24/7

Friday, 3:12 a.m. Rented house just outside Denver Kelly woke from a restless sleep and lay in the middle of the king-size bed, alone as usual. Wouldn't the paparazzi love to have a shot of this? The wife of sexy, rugged film star, Nick Warner, stuck in the rambling, rented ranch house with only her four-year-daughter for company while her husband partied without her. Stretching, she pushed back the sheet and com-forter and threw her feet over the side of the bed. The house creaked and groaned as she padded barefoot to the bathroom. Renting the house, a rambling struc-ture on the edge of town, had been her idea. The glitz and glamour surrounding premiers at the Mile High Film Festival turned Denver hotels into a media circus, and Kelly just plain wasn't up to it. She was about to crawl back into bed when she heard her daughter calling for her daddy. "I'm coming, sweetheart." She wasn't Daddy, but she'd have to do. She stepped into her slippers and pulled on her robe. The house was downright drafty. Kelly found her daughter sitting up and clutching her worn Pooh bear. "I want Daddy." "He's not back yet. Did you have a bad dream?" "No, but Daddy's here. I saw him." Kelly sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Alex into her arms. "No one's here but us." "Daddy was in the hall," Alex said insistently. "He stopped right outside my room, but he didn't come in." A thread of apprehension wove its way along Kelly's nerve endings, but she brushed it aside. It couldn't have been Nick. He never returned from a night of partying quietly. And it couldn't be anyone else. The security guard that Nick had hired was just outside. Kelly tousled Alex's soft blond curls. "Daddy's not home yet, sweetheart. You must have dreamed it. Would you like a glass of milk? That might help you get back to sleep." "Yes, ma'am." "I'll get it." Kelly was halfway down the hallway when she sensed movement behind her. Her pulse skyrocketed, and she spun around. A man wearing a ski mask clamped a meaty hand over her mouth and twisted one arm behind her back. "Keep quiet. You don't want that little girl getting in the middle of this." Her pulse raced. Oh, God, don't let him hurt Alex! He dropped his hand from her mouth. "Where's your husband?" "He's asleep in the back bedroom," she lied. "He has a gun, and if he hears any noise, he'll come out here." "You're lying. I've checked the entire house. He's not here." "No, but there's a guard outside, and if you don't get out of here right now, I'll scream, and he'll hear me." "There was a guard. Now cut the lying. Where is Nick?" "He's on his way home from a party. He'll be here any second." "Where's the party?" "I don't know. What do you want with him?" He put his face next to hers, and the sickening stench of sweat and garlic made her gag. "That's between me and him, pretty lady." One hand slipped to her right breast. "Get your hands off me." "Looks like you'd be glad to have a real man after living with Nick Warner." He shoved her, sending her crashing against the wall. By the time she steadied herself, he was gone. Her heart pounded in her chest as she walked to the door, afraid to even imagine what she'd find. The door was open, letting in a blast of cold air. She stepped outside. The guard was there, lying facedown in a pool of blood. Friday, 8:58 a.m. Prescott Personal Securities (PPS) Headquarters "I'M NOT THE MAN for this job." "Care to explain that remark?" No, but Jack Sanders knew he'd have to. Evange-line Prescott was the most accommodating boss he'd ever worked for, but she put a lot of thought into the assignments she handed out at Prescott Personal Se-curities, and she'd expect valid reasons for any kind of protest. Jack leaned back in his desk chair, but avoWayne, Joanna is the author of '24/7 ', published 2007 under ISBN 9780373692422 and ISBN 0373692420.