was calming and comforting, and in a better state of mind she might even be able to ignore all the facades and locks and intercoms and the lack of windows. But she wasn’t in the state of mind to forget that Tom, who’d been paid to protect her, was dead.
“Settle in, Ms. Delaney. You’re safe here. I promise you that.”
She carefully placed her duffel bag on the shiny hardwood floor. Exhaustion made her body feel as heavy as lead, and she went ahead and lowered herself onto the bed with its pretty quilt. “I’m not safe anywhere, Mr. Simmons.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but she wasn’t in the mood, so she waved him toward the door. “But I feel safe enough to take a nice long nap, if you’ll excuse me.”
He raised an eyebrow, presumably at her regal tone and the way she waved him off, but she was too tired to care.
He moved to the door, twisted the lock on the interior knob, then closed the door behind him as he exited.
Daisy took off the wig and then let herself fall into sleep.
* * *
ZACH SPENT THE afternoon going over the information he’d been given about Daisy’s stalking, and the information he’d gathered himself in anticipation of her arrival.
The murder of her bodyguard while she’d been on stage was certainly the tipping point. The formal investigation had been lax up to that point. Except for the private one her brother had launched.
Zach appreciated the detail of Ranger Cooper’s intel, and since he knew too well the stress and helplessness of trying to keep a sibling safe, Zach was grateful for his willingness to share.
Still, there were things that had been missed—well, maybe not missed. Overlooked. Probably still not fair. One of the things that had allowed Zach to do so well in the FBI was his ability to work out patterns, to find threads and connect them in ways other people couldn’t.
The stellar way he’d handled himself as an agent prior to his brother’s involvement in a case and Zach going rogue was what had kept him from having a splashier, more painful termination from the FBI.
He shrugged away the tension in his shoulders. He hated that it still bothered him, because even if he could rewind time, he’d do most things the same.
Daisy’s doorknob turned, and she took one tentative step out. She’d finally ditched the heavy black wig, and her straight blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She’d done something to her face—it’d take him a little more time to get to know her face well enough to know exactly what. If he had to guess, though, he’d say she’d freshened her makeup.
She’d changed out of the sleek black outfit into a long baggy shirt the color of a midsummer sky and black leggings. On her feet she wore thick bright purple socks.
She’d been in there for five hours, and from the looks of it, she’d spent most of the time sleeping—unless her makeup magically fixed the pallor of her skin and the dark circles under her eyes.
“Got any food in this joint?”
He stood and walked over to the side of the common area that acted as a kitchen. “Fully stocked kitchen, which of course you’re welcome to. Tell me what you want to make and I’ll show you where everything is and how to work everything.”
“Coffee. Scratch that. Coffee hasn’t been settling lately.” She sighed, some of that weary exhaustion in her voice even if it didn’t show in her face.
“My suggestion? Hot chocolate and a doughnut.”
A smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. “That’s enough sugar to fell a horse.”
He scoffed. “Amateur hour.”
She sighed. “It sounds good. I guess if I’m stuck with a crazed psychopath ready to kill those who protect me, I shouldn’t worry about a few extra calories.”
“I think you’ll live.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’ve never read the comments on photos of women online, have you? Still.” She waved a hand to encompass the kitchen. “Lead the way.”
“You sit. I’ll make it. We’ll go over where everything is in the kitchen tomorrow. You get a pass today.”
“Gee, thanks.” But she didn’t argue. She sat and poked at his stacks of notes. “That’s a lot of paperwork for keeping me out of trouble.”
“Investigating things takes some paperwork,” he returned, collecting ingredients for hot chocolate.
“I thought you were just supposed to keep me safe while Vaughn and the police figured it all out.”
He slid the mug into the microwave hidden in a cabinet and put a doughnut onto a plate. “I could, but that’s not what CD Corp is all about.”
“CD Corp sounds like the lamest comic villain organization ever.”
“It’s meant to be bland, boring and inconspicuous.” He walked over and set the plate in front of her.
She smiled up at him. “Mission accomplished.”
“And this mission,” he said, tapping the papers, “is keeping you safe by understanding the threat against you.” Not noticing the little dimple that winked in her cheek or the way her blue eyes reminded him of summer. “Anything I can do to profile or find a pattern allows me to better keep you secure.”
“Can I help?”
He turned away, back to hot chocolate prep and to shake off that weird and unfortunate bolt of attraction. Still, his voice was easy and bland when he spoke. “I’m counting on it.” He stirred the hot chocolate and then set that next to her before taking his seat in front of his computer.
“Have you noticed the pattern of incidents?” he asked, studying her reaction to the question.
With a nap under her belt, she didn’t seem as cold and detached as she had on the ride over. But she also didn’t seem as ready to break as she had when he’d shown her her room hours ago. As they’d walked through the safe house earlier, he’d finally seen some signs of exhaustion, suspicion and fear.
Now all those things were still evident, but she seemed to have better control over them. He supposed singers, being performers, had to have a little actor in them, as well. She was good at it, but it had frayed at the edges when he’d told her she was safe.
She’d shored up those edges, but there was a wariness and an exhaustion, not sleep related, haunting her eyes.
“The pattern that they always happen when I’m on stage? Yes, my brother pointed that out, but as I pointed out to him, that’s just means and opportunity or whatever phrase you guys use. They know exactly where I’ll be and for how long.”
“Sure, but I’m talking about the connection to your songs.”
She frowned, taking a sip of the hot chocolate.
“The incidents, including the murder of your security guard, always crop up
