It made his stomach turn. He looked up. “Jesus Christ,” he said before he could filter his words. “This is above my pay grade. You guys must know of security firms that specialize in close protection.”
“We do,” Chris said. “Cady prefers to have someone local.”
Conn blinked. “Who?”
“My name is actually Cady,” Maud said. “Maud is my stage name.”
Great. A stage name. Like this wasn’t ridiculous enough. “Why someone local?” he asked, trying to get a handle on the insanity.
“I’m home,” she said simply. “I want someone who knows this town like I do, who’s going to be comfortable here.”
“What kind of hours are we talking about?” Conn asked.
“All of the hours,” Chris replied cheerfully.
“Twenty-four seven?” Conn said with a lift of his eyebrows.
“I realize the situation is unusual compared to other off-duty jobs,” Hawthorn said. “Your cooperation in this matter is noted.”
In other words, take the batshit crazy assignment as a body man to the bubble gum pop star, and I’ll back you when you need it. Conn huffed and sat back again. “The lady gets a say,” he said, because arresting people was one thing but he was done forcing his company on someone who didn’t want it. He spent enough of his life with people who didn’t want him around.
Cady looked at him, sizing him up. It took a split second, maybe two, and everyone did it, because he was six foot six and solid muscle. Gang members did it to search for weaknesses, knowing they’d likely have a long-term relationship with him. Women in bars did it, gauging whether or not they’d have any luck approaching him. Hell, he did it himself, with women, with other men, but mostly with himself in the mirror every morning, wondering if this was the day he’d beat his dad.
But Cady’s look was mostly business. She was hiring him for a job. It was the heat glimmering behind those green eyes as, for just a moment, she looked at his shoulders that made his blood feel like syrup in his veins, his nerve endings glow.
“What do you know about the music business?” she asked. The lift to her chin was back.
“I don’t see how that’s—” Chris started. He subsided when she lifted her hand without looking at him. The dynamic was interesting. Chris was in charge, but she held a fair amount of sway. Sensible, not throwing a tantrum, determined to hold her ground.
And maybe there was a way out of this. Maybe ignorance was bliss. “Not a damn thing,” he said, truthfully.
“Ed Sheeran?”
He free-associated, knowing his motor mouth was his last chance of getting him out of this. “Overexposed.”
“Why did Zayn break up with Perrie Edwards?”
“Zayn? Is that a name or an alien invasion force?”
“What kind of music do you listen to?”
He shrugged. “Country, mostly. It’s just background noise.”
“Go to concerts?”
“Only when I’m getting paid to work them.”
“Any aspirations to work in Hollywood?”
“Hell, no.”
Cady turned back to Chris and Hawthorn. “He’s hired.”
Goddammit. He had real problems to deal with. Someone was railroading him for a brutal assault he didn’t commit, which meant someone in the only family he had had turned on him. His dad’s best time came in December, with the cool dry weather making for perfect track conditions. Now wasn’t a good time to switch careers and babysit a pop star who wanted him around about as much as he wanted to be with her.
Exactly how much was that? In the cold light of day after the concert, he thought he’d imagined the connection humming between them. Now he wasn’t sure. But with Hawthorn staring at him and Cady giving her reluctant consent, he really had no other choice. “When do I start?”
“Now,” Chris said.
Everyone stood, Cady zipping her coat to her chin and pulling up the hood, thanking Hawthorn for his help.
“I’ll keep the file,” Conn said to Chris, like a good little Boy Scout. “Unless you need a copy.”
“I have an electronic version of every threat we’ve received against Cady. The internet chatter is too voluminous to archive, but we screen cap the worst ones.”
Voluminous? “Okay,” Conn said. He brazenly tucked the file with the pictures of the assault he allegedly committed under the psychos file.
Cady was already out the door, peering around the bullpen with interest. Conn stopped Hawthorn on his way out. “The county runs the jail,” he said, under his breath.
“I’m aware of that, McCormick. I’m looking into the matter,” Hawthorn said testily. “You need to stay out of trouble. You need to stay busy. You need a rock-solid alibi for your movements from here on out, which, thanks to Ms. Ward, you now have. And for once in your fucking life, you need to stay out of everyone’s grill while we work this case.”
CHAPTER THREE