The Closer Read online

He’d been over every inch of this floor, this hotel, all the schematics. He’d gone through every background history with anyone associated with this show, right down to the lowliest coffee gopher. He’d done everything he could possibly do to keep both Jess and the piece safe.

  Confident of that, at the very least, he made sure the case was securely locked on his wrist and then pulled his gun from the back of his waistband.

  “Is that really necessary?” Jess demanded from the bedroom doorway, her eyes wide.

  “No chances,” he told her, then carefully opened the door.

  “Hello, Griff,” Payne said, Flanagan and McCann on either side of him.

  Griff blinked, stunned. “Hello,” he said haltingly, unsure of what to make of their sudden appearance.

  The three strolled in, nodded at Jess, who’d been freshly exfoliated this morning and was once again in the robe that he loved.

  “After some discussion, we decided that this wasn’t a one-man operation,” Payne told him.

  “Please don’t think that we’re questioning your capabilities, but in light of the threat and the fact that you’re both part of the show now, we thought you could use additional backup.”

  Flanagan’s gaze drifted around the room. “And Payne is secretly hoping that his old pal won’t have the balls to steal something under his protection if he’s actually visible.”

  Payne nodded. “There is that,” he said. “I’m not certain that it’ll make a difference, but on the off chance that it could...” He shrugged.

  McCann settled into a chair, then leaned forward and inspected a map of the hotel. “Better numbers, better odds,” he remarked. “Whereas he might be able to pick off one of us, it’s unlikely that he could take down all three.”

  He was right, Griff decided, ignoring the twinge to his pride. They were right. He’d be a fool not to welcome additional help. He cleared his throat. “Thank you for coming,” he said to the room at large. “I appreciate it.”

  A second knock sounded and Griff repeated his earlier process, then ushered Andre and a couple of prescreened hotel staffers, their arms loaded down with various cases, into the suite.

  “It’s you,” Andre remarked, staring intently at Griff. “From the elevator. I never forget a face, even when it’s attached to someone else’s,” he added with a droll little smile, much to Griff’s discomfort.

  From the corner of his eye he watched Flanagan grin, McCann lift a brow and Payne’s lips twitch. He decided he’d have to figure out what to make of that later.

  “And if you’re you, then I can only assume that—” His gaze landed on Jess and he slapped his hands together delightedly, making his jewelry rattle. “Oh, yes!” he exclaimed. “Yes, yes, yes! That skin! That hair! No extensions for you, my lovely,” he gushed in rapturous tones. “Where am I setting up?” he asked Griff without looking at him, his gaze still clinging to Jess.

  “The master bath, through there,” Griff told him.

  “Excellent.” He whirled around and clapped twice. “Chop, chop,” he said. “You heard the man. Through there.”

  And then with a smile that was as uncertain as excited, Jess glanced at him, shrugged helplessly and followed Andre.

  “I’m assuming he’s been thoroughly checked out,” Payne commented.

  Griff pulled the appropriate file and handed it to him. “This is what I got from Charlie, along with what I managed to find on my own. Andre Wiltmon, thirty-three, born and raised in Philadelphia.”

  Payne blinked, surprised. “He’s a Harvard graduate. Journalism.”

  “Yes, I saw that. According to his website, he started on one side of fashion, but found his calling on the other. He’s got quite a client list.” He reeled off a few Hollywood A-listers. “Oh, and Prince,” he added.

  McCann grinned. “That one actually makes sense.”

  Seemingly satisfied, Payne nodded and gestured to the table. “All right, let’s go through all this one more time, then we’ll put together an action plan.”

  Griff grinned. Ah, he thought. A plan. Music to his ears.

  * * *

  PRACTICALLY QUIVERING WITH joy, Andre leaned back and beamed at her. “You’re stunning, darling. Absolutely freaking stunning.”

  Jess didn’t know about that, particularly as Andre had put her back to the mirror and refused to let her turn around. He’d spent the past hour and a half working on her hair and makeup, had wielded the blow-dryer, flat iron and makeup brushes as weapons against mediocrity—his words, not hers—and had elevated her natural-born beauty into something more. Jess’s lips quirked with droll humor.

  Andre was all about more.

  One more curl, one more pluck of the tweezers, one more hit of bronzer. More, more, more.

  “So what’s the story with you and Captain Badass out there?” he asked, smoothing out an errant hair that had caught his critical eye. “Are y’all just making the beast with two backs, or is it more?”

  Jess felt her eyes widen and she made a little strangling sound. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Don’t play coy with me, missy,” he said, wagging a pair of eyelash curlers at her. “I’m not blind. I saw the pair of you in the elevator, remember, when you were trying to inspect his tonsils with your tongue. But if that wasn’t a big enough clue, then the condom wrappers in the bedside trash and the empty bottle of massage oil on the nightstand definitely told the whole story. Besides, sex has a certain smell,” he continued almost philosophically. “It hit me like a two-by-four the minute I walked into the suite. And through the bedroom. And in here as well, if I’m being completely honest.” He smiled down at her, lifting an impressed brow. “You’ve been a busy girl. I’m surprised you’ve got the strength to do the show.”

  Oh, good Lord, Jess thought. She’d been mildly concerned about Griff’s bosses showing up unannounced, but had hoped that they’d be so distracted by their need to protect the bra that they wouldn’t notice that there wasn’t a blanket on the living room sofa or that two people had obviously slept in the bed the previous night.

  But if Andre had noticed, then she was relatively certain that they had, as well. She hoped she didn’t get Griff into trouble, she fretted. She wasn’t sure what sort of fraternization rules they had, but she’d be willing to assume all the blame to keep him from any sort of recriminations.

  “Well?” he prodded. “Is he a keeper or are you going to throw him back?”

  He was definitely a keeper, but circumstances being what they were, she didn’t see how they’d be able to continue seeing each other beyond this weekend. The realist in her wouldn’t let her think otherwise. And because of that, she planned on taking advantage of every minute she spent with him. She wanted to make love to him over and over again, but more important, she wanted to give him a little bit of happiness, to put that expression she’d noticed on his face last night more often—if not permanently, then at least enough to make it familiar to him.

  If he took anything away from her this weekend—aside from her heart—then she wanted it to be a lesson in joy, in chasing after his own, specifically.

  “Fine.” Andre huffed playfully. “Don’t tell me then. But I saw the way he looked at you and I will say this,” he offered. “I think that hook is good and set. You could easily reel him in if you were so inclined.”

  “How’s your little dog?” Jess asked, deliberately changing the subject.

  He blinked, smiled. “She’s fine, thanks for asking. Now, are you ready to look in the mirror?”

  Her stomach gave a little jump. “I don’t know, am I?”

  In answer, Andre whirled her chair around and crouched over her shoulder. “Ta da!”

  Jess watched her eyes and mouth round simultaneously and she sucked in a strangled breath. “Holy crap on a cracker,” she breathed.

  �
�I know,” he said with a pleased nod. “You’re breathtaking. You’re going to knock the shine right off that bra, sweetheart.”

  She didn’t know about that, but she definitely looked better than she ever had in her life. Her hair was full, with big smooth curls, and it hung neatly over her shoulders and puddled just shy of the tops of her breasts. Her makeup was flawless. Dramatic, but still subtle—a neat trick, she had to admit—and she had a definite glow about her, as though she were lit from within.

  “Wow,” she said shakily, meeting his heavily lined gaze in the mirror. “Thank you.”

  He managed a humble nod. “You’re welcome.” He squeezed her shoulders. “Now, pull it together, darling. It’s showtime.”

  Oh, dear Lord. She’d actually managed to forget why they’d gone to all this trouble. The reminder made her stomach lurch.

  Having exchanged the short robe for a longer one to make the journey from here to the ballroom—which curiously enough made her more squeamish than walking a runway in nothing but a bra and a pair of boy-short panties—she stood on shaky legs and followed Andre back into the living room.

  Conversation stopped and four sets of eyes swung in her direction, but Griff’s naturally were the pair she sought out.

  He’d stopped midsentence, his jaw hanging open, and his blue-green gaze flared with appreciation and heat. “Jesus, Jess,” he breathed, evidently forgetting himself.

  “You look beautiful, Ms. Rossi,” Payne told her, pushing to his feet, and the rest of them followed suit.

  “Gorgeous,” Flanagan chimed in.

  “Lovely,” McCann added.

  Jess swallowed, felt a blush climb her neck. “Thank you.”

  Andre bussed the lightest kiss against her cheek. “I need to go down and check on the other girls,” he said. “I’ll see you downstairs.” He looked at Griff. “Would you mind having my gear delivered backstage, please? You banished my helpers,” he drawled. “Otherwise they could have done it.”

  Griff nodded. “I’ll see to it.”

  With another encouraging look in her direction, Andre took his leave. Griff made the call to see to the stylist’s things, then took a bracing breath and arched a brow. “Ready?”

  “I’m as ready as I’m ever going to be.”

  Griff took the spot next to her, then Flanagan led, Payne flanked Griff and McCann brought up the rear. They took the service elevator down to the ballroom floor, where a pair of Clandestine associates with clipboards and stressed attitudes met them and led them to the staging area. Half-naked models were everywhere—a visual reminder that she didn’t look anything like them at all, quickly undermining her confidence. Music blared to a near-deafening level and lights swung in every direction, giving a nightclub vibe. Griff followed her into the flimsy dressing room—she’d insisted that he be the only one with her when she changed—and removed the cuff from his wrist, then the bra from the case.

  Heart hammering in her throat, hands shaking, she shrugged carefully into it and he just as carefully connected the hooks. His fingers were warm, slightly unsteady, and when she met his eyes in the mirror, his gaze was blistering hot with need, tempered with affection. “Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you?” he asked softly. “Any idea at all?”

  Probably as much as she wanted him to, Jess thought, bolstered by his obvious appreciation. “You can’t,” she said regretfully. “Andre would flip a bitch if you messed up my lipstick.”

  He snorted. “Andre can go to hell.”

  “Andre doesn’t want to go to hell,” the man himself announced, stepping into the little room. “Andre wants to go to the bar and get hammered because Andre is sick of dealing with temperamental supermodels with limited vocabularies, daddy issues and an exaggerated sense of self-importance,” he said. “But that, too, will have to wait.” He shooed Griff. “Go,” he told him. “Sophia is going to help you get ready.”

  Griff frowned. “I don’t need any help. I can dress myself, thanks.”

  He laughed. “Not for a runway you can’t. Your other friends are right outside the curtain,” he said. “Now, scoot.”

  Jess had to admit that watching Griff get bossed around by a man who’d likely had more manicures than she had was a sight to behold, and more than a little funny.

  His blue-green gaze caught and held hers. “I’ll see you in a minute,” he said.

  She nodded.

  The second Griff stepped out, Payne stepped in, making Andre roll his eyes. He huffed dramatically. “Oh, for pity’s sake,” he groused. “What do you think I’m going to do? Conk her on the head, whisk her away to some tropical location and sacrifice her to the volcano gods?”

  Payne didn’t reply, to which Andre leaned forward and said, “He’s a chatty one, isn’t he? Personality galore.”

  Jess met Payne’s gaze in the mirror and was surprised when he winked at her.

  Andre fussed around her, tweaking a hair here and there, then swiped a bit of powder over her cheeks. “There,” he said. “You’re perfect.” He quickly produced his phone, loaded the camera and slung an arm over her shoulder. He leaned in close and grinned. “Smile,” he said, aiming the phone an arm’s length away, then snapped a picture. “I always like having a selfie of my work,” he said.

  Jess merely nodded.

  Andre’s eyes suddenly rounded. “That’s your cue,” he said, hurrying her out of the room.

