Riley understood that. He’d been in town when Lyle had met his wife, Laine, and had seen the boy fall hard and fast. No way would he leave without making sure she was well protected. Whether Laine wanted to be or not.

“Have you talked with Hunter?”

“Ryan Hunter? Not about this, and I won’t. He’s got his hands full with something, and I don’t want him to feel obligated to cover for a friend.”

Riley scowled, thinking of his early conversation with Hunter. “What’s he chasing?”

“Who knows? But I figure a man like Damien Stark gets a lot of threats. And you know damn well that Ryan’s going to take each and every one of them seriously.”

It was a good point. Suddenly Hunter’s cushy job for the billionaire seemed a little less cushy.

“I have a few names I could give you. Does Laine have any personality preferences for her security detail?” Most of the celebrity wives he’d dealt with preferred a bodyguard to fade into the background like wallpaper. But Sugar Laine was not most celebrity wives. She had a sweetness and charm about her that set her apart from the crowd.

Lyle’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Sugar?” he asked. Lyle was the only one who called Sugar by her given name. Everyone else called her by her surname, Laine. “Oh, no. She’s going with me on the tour.”

“Oh.” Honestly, Riley should have assumed as much. “Then who are you protecting?”

“Natasha,” Lyle said, the name sinking like a stone in Riley’s stomach. “A couple of things have happened, and I just want to play it safe.”

Things?

Riley didn’t bother to ask for details. If Lyle was worried, then so was he. Without even being aware he’d made a decision, he snapped his fingers for the driver’s attention, then pointed toward the next exit. As the car veered across three lanes of traffic, Riley clutched the door handle. Not for safety, but because otherwise he’d have put his fist through the glass out of worry for Tasha. “Are you at your office? I’m on my way.”

“What? Why—”

“I’m staying,” Riley said in the kind of voice that brooked no argument. “I’ll watch out for Natasha.”

Chapter Two

“You’re sure you don’t mind?” Allison McCray asks. Allison McCray Kealing, I remind myself, though it’s still hard to get used to. Aly is my oldest friend, and she and I bonded over twenty-five years ago in nursery school, both at the tender age of three.

“Sweetie, you’re pregnant and your husband’s out of town. I’ll bring you whatever you want.” I reach up to adjust the earpiece that is perpetually attached to my head while I’m at work. “Just give me the list.”