Marissa,” Jack said.
Her hands moved to her hips. “What does that mean?”
Her fame, beauty and success came with benefits. “People will make exceptions for you.”
“I work hard and honor my commitments. I’ve gotten where I am because I’m reliable and responsible.” Hostility dripped from her voice.
He sensed pushing her more would send her over the edge. “I didn’t mean to offend you. We’ll change your flight and hotel. Maybe that will be enough to throw anyone following you off your trail,” Jack said. Most of his previous clients were more calloused. His boss had mentioned that he could use some softening around the edges. This was his opportunity to show he could handle all types of clients.
“I’ll agree to those changes,” Marissa said. She sat again on the bed and looked at her alarm clock. “No point in going back to sleep now.”
Being in her private space, he was aware of a boundary shifting. He shouldn’t linger in her bedroom. It was making him think irrational thoughts, like of how it would feel to touch her or kiss her. “Rest while you can. I’ll make the arrangements.” He left her room, closing the door behind him before he did something he’d regret.
* * *
Marissa tilted her head back and turned it, arching her back. The sun’s rays were beating down on her and the heavy sparkling diamond necklace she was wearing. Despite the brightness, in the crisp New Hampshire air, she was cold. A burnt orange bikini provided little protection from the wind. Outdoor heaters blew to keep goose bumps off her skin. The sounds of the waves rolling onto the beach were melodic and soothing. The beige of the sand swept into snow-dusted dunes and gray-and-tan marbled rocks.
The hardest task was keeping the sadness out of her eyes. Avery was dead and Marissa wouldn’t have the opportunity to make amends with her. She’d heard people on the set whispering about the murder and her stomach twisted with grief. Clarice was working this event as well and she had much to say on the matter, eager to discuss it and vent some of her sadness. Rumors swirled despite not having any official information on the case.
Marissa’s home intruder had admitted he was hired by someone he didn’t know. He had been sent to kill her. Marissa tried not to let that sink too deeply in to her psyche. Except for the incident with Rob and Avery, Marissa didn’t start trouble with friends or colleagues. Her divorces had been over long ago and any animosity had faded with time.
The wind blew across the water, sending a chill down her spine. Marissa thought of heated things. Soup. Hot chocolate. And Jack, who was standing about four yards away. He was wearing a dark coat that didn’t hide his muscular shape. Strong shoulders and trim hips, his stride was powerful and every movement deliberate. Every few minutes, he changed his position, circling the area. She didn’t believe that trouble had followed her. Jack believed it had. He had negotiated for the shoot to take place a quarter of a mile from the previously planned location. With the additional traffic the crew brought, it wouldn’t be hard to find her.
Marissa felt safer with Jack. Serious, rarely smiling, he moved quickly and thought ahead. He didn’t look at her much, but she found herself looking at him quite a bit. Marissa tried not to be arrogant about her appearance or assume that everyone found her attractive. Her job revolved around her looks and she had lucked out in that department. Most of the men on the set were staring at her. Jack was looking at everything else.
She had traveled from New York to New Hampshire with Jack and he had kept his questions and comments about her, Avery, the incident in her apartment and the changes to her travel plans.
She sensed she rubbed him the wrong way and wasn’t his type. He would go for a rough-and-tumble woman, salt of the earth, low maintenance. Marissa was the definition of high maintenance. She liked sleep and her beauty products and her fitness regimen. When she was stressed, she liked time at a spa.
Jack wasn’t paying attention to her and it bothered her. Not able to put her finger on why since he wasn’t her type either. He hadn’t shaved this morning, he didn’t go out of his way to be charismatic or charming and he was not interested in her outside of their professional involvement. Dressed appropriately, his clothes lacked a fashion sense, but he wore them well. Dark gray pants and a black T-shirt; a black windbreaker that concealed his gun.
“Marissa, eyes,” the photographer said.
Marissa had been squinting. Jack glanced in her direction. She refocused on showing the jewelry in the best light.
The photographer dropped his camera to his side and sighed. “This is boring. We need a different set. I want to do something daring. Not look like we’re schlepping shopping-mall jewelry.”
He snapped his fingers and pointed. Marissa stood. Three assistants started moving around the boxes and light reflectors.
Clarice jogged over with a plush robe. “Want this?”
Marissa shook her head. It was harder to get warm and then peel off the robe and be freezing again. Anyway, it would smudge her makeup and ruffle her hair. “Thanks, but I’m okay.” The heaters were helping, but her toes were cold and she wiggled them.
“Probably only thirty more minutes with the sun’s rays in the right position,” Clarice said.
They had been on the set for hours. “I hope we have some good shots.”
“Weird on the set today,” Clarice said. “I can’t stop thinking about Avery. She’s on everyone’s mind. It’s hard to focus on other things. Business as usual feels strange.”
“I know what you mean,” Marissa said. It was simultaneously quieter, but with more behind-the-hand whispers.
“Have you heard anything else?” Clarice asked.
Marissa shook her head. “Avery’s mother sent me a message about the memorial service.” The woman didn’t know she and Avery hadn’t been speaking and she had asked Marissa to say a few words about Avery at the service.
“I’ve been asking around, but no one seems to know what happened.” Clarice stared at her hard as if expecting her to reveal an important detail.
“The police will figure it out,” Marissa said. She hoped they would soon. The man who had been inside her town house was denying any involvement in Avery’s murder.
“What about the bodyguard?” Clarice asked.
“Jewelry guards, you mean?” Marissa said. The jewelry had been escorted to the site by two burly looking, highly intimidating men.
“Not them. What about your new bodyguard? What’s his story?” Clarice asked.
“His story?” Marissa asked. She didn’t know much about Jack.
“Is he married or does he have a girlfriend? No wedding ring,” Clarice said.
Marissa hadn’t asked. “He was a referral.” She was curious about him, too. Not her business, but he hadn’t taken personal phone calls on the trip to Seabrook. A wife or girlfriend would call now and then.
“He doesn’t talk to anyone. He looks around and watches,” Clarice said.
“He’s making sure
