“Does Chris know about this?”
“He’s perfectly aware of how power affects relationships, yes. But it’s not his job to protect me that way. My business relationships, contracts, that kind of thing, absolutely. My personal relationships? I want him as far away from those as possible. Always have.”
“But he didn’t discourage you from dating Linton like you’re discouraging your sister from running after older, more powerful men.”
“No. I wasn’t sixteen, or an industry virgin. I know what lots and lots of guys in bands are like. Music is cool, sure, and a super way to get girls. All the girls you want. Or guys. I walked into that with my eyes wide open.”
“You’d dated enough to know?”
“Not really,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Normally I never date musicians. We’re flaky, and bad bets when it comes to relationships.”
She stopped short, as if she’d remembered she was talking to the guy she was … dating? Sleeping with. Conn stepped in. “People say the same thing about cops. It takes the right kind of woman to put up with the hours, the stress, what it can do to your head.”
“Yeah. Exactly.” She cleared her throat. “I never wanted to date the guy in the band. I wanted to be the guy in the band.”
Silence cloaked the car, matching the deepening shadows thrown by the forest around Cady’s gated community. Out of the corner of his eye Conn looked at her, getting little glimpses of her expression, the way she nibbled at her chapped lower lip when she was deep in thought, the way his hat covered her forehead and made her eyes huge, moss green. She wasn’t for him. No matter what happened, whether she dropped the album or spent months writing new material of her own, Cady Ward was a woman leaving Lancaster. She might call the city he protected and served “home,” but he knew how meaningless that word was when home was really a tour bus, or an airplane, or a thousand bland hotel rooms all over the world. Home was her music, her fans, the audience that filled auditoriums and bleachers and maybe stadiums.
“You get used to it after a while,” she said, seemingly out of nowhere.
“Get used to what?”
“Blurring the lines between favors, until everything feels like a transaction, like you’re using and being used. It makes it hard to trust people. Evan, my previous bodyguard had a career plan,” she said matter-of-factly. “I was just a stepping stone to the big money and visibility—Hollywood. He wanted to get into acting. That’s why I quizzed you at the police station. For all I knew you wanted the job because you’d gotten a taste of being a big shot bodyguard at the concert. You knowing nothing about the business sealed the deal.”
“I’ve got a job,” Conn said. “It’s the only job I’ve ever wanted. I’m LPD, and I’m sure as hell not going anywhere.”
The words came out more roughly than he intended. What should have been a lighthearted, reassuring response that matched their casual connection now sounded defensive, like he was hurt, or worse, slapping her down for assuming he was like all the other men in her life. But it burned to think of another man protecting her, let alone taking his place in her bed. In her life. In a few weeks Cady would pack up and leave again, and he’d be here, with …
With what? Would he have a job after Hawthorn finished his methodical, by-the-book review of the situation? The person who set him up knew him well enough to use Conn’s reckless reputation to his advantage; he’d be smart enough to cover their tracks. Conn could be here in Lancaster without a job, maybe without his freedom, and Cady would be gone.
An old, familiar fear sidled up from his gut. Rejection, losing the home and family he’d claimed for himself, a loneliness so pervasive he thought no more of it than breathing. The McCools claimed him as one of their own; the next generation of kids even called him Uncle Conn. Cady’s mother and Emily were very friendly and welcoming. But he didn’t fool himself into thinking friendly meant forever. Cady’s mom took care of people in her neighborhood; it was probably just instinct to include whoever was hanging around from Cady’s entourage. Anyway, it didn’t satisfy the urge for a family of his own, the one formed in partnership with the woman he loved, the children they made together. It was the dream he’d always had and never thought he would fulfill.
Because he didn’t deserve it, and if he had it, he’d fuck it up. Deep down, he knew this to be true. His father left him, and what little remaining family he had passed him around when raising him overwhelmed them. They did their best, but asking older relatives to take in a rambunctious, difficult kid was a recipe for trouble.