Getting up, he decided to go for a walk. Kit’s home had extensive grounds, not because she was particularly acquisitive, but because it had been the most secure property on the market when her stalker kicked into high gear. The fucking creep had broken into her previous home and ejaculated on her bed, then left her an “I love you” card and flowers.
She’d thrown out the bed the instant the cops were done processing the scene, but the incident had haunted her, making it impossible for her to remain in her cozy and inexpensive-to-rent town house. Add in the rising media pressure—photographers had started camping out on her damn doorstep and trying to peer through her windows—and it had made sense for her to get a place with enough land that her home was isolated in the center, far from the prying lenses of both paparazzi cameras and that of the stalker.
The cops, studio security, her friends, everyone was taking the threat dead seriously, but the fucker was still out there. According to news Fox had passed on to Noah, the disturbed man had shipped Kit a box containing a wedding gown and a ring two months ago—so they could “renew their vows.” It had been followed a week later by a letter naming her a “slut” and a “whore” because she’d been snapped while out to dinner with one of her costars.
Noah wanted to get his hands around the coward’s neck, wring it until the pathetic man could no longer terrorize Kit. The only good news was that Kit’s security measures seemed to be working. She’d had no unpleasant surprises in her new home.
He’d been walking for about ten minutes when he saw movement in the shadows in front of him. “Butch,” he said, recognizing one of Kit’s bodyguards.
The broad-shouldered and heavily muscled man, his dark blond hair worn in a military crew cut, was dressed in black cargo pants and a black T-shirt rather than the suit he wore when out and about with Kit.
“Hey, Noah.” He held out a hand and they shook.
“Any problems?”
Butch rubbed his jaw rather than responding to Noah’s question.
“I know you don’t talk about your clients’ business,” Noah said, appreciating that about the man. “But you know I care about Kit.”
“Yeah, I know. All you guys do.” Falling into step beside Noah, he said, “I’m glad you’re staying with her, to be honest. I’ve had a bad feeling lately—I think the nutjob’s back, and he’s watching her. I brought in two extra men to cover her and the house around the clock, but then she took off last night. I can’t protect her if she won’t let me.”
Noah wanted to kick himself for having put Kit at risk. “Won’t happen again.” He made a vow then and there not to get falling-down drunk ever again. It was a vow he’d broken before, but then it had only been about him—now it was about Kit. And Kit was everything. “Any physical signs of the stalker?”
“No. But I know he’s out there. Years of instinct, man.”
“I believe you.” It was Noah who’d recommended Butch and his team for this job, though Kit didn’t know that. Fox had passed on the information without mentioning where the rec came from. “You have my number, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Call me if you don’t want Kit to be alone.” He’d come, even if he had to bed down in the garage.
“Will do,” Butch promised. “If she fires me for talking to you, you owe me a job.”
Noah slapped him on the shoulder. “How about a starlet who’s currently falling out of limos and into cocaine?”
The burly ex-Marine snorted. “Hell no. Not after Kit.”
Noah understood that. Kit was extraordinary. She’d come through the ranks to the bright glare of fame without losing sight of what was important: at the top stood her friends and family. For them, she’d do anything.
As a struggling actress when she’d been cast in the soap for what was originally meant to be a bit part, she’d barely had two extra cents to rub together. Nevertheless, she’d opened her tiny apartment to the junior makeup artist on the show when the other woman was evicted after falling behind on her own rent.