heads. He’d always been good at seeing intent. Then his eyes came back to her. Demos had said she might be a target. Demos wanted Taylor to keep close to her. Well, looking at her was no problem.
He watched the director throw his weight around, heard him give orders in a churlish manner, heard him criticize Eden, not once but a good half-dozen times. Her smile was all wrong. She wasn’t graceful. She was acting all stiff, like a damned puppet. Taylor would have punched the guy out. Eden simply nodded, shook her head, or asked for clarification. She did what she was told with no show of hesitation or disagreement, moving to a certain position, standing calm and still when ordered to do so. He watched makeup people swarm over her, then a hair person was ducking past a cameraman to straighten hair that didn’t need straightening. The head cameraman and the director kept fighting, and Taylor wondered who was supposed to be the boss here. It was chaos and madness.
The shoot took two and a half hours. During that time Taylor had spotted twenty possible suspects, but all of them had faded away. And always he looked back at her. He watched as one man held a fan two feet away from her and blew her hair away from her face. He watched her arch her back, push her breasts forward, watched her move to sit atop a horse, her long bare legs showing. They’d hired from one of the park drivers a docile old bay mare with a white fetlock, patient and long-suffering.
He wondered at her patience. He wondered how she could keep smiling. He wondered how she could put up with the egotistical director. He waited for her to scream at the jerk, but she didn’t, at least this time. When it was over, he breathed a sigh of relief. There’d been nothing more suspicious than a man who’d dropped something and spent too long looking for it, to the point that Taylor started to approach him. But the guy took off. Taylor watched her stretch, speak briefly to the director, shake the head cameraman’s hand, then go back into the trailer.
When she emerged some twenty minutes later, she was back in jeans and T-shirt, her hair clipped back at the base of her head. Strangely, he thought she looked more lovely now than with all the wild and flowy hair.
He pushed off the tree he was standing against and walked over to her.
“Demos didn’t show up,” he said. He stuck out his hand. “So I’ll have to introduce myself. I’m Taylor.”
“Taylor what?”
“Taylor’s my last name. And that’s what I’m called.” One of her eyebrows was still up in question. He shrugged. “Okay, my full name is S. C. Taylor, but as I said, Taylor is what I’m called.”
Because she saw no alternative, Lindsay took his hand. “I’m Eden. Why are you here?”
“Demos hired me to protect you and the shoot.”
Lindsay’s mouth fell open and there was no mistaking her surprise. “What?”
“He should have come. He said he would, and tell you who I was and why I was here. He’s asked me to stick with you for the next couple of days.”
“But that’s crazy! Protect
“Yeah, my thoughts exactly. I think friend Demos owes someone money and the someone isn’t happy with him at the moment.”
“He loves the horses.”
“How long have you been with him?”
“About four years.”
“You want to call him and check me out?”
She shook her head on a sigh. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I trust you so quickly. No, it sounds just like Vinnie. I am surprised that Glen didn’t let me know, though.”
“Shall we go have some lunch?”
Lindsay didn’t know what to say. She’d seen him and distrusted him. He looked too sure of himself, too on top of things. He was good-looking, and that always put her on the alert. He was big, and that made her even more wary. The prince had been smaller-boned, slender, but he’d been strong enough to do just as he pleased with her. This man was six-foot-two, she guessed, the same height as her father. She wished she was wearing heels instead of her sneakers, so she could look him straight in the eye. She supposed that sticking with her meant just that. “It’s yogurt for lunch. I pigged out on Mexican food last night and have got to pay the piper now.”
“No problem,” Taylor said. “You ready?”
She nodded. Suddenly she was aware of the mobs of people all around. “It’s not dangerous for us to be walking out in the middle of everything?”
“Don’t worry. I’m right with you and I’m armed. I don’t want you to end up a prisoner in your apartment, afraid to answer your telephone or your front door. That’s no good either. We’ll be conservative and smart, that’s all. And of course, I’ll be dogging your heels.”
She nodded. She couldn’t wait to get her hands on Demos. Could she truly be in any danger? That bastard. She wanted to kill him. How dare he put her in this kind of situation? And with this man who was a total stranger?
“Maybe I shouldn’t have been honest with you,” he said, in step beside her, “or rather, speculated about things, but Demos didn’t show up like he said he would. I figured you wouldn’t buy anything but the truth.”
“You’re right about that,” Lindsay said, her voice stony, striding so fast he had to double-step to stay even with her. “I’ll get him for this, the jerk.”
Taylor said mildly, “Perhaps I’ve got it all wrong. He didn’t spell it out like that.”
Lindsay looked over at him then, the first time, he realized. What was with her? “Yeah, sure. I’m so valuable he’s suddenly decided that I’m in danger of being abducted by a Middle Eastern sheik.”
“I’d be tempted.”
She withdrew. It was the strangest thing. She was simply no longer there. She didn’t speed up her pace, she didn’t really do anything different, but she was gone from him, completely. He frowned at her profile and said, “I was out of line. Sorry.”
She didn’t come back, just nodded, not looking at him, and kept taking those long-legged strides.
“There’s a good yogurt shop just over on Sixth and Fifty-seventh. You want to give it a try?”
She nodded. The sidewalks were congested with people, all hurrying, because it was the best offense, the streets congested with cars, taxis primarily, all honking, all zigging and zagging, trying to get the best of each other. She found she was studying faces, assessing them, giving them a significance they’d never had before. Her intent different now, suspicious, afraid. Taylor said quietly beside her, “No, don’t do that. Everything will be fine. Trust me. I’m good at my job. If it makes you feel better, I was a cop for a number of years.”
“Okay,” Lindsay said, and tried to keep her glances at strangers surreptitious.
The yogurt shop was full and they had to wait for ten minutes to get served.
Lindsay ordered nonfat banana-nut yogurt, medium size, and sat down at a small round white table with ice- cream-parlor chairs recently vacated. He ordered the same and joined her.
She ate very slowly, cherishing each bite. He found himself watching her. “You’re always hungry?”
She didn’t reply until she’d swallowed slowly, with obvious relish. “No, not really. It’s just that I’m forced to weigh ten pounds less than I should carry. It’s the cameras that put the weight on you. Those are the rules,” she added quickly when she saw he would say something. “If I want to be in this profession, I must abide by them.”
“I guess I can understand that. Does your family preach at you about not eating enough?”
“No, they—Where did Demos find you?”
“Actually it was Glen—Flaming Glen with the row of diamond studs marching up his ear—who called me up and asked me to come in for a job. Does he always wear black?”
Lindsay smiled. She was relaxing again. He’d backed off, for which she was immensely grateful. Oddly, she also trusted him to keep her safe. She’d be rid of him soon enough, just as soon as she got hold of Demos. “Flaming Glen is a nut case. If he isn’t wearing black, well then, it’s violet. He says it complements his eyes. Be thankful you got the black dose. He’s very angry with Demos about something right now. How was Glen dressed when you met him?”
“In tight designer jeans, black, ribbed turtleneck, also black, a western belt with a huge round silver buckle, and black Italian loafers.”
“He adores that particular outfit. You’re observant. You know, I try to stay away from the office. They try to get me to take sides.”
“Well, I’m a private investigator when I’m not a computer hacker. And that’s what Demos is paying me for. I hope you don’t mind me hanging around you for a couple of days.”
