it was impossible not to know Daisy Delaney’s music. She’d somehow eclipsed even her father’s outlaw country reputation with wild songs about drinking, cheating and revenge. Country fans either loved her or loved to complain about her.
Of course, since her divorce from all-American sweetheart Jordan Jones, the complainers had gotten more vocal. Zach hadn’t followed it all, but he’d read up on it once this assignment had come along. She’d been eviscerated in the press, even when the stalking started. Many thought it was a publicity ploy to get people to feel sorry for her.
It had not worked.
Zach couldn’t deny it was a possibility, even if a man was dead—the security guard. A shame. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t a ploy. You never knew with the rich and famous.
Still, Zach was determined to make his own conclusions about Daisy Delaney and what might be going on with her stalker, or fictional stalker as the case may be.
The small crowd walked through the security gates. He’d been told to look for black hair and clothes, a red bag and purple cowboy boots. He spotted her immediately.
In person, she was surprisingly petite. She didn’t exactly look like a woman who’d burn your house down if you looked at another woman the wrong way, but looks could be deceiving.
He’d done enough undercover work to know that well.
He adjusted his hat, gave the signal he’d told her people to expect and she nodded and walked over to him.
“You must be Mr. Hughes.” She used the fake name Jaime had chosen and held out a hand. The sunglasses she wore hid her eyes, and the mass of black hair hid most of her face. Whatever her emotions were, they were well hidden. Which was good. It wouldn’t do to have nerves radiating off her.
He took her outstretched hand and shook it. “And you must be Ms. Bravo.” Fake names, but soon enough they wouldn’t need to bother with that. “Any more bags?” he asked, nodding to the lone duffel bag she carried.
She shook her head.
“Follow me.”
She eyed everyone in the airport as they walked outside, but her shoulders and stride were relaxed as she kept up with him. She didn’t fidget or dart. If she was fearing her life, she knew how to hide it.
He opened the passenger-side door to his car. She slid inside. Still no sign of concern over getting into a car with a stranger. Zach frowned as he skirted the car to the driver’s side.
But he wiped the frown into a placid expression as he slid into his seat. “We have about a thirty-minute drive ahead of us.” He pushed the car into Drive and pulled out of the airport parking lot. “You could take your wig off,” he offered. “Get comfortable.”
“I’d prefer to wait.”
He nodded as he drove. Tough case. A hint of nerves here and there, but overall a very cool customer. Cautious, though, so she clearly took the threat of danger seriously.
He drove in silence through the middle of nowhere Wyoming. He flicked a few glances her way, though it was hard to discern anything. He didn’t get the impression she was impressed, but he hadn’t expected her to be. He imagined she preferred, if not the glitz and glam of the city, the slow ease of wealthy Southern life she was probably used to.
Wyoming wouldn’t offer that, but it would offer her security. He drove down the main street that was now his domain, this ghost town he and Cam had bought outright.
At some point they’d all be safe houses. Or maybe even a functioning town behind the facade of desertion and decay.
For right now, though, it was just the main house. He pulled up in front of the giant showpiece.
It had been built over a century ago by some railroad executive. From the outside the windows were all knocked out, the wood was faded and peeling paint hung off. Everything sagged, and it had the faint air of haunted house.
It made him grin every time. “Well, here we are.”
For the first time he could read her expression. Pure, unadulterated horror. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t get a little kick out of that. “I promise it’s not as bad as it looks.”
She wrenched her gaze away from the large house, then stared at him through the dark sunglasses. “Can I see your ID or something?” she demanded.
He shifted and pulled his wallet out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Have at it.” He pushed open the door and got out of the car. “When you’re ready, I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”
What Daisy really wanted to do was call her brother and ask him if he’d lost his mind. Call Jaime and ask if she was sure this guy was sane. Call anyone to take her home.
But inside the wallet the man had so casually handed her was a driver’s license with the name Jaime had given her. The picture matched the man currently standing in front of the horror-movie house outside the car. There were also all sorts of security licenses and weapon certifications.
Vaughn had said this place was isolated, even more isolated than their old family cabin in the Guadalupe Mountains. But she hadn’t been able to picture how that was possible.
Oh, was it possible. Possible and horrifying.
She flipped the wallet closed and then looked at the giant, falling-apart building. If she didn’t die because a stalker was after her, she’d die because this building was going to fall in on her.
It had to be infested with rats. And probably all other manner of vermin.
She couldn’t get her body to move from the safety of this car, and still, the man whom she’d been assured would keep her safe stood outside, grinning at the dilapidated building in front of him.
He wasn’t sane. He couldn’t be. She was stuck in the middle of nowhere Wyoming with an insane person.
But Vaughn would never let that happen. So she forced herself to get out of the car and slung the duffel bag over her shoulder. She tried not to mourn that she hadn’t been able to bring her guitar. This wasn’t a musical writing escape. It was literally running for her life.
She stepped next to Zach. She still didn’t trust him, but she trusted her brother. She looked up at the building like Zach Simmons did, though not with nearly the amount of reverence he had in his expression.
“I know it looks intimidating from the outside, but that’s kind of the point.”
“The point?” Daisy asked, studying a board that hung haphazardly from a bent nail.
“From the outside, no one would guess anyone’s been here for decades.”
“Try centuries,” she muttered.
He motioned her forward and she followed him up a cracked and sunken rock pathway to the front door.
“Watch the hole,” he announced cheerfully, pointing at the gaping hole in the floorboards of the porch. He shoved a key into the front door and pushed open the creaky, uneven entry. “Even if someone started poking around, all they’d see is decay.”
Yes, that is all I see. She looked around. She had to admit that although everything appeared to be in a state of decay, there were some important things missing. She didn’t see any dust or spiderwebs. Debris, sure. Peeling wallpaper and warped floorboards, check, but it didn’t smell like she’d expected it to. There was the faint hint of paint on the air.
He led her over the uneven flooring, then pushed a key into another lock. When this door opened she actually gasped.
The room on the other side was beautiful. Clean and furnished, and though there were no windows, somehow the light