciously rude comment thrown in for flavor.

“What kind of work do you do?” one of the girlfriends asked Millie.

“I’m a deputy sheriff.”

She expected the politely stunned reaction that announcement usually received. Instead, everyone whooped and applauded.

“Brig’s finally got the law on his side!”

“Justice is blind!”

“Aw, he ain’t so ugly!”

“In the outback, he’s considered a prize!”

“Yeah, but women there are desperate for any man who has a full set of teeth!”

Millie glanced at Brig’s amused expression and knew that he was thoroughly comfortable at the center of such abuse. She loved his casual self-confidence.

“I wouldn’t mind if he didn’t have teeth,” she said solemnly.

He clasped his chest in gratitude. “Thank you, love.”

The bantering stopped as a giant man ambled into the room. Brig stood up and shook hands with him. Millie eyed the newcomer’s pin-striped suit and knew it must be custom-made. No retailer sold suits that could fit a body the size of a small truck.

Brig turned toward her. “Melisande, I want you to meet Kitty O’Conner. The best bodyguard in the south.”

She held out a hand. Kitty’s hand swallowed it. She shook one of his fingers.

“Kitty, this is your client. Melisande Surprise.”

“Hello,” Kitty said in a soft, high-pitched voice. “You won’t have a thing to worry about tonight.”

Unless you accidentally step on me, Millie thought. “Kitty, I can believe it,” she answered sincerely.

He nodded to Brig. “I’ll meet you in the hotel lobby at seven.”

As he left, she gazed after him in rapt curiosity. “Why is he called kitty’?”

Brig was smiling thoughtfully as he sat down. “Don’t know, love. Nobody’s ever had the nerve to ask him.”

“I not only feel protected, I feel overwhelmed. This is too much, Brig.”

“You promised, Melisande.”

She let her protest trail off as a warning glint came into his eyes. Something about it frightened her. She seriously doubted that Senator Halford would bother Brig here in Birmingham, and she knew that Brig doubted it too. Otherwise, he’d never have let her stay, bodyguard or no. But if Brig were this concerned for her safety, he must have reason to suspect the worse. He wasn’t telling her everything.

Her appetite gone, she smiled numbly and listened to the group’s banter begin again. They were wonderful people, and she sensed that they would accept her wholeheartedly. It was reassuring. Maybe Brig’s world wasn’t so different from her own.

But right now she was worried about tonight. With sudden, desperate certainty Millie knew that if anyone put Brig in danger, no promise would keep her from defending him.

Brig pounded playfully on the door. “Come out of the bathroom before I lose my patience!”

“Sounds as if you’ve already lost it!” Millie called.

“I’ve got something to show you!”

“I’ve got something to show you!”

She flung the door open, and they stared at each other. “
Strewth,
” she said in soft awe, as she gazed at his black tux. It had a few western touches, and he wore a black string tie with the shirt, but the result was definitely elegant and definitely heart-stopping.

He chuckled at her pleased appraisal. “
Strewth
yourself,”
he returned, his eyes glowing. “Is that another of ol’ Tito’s outfits?”

“Yes.” She glanced down at her blue dress. “Fancy, eh?”

“Does a kangaroo hop?” He took her in his arms. “I love it.” He tilted his head to one side and peered at the glittering high-heeled shoes that matched her dress. “Perched on those you’ll stay out of trouble. Can’t chase anybody.”

“Kitty can do the chasing,” she told him. And she meant it. If at all possible, she wouldn’t break her word to Brig.

Kitty, wearing a black tux that would have fit Bigfoot, was waiting for them downstairs. He nodded politely and stayed behind them as they went outside to the glossy white limo that waited. When autograph seekers stopped Brig by the door, Millie was subtly aware that Kitty stepped closer to her. She caught a glimpse of the shoulder pistol under his jacket.

“A six-shooter. Four-inch. Smith,” she said, as he sat down across from them on the limo’s jump seat. “One of my favorites.”

His eyes widened. “Ma’am?”

“Your pistol. I have that model at home. Good weapon. A lot of kick though.”

Kitty stared at her in silent awe. Brig slapped one thigh and laughed until tears edged his eyes. Wiping them away, he briefly told the bodyguard about her background. Kitty’s polite demeanor held a new note of respect.

He trailed them like a shadow after they arrived at the civic center. Brig kept a hand on her arm and guided her through the chaos backstage. They stopped at a magnificent buffet and sipped wine.

“Do you know who that is?” she said with a gasp, as a tall, bearded man waved at him from the far end of the table. “That’s Kenny Rogers!”

“I know, Melisande,” Brig answered drolly. He waved back. “His dressin’ room is next to mine.”

“You should have told me!”

“I didn’t know you were a fan of his.”

“Of course! You saw all his records at my house!” She stopped, watching the amusement in Brig’s blue eyes. “I like your music too,” she said contritely.

Sighing, Brig took a cocktail fork from the table and held it pointed at his stomach. “You like Kenny better than me. My honor is ruined. Want to see my hors d’oeuvre impression?”

She laughed and whisked the fork away. “I only love one man in country music. And his name’s not Kenny Rogers.”

“Willie Nelson?”

“Brig McKay.”

“Hmmm. Never heard of him.” Grinning, he bent down and kissed her.

“He’s the best,” she whispered.

“Want to go to my dressing room now?”

“Is that an indecent proposition, sir?”

