She grabbed hold of Ethan and buried her face in his chest.
“I’ve got you,” he said, holding her so tight she couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to, which she didn’t.
Ethan smoothed back her hair. “You women and your goddamn bathroom breaks. Sweet Jesus, lady, you scared the piss out of me.” He took a deep, steadying breath and kissed the top of her head. “What am I going to do with you, Valentine?”
Val stared up at him, her ears still ringing with the echo of gunshots and the chaos around her. A single sob escaped. It turned into a moan that seemed to tear loose inside her. The moan dragged on, then turned into a giggle. She started laughing, laughed harder, laughed so hard she was shaking all over.
Ethan’s arms tightened around her. “It’s okay,” he said gently, moving her toward the door. “It’s just the adrenaline. It’ll pass in a minute.”
The laughter shifted, changed back into sobs that turned into uncontrollable weeping. Ethan lifted her into his arms and started striding past the SWAT guys, outside into the fresh night air. He didn’t stop until they were well away from the chaos overrunning the mansion.
“You’re all right.” He sat down in a chair at the table farthest from the pool and settled Val in his lap. “You’re safe, honey. We’re going home tomorrow. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Hysterical laughter threatened again. She finally managed to stop crying. Dragging in a shaky breath, she sniffed and wiped the tears from her eyes.
“That’s right. How could I forget? We’re going home tomorrow. Back to Seattle—where another maniac is lying in wait to murder us. Everything is going to be just great.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
By the time the chartered jet landed at Sea-Tac Airport, Ethan had given up any pretense that he and Val weren’t in some sort of a relationship, Carlyle and the rest be damned. He was staying with Valerie Hartman until the riddle of Delilah’s murder was solved and the models were completely out of danger.
All he had to do was convince Val.
They were riding in the back of the limo, one in a line of private cars that were waiting when the models arrived at the airport.
“There’s something we need to talk about,” Val said before he could broach the subject. “We might as well talk about it now.”
“All right, go ahead.”
She released a slow breath. “I know you’re still worried about my safety, but this . . . this bodyguard thing can’t go on forever. You said yourself we were going home and everything would be okay. Byron Mahler is no longer a threat. The tour is canceled. The models are no longer in the media spotlight. I can’t live under house arrest for the balance of my life.”
“You aren’t under house arrest. You have personal protection. So does Bill Gates. So does Lady Gaga. A lot of people do.”
“Well, I’m not one of them. I need to get my life back in order, and that doesn’t include spending every minute with an armed guard.”
His jaw tightened. “That’s the way you think of me? As your jailer?”
Surprise flickered in her eyes. “No, of course not. I didn’t mean it that way.” She reached for his hand, held it between both of hers. “I’ve never met a man like you. I’ve never felt the things you make me feel, but . . .”
“But what, Val?”
“But that’s just it—I don’t know! A man in your line of work . . . I don’t know how I feel about that. I still have a contract to fulfill with La Belle and now David Klein. I have online classes to finish. I’ve got a part-time job waiting at the animal clinic, then school in a few more weeks. I don’t know where this relationship could possibly go, and I don’t think you do either.”
He clamped down on an urge to show her exactly where it could go—straight back to bed. But maybe she was right. Maybe he didn’t have everything completely worked out. And clearly he had his hands full with Hannah and Ally.
It didn’t mean he was anywhere near ready to end things between them.
And it didn’t change the fact that he needed to keep her safe.
“Look, Val, Mahler didn’t kill Delilah—we know that. Nothing about the two cases matches up. Someone else killed her, and that means your life could still be at risk.”
“You said her killer was a pro. That’s some kind of hit man, right? That means it was personal. Someone wanted her, specifically, dead.”
“That’s only a theory. Just because the guy was thorough doesn’t mean he couldn’t be as crazy as Byron Mahler. It doesn’t mean he couldn’t be lying in wait, getting ready to take you out or kill one of the other girls.”
She fell silent. Her big blue eyes searched his face. “You really think the killer might come after me or one of the other models?”
He reached toward her, cupped a hand beneath her jaw. “That’s the thing, baby. I don’t know. Until I do, I need to be close enough to protect you.” He didn’t tell her he’d nearly gone out of his mind when he’d realized she was locked in a room with the crazy son of a bitch who had raped and brutally murdered Mandy Gee.