  She dimly noted Payne, Flanagan and McCann, then caught sight of Griff and her heart jumped into an erratic beat. Dressed in a classic tuxedo, his curls smoothed into a sleek forties-era style, he looked impossibly handsome and mouthwateringly sexy. His blue-green eyes were rife with uncertainty—a phenomenon, she was sure—and when he smiled, the ground shifted a little beneath her feet.

  “You clean up nice,” she said, giving him a lengthy lingering once-over.

  He leaned forward. “Stop looking at me like that,” he warned under his breath. “Or I’m going to ruin the line of these slacks.”

  She grinned.

  Headset in place, Clarice hurried over, then steered them toward the back of the runway. “Okay,” she said. “You know what you’re doing, right? Shoulders back, head up and walk like you’re on a mission.” She turned to Griff. “You’re the slathering hound on her heels,” she told him. “You’re the dog after her bone. While you’re watching her walk away, you’re admiring everything about her. You want her so desperately you can taste it. Can you do it?”

  His humorous gaze tangled with hers. “Oh, I think I can handle it.”

  “Excellent.” She cast a glance toward the curtain, nodded when she received the signal. “All right. You’re up. Go.”

  Because the bra was the finale piece of the showcase, Jess was supposed to work all three runways, giving everyone in the room an ample view of the piece. This was it, she told herself, the moment her father had worked so very hard for. A flash of images fired through her brain, all of them of him—his head bent over the bra, tools in hand, stretching his aching back, his happy expression when he’d completed a section he was especially proud of.

  This was for her dad, she thought determinedly. And with Griff at her side, she could do anything. Even walk half-naked out into a room full of strangers. She lifted her head, drew her shoulders back and strode forward. Jess worked that runway as if she owned it. She smiled and preened, she blew kisses at Griff, purposely sent him a few slaying sidelong glances, and by the time she took her final bow, the entire room was on its feet—some of them on their chairs—and the applause was so loud it drowned out the music.

  Griff leaned over. “I think you might have missed your calling,” he whispered.

  “You, too, Spot.”

  “Spot?”

  She sent him a wicked look. “You’re my dog, aren’t you?”

  His eyes flashed. “D
amn straight. And I’m looking forward to humping the hell out of you later.”

  Jess grinned, a thrill whipping through her. “Not as much as I’m looking forward to clipping a leash to your neck.”

  12

  HIS EARS STILL ringing from Jess’s “leash” comment and the applause, Griff scanned the audience, ever mindful of the threat, and snugged a finger against her back. He’d noticed Flanagan and McCann in the audience and fully expected Payne to be waiting for them when they came off the runway. “Come on,” he said. “We need to move.”

  Her nod was imperceptible, but he caught it and, smiling at the room at large, she turned and began retracing her steps. They both heaved a big sigh of relief when they took the last step—Griff because that was one hurdle crossed, Jess presumably because she’d gotten her modeling debut over with.

  The whole backstage area erupted into wild applause the instant they saw Jess. Andre clapped wildly, Clarice beamed at her and both Mr. Pershing and Mr. Nolan wore admiring grins.

  “You were magnificent,” Mr. Pershing told her. “Well done, my dear. Well done.”

  “You must come to the after party,” Mr. Nolan insisted. “Even if it’s only for a few minutes.”

  Her hesitant gaze swung to Griff’s and she arched a brow.

  He nodded, unable to deny her the well-deserved moment of glory. “Just for a few minutes,” he said. “I’ll go up and get everything ready to go.”

  Though the original plan had involved the bra going on the model for the evening cocktail party, Griff had nixed that element and had decided that the sooner the repairs were made to the piece and it was delivered back into the hands of the Montwheeler representative, the better.

  Because Mr. Rossi wasn’t going to leave his store, the repairs had to be made on-site. But the actual handoff would be done in Atlanta, at the Ranger Security offices. He wasn’t exactly certain whether Payne, Flanagan and McCann were going to follow them, but he assumed they would, if for no other reason than to see this case through to the end.

  It took Griff several minutes to steer Jess back to her dressing room to change, but when the bra was once again stored safely in its case and handcuffed to Griff’s wrist, she turned and pressed a long, thorough kiss on his lips.