Style

Chapter 1-2

A man nearby chopped his arm and lunged for the photographer while he struggled to regain his stance. People in the crowd ducked, pressed back, and scattered. Screams split the air, and cameras flashed.

Watching in horror, Penelope grabbed the microphone and ducked. “Everybody down! He’s got a gun!”

While others were diving for cover, the man she’d brushed past by the stage leapt up and scooped Penelope up in his arms. “Hey, let go of me!” Reacting, she instantly shoved her palm up against his nose.

The guy dodged her strike, taking the blow to his cheekbone instead. “Getting you to safety,” he said through gritted teeth.

As the scuffle below continued, a shot rang out, and the podium splintered. All at once, the lights went off.

Adrenaline flashed through her as the man carried her away from the chaos. Penelope clasped his neck and drew up her legs, feeling his veins pumping against her skin and his heart throbbing against her chest. Was she safe with this man? She couldn’t be sure, but if he’d wanted her dead he would’ve left her on stage.

Where were her friends? “Davina! Elena, Fianna!” All she could do was pray they were out of harm’s way. Jostled against the man’s chest, she tightened her grip.

Once they’d cleared the stage, he kicked open a backstage door. Finding an empty dressing room, he put her down.

Out of breath, she cried out, “I’ve got friends out there. We have to get to them.” Davina, Elena, Fianna…and so many others.

Without acknowledging her comment, he flipped out a pen-sized flashlight, tapped it on, and handed it to her. “Use this.”

Footsteps clattered in the dim hallway. “Is she okay? Let us in,” cried Fianna. “We followed your screams.” Davina and Elena were behind her, holding their phones with flashlight apps illuminating their way.

“They’re with me.” Without waiting for approval from the man with icy mirrored glasses, Penelope grasped Fianna’s trembling hands and pulled her into the room. “Is anyone hurt?”

“We’re okay,” Fianna said, her eyes wide with fright. “I don’t think anyone was hit, but I can’t be sure...”

“Lock it.” The man shut the door behind him.

While Fianna and Elena clutched each other, Davina folded her into her arms. “Thank goodness you weren’t hurt. That guy saved your life.”

He had, hadn’t he? Penelope had always prided herself on being able to care of herself, but against a bullet moving at a millisecond? She shuddered at the thought of what might have happened.

Davina kissed her cheek. “He risked his life for you. Do you know who he was?”

She had no idea, Penelope thought with a jolt. Risking his own safety, the man had acted quickly. She wished she’d gotten a better look at his face. His physique was rock solid, and she had felt safe in his arms, though she hated to admit her vulnerability.

His scent reminded her of… She shook her head, dispelling a disturbing memory that surged to the surface. After her heart had been broken, she found it easier not to get too attached.

“That photographer out front,” Penelope began, chastising herself.

“Who?” Davina placed her hands on Penelope’s cheeks and searched her eyes. “Do you know who did this?”

“I’d never seen him before,” Penelope said, a sickening feