idea of going to the police flitted through her mind but was quickly discarded. She’d seen the shows on TV. The cops couldn’t do much until after a crime was committed, except maybe tell her to get a restraining order. And what was the use of a flimsy piece of paper against a man as rich and powerful as Richard Ashton III?
Not that a judge would believe her and give her a restraining order in the first place. Society worshipped and adored Richard. To them, he was a generous humanitarian who donated millions every year to charity and supported the campaigns of just about everyone holding office in Savannah right now, including the sheriff of Chatham County. No, going to the police wasn’t an option.
Then how could she protect herself? Richard’s idea of protection was a twenty-four-hour guard at the house. Maybe that was what she needed: her own guard, someone who would be loyal to her and only her.
She drew her hand across her damp brow and used her car’s voice-command center to search the phone book for “bodyguards in Savannah, Georgia.” She selected the first company that popped up in the search results and set the GPS to direct her there.
* * *
IF HER ROYAL HIGHNESS—Kate Middleton—had materialized in the offices of Dawson’s Personal Security Services, it would have surprised Luke Dawson far less than the woman who’d just stepped through his door: Caroline Ashton—beautiful, platinum blonde, wife of billionaire businessman Richard Ashton III.
Luke couldn’t say what designers had made her tasteful silky tan skirt and matching blazer, or the tiny, shimmering handbag hanging off her shoulder. But he did know her clothes were expensive—and totally out of place in the cramped, dusty office that normally catered to hookers looking for protection from their pimps, or small-business owners needing protection when they got behind with their bookies.
Obviously, she was lost.
He glanced at the only other person in the room, his office manager, Mitch Brody, sitting a few feet away. Mitch shrugged, indicating he didn’t know what was going on, either.
Luke waited for their guest to say something, but she simply stood in front of his desk as if she was waiting for permission to speak—probably some quirk of the superrich. He shoved his chair back and offered his hand to shake.
“I’m Luke Dawson. And that’s Mitch Brody. What can Dawson’s Personal Security Services do for you, Mrs. Ashton?”
Her blue eyes widened, providing a stark contrast to her pale complexion. Was she surprised he knew her name? Didn’t she realize everyone in Savannah knew who the Ashtons were? The “perfect couple” was plastered on the front pages of the local gossip rags at least once a week, and their annual Christmas party was the event of the social season, rivaling the acclaim of the infamous parties held by Jim Williams back in his heyday. Or at least, that was what Luke had heard. His name would certainly never appear on the Ashtons’ Christmas party’s prestigious guest list.
She swayed slightly, as if caught in a daydream, before stretching her manicured hand out to shake his.
His hand practically swallowed hers, and he felt a shudder go through her. What the hell? She pulled her hand back, but not before he noticed something flash in her eyes, something he’d seen too many times in his line of work not to recognize it.
Fear.
Was it possible she was here on purpose, and that she needed help? That seemed so unlikely as to sound ludicrous, but Luke’s internal radar sounded a warning. Rather than show her to the door as he’d been tempted to do the moment she’d walked in, he rounded his desk and picked up a stack of folders from the one guest chair he owned.
He frowned at the lint on the dark green fabric. Normally he wouldn’t give it a second thought, but Caroline Ashton was far too sophisticated to sit on a dirty chair.
“Give me a minute and I’ll find something to cover the seat.”
“No, no, please. Don’t go to any trouble on my behalf. This is fine.”
She sat before he could stop her.
He raised a brow in surprise and leaned back against the edge of the desk, his legs stretched out in front of him as he waited for her to explain why she was here. But again, she seemed perfectly content not to say anything. She simply looked up at him with a polite, blank look. He wondered again at the foibles of the wealthy.
“Mrs. Ashton, how can we help you today?”
“I n-need t-to...” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment as if she was in pain. “I need to hire a bodyguard.”
Her nervousness had him studying her more closely. “I figured you came in here by accident and needed directions.”
Her thick lashes dipped down to her lap, as if keeping eye contact was too difficult.
“I’m not lost. I need protection.”
Her words, and the desperate quality of her voice, had those alarms ringing in his head like church bells on Sunday. Still, he didn’t want to offend her if he’d misunderstood—because surely a billionaire’s wife didn’t really need Luke’s protection.
“Mrs. Ashton, it’s no secret that your husband has a contract with Stellar Security, one of the best security firms in Georgia, one of my biggest competitors.” He glanced at Mitch, who’d gone stone-faced as soon as Luke mentioned Mitch’s former employer. Mitch hated Stellar Security, but since he’d never explained why, Luke could only go by his own personal dealings with the other firm.
“I wish I could tell you my company could do better,” he continued, “but honestly, I don’t have the resources the other firm has. I have five bodyguards, besides myself. Stellar has dozens. If someone’s bothering you, I can call your husband’s security guys and talk to them for you.”
She shook her head, her eyes widening. “No, don’t call them. They’re the last people I would trust.”
He frowned. “Why wouldn’t you trust them? They work for you.”
For the first time since coming into the office, she seemed to really focus on him. The blank look evaporated, replaced by a look of startling clarity and intelligence, as if she’d been playing a role earlier and she’d decided to drop all pretenses.
“No. They don’t work for me. They work for my husband.”
Few people surprised Luke Dawson anymore, but Caroline Ashton had just given him a sucker punch. Was it possible she was afraid of her husband? If something...bad...was going on between them, Luke would have expected rumors in those gossip magazines. At the very least, he’d expect to hear something in the bars when he and his security friends bantered about their clients and the crazy things they sometimes did. But he’d never heard a whisper of anything bad about the Ashton couple. Not one.
He had heard the exact opposite, that Richard Ashton III was practically a saint, in spite of his wife being a bit...needy, to put it kindly. She was said to be nervous, high-strung, but her husband was the epitome of tenderness whenever they were seen together. He was always at her side, seeing to her every whim.
Luke studied her face. Her skin tone was even, her makeup accenting her natural beauty, not thick like women wore when trying to cover bruises. Long sleeves covered her arms—no clues there. But her legs,