“Wish it were, but it’s not. You’ll see why.”

Arm in arm, with Kitty on their heels, they went down a flight of stairs to a maze of crowded halls. When they finally came to Brig’s room, Millie found all six of his musicians lounging around.

“Ah. Communal,” she observed.

“That’s a polite description.”

“Howdy,” one of the guys said.

“Howdy,” another added.

“Don’t start that again, you mangy swamp rats,” Brig commanded.

She sat in a corner chair and watched, intrigued, as they tuned instruments and warmed up. Kitty sat beside her, stoical and stone-faced. At ten o’clock, when the concert was half over, everyone went back upstairs.

Brig guided her to a spot where she could see from the wings. “Be back in about thirty minutes, love,” he told her. His gaze went to Kitty, who nodded.

Millie shooed Brig away lightly. “Kitty and I will be just fine. Go sing, mate.”

He kissed her and went to await his entrance with the band. What could happen now? Millie asked silently.
Nothing. She was ready to enjoy the show. With a thrill of pride, she listened to the applause after the emcee introduced Brig and his group.

Halfway through the first song, she glanced at Kitty. Sweat was beaded on his face and his eyes were half-shut. Millie grabbed his arm. “Are you sick?”

“It’s nothing serious, ma’am.”

She tried to joke. “Of course it’s serious! If you faint and fall on me, I’ll be crushed.”

“I think I’m coming down with the flu.” He swayed a little.

Alarmed, Millie tugged on his arm. “Let’s find you a place to sit. You can watch me from a short distance, can’t you?”

“I suppose.”

She spotted a chair at the top of the stairs to the dressing room area. Millie got him settled there. He tilted his head back and shut his eyes.

“I’ll get you some aspirin from Brig’s dressing room.”

“I have to go with you.”

“I’ll be right back, for goodness sake!”

“Right back,” he mumbled, and dabbed at his feverish face.

She went downstairs and ran into the dressing room. She stopped cold. She’d watched a security guard lock the door after everyone left the room.

Millie made a slow circle of the room, trying to determine if anything had been disturbed. She jumped at the sound of footsteps in the hall outside. The hall had been empty a moment ago. The steps halted by the door.

Acting on impulses honed by years of training, Millie moved fast. Just as the door opened, she dropped to all fours behind a couch. It was probably Kenny Rogers coming to visit, she told herself. What would she say? Hi, Kenny. I’m just checking for dust devils?

She peeked around the edge of the couch and watched a short, stocky man step into the room. He had the flattened features of a boxer and the big hands to match. She frowned. Handkerchiefs covered his fingers.
He went to a long counter fronted by mirrors, reaching into his pockets as he moved.

Even from her awkward hiding place, Millie could see well enough to recognize the materials he spread out on the counter. He laid out small bags of white powder, several glass vials, and drug paraphernalia. Then he turned and hurriedly left the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

She leapt up, her hands clenched. It was such an obvious plant. Undoubtedly, boxer-face was heading for a telephone to place an anonymous call to the police. Boxer-face was probably working for Senator Halford.

And all she had to do was capture him.

She ran into the hallway in time to see him disappear around a corner. Millie chewed her lip in frustration. He was heading away from the stage area. Her promise to Brig held her frozen in place.

She started to scream for Kitty. No, the idea was too absurd.
Here Kitty, here Kitty
. And by the time the ailing bodyguard lumbered to her aid, the culprit would be gone.

If boxer-face worked for the senator, he was invaluable. Millie thought of what Halford might have done to Brig if he’d served time in a Tennessee jail. Brig might be maimed or dead. The senator could still make certain that he ended up that way. Defensive love erased her doubts.

“Forgive me for breaking my promise,” she whispered raggedly, while kicking off her high heels to run after the intruder.

On stage. Brig was in the middle of his second song. He cradled an acoustic guitar in front of him and played it with a skilled abandon that brought cheers from the crowd. Feeling proud, he glanced toward the people in the wings, expecting to see Millie standing where she’d been during the first song. When he couldn’t spot her,
he told himself not to worry—she’d just moved to get a better view.

The third song was an instrumental featuring the band, and Brig casually strolled toward the wing while he played. “Anybody seen a cute little blond lady in a blue dress?” he called to the bystanders.

“She left,” someone mouthed, and pointed toward backstage.

Frowning, Brig returned to center stage. There must be a good explanation—besides, Kitty was with her. Unless she was menaced by Godzilla or an army battalion, Kitty O’Conner could protect her.

Brig got through the fourth song, though his concentration was shot. As he doggedly hung onto the last word of the lyrics, he looked offstage. Kitty stood there, talking full tilt to an agitated security guard.

“G’night, folks, and God bless,” Brig abruptly told the packed auditorium. Then he walked to one of the band members and thrust the guitar into his startled hands. “Play somethin’,” he ordered, and ran for the wings.

“Where is she?” he demanded as soon as he reached Kitty.

“I don’t think she’s in the building anymore,” the huge bodyguard explained gruffly. He told Brig how they’d gotten separated. “Dammit, Mr. McKay, she just went to the dressing room. I wouldn’t have let her go alone, but that area’s under tight security.”

“She must have left through a back exit,” the guard interjected. He eyed Brig grimly. “I checked your dressing room. Mr. McKay, somebody left drugs there.”

After a stunned second, Brig grabbed the guard by the shirt. “It’s a plant. Call the police. O’Conner, you stay here.”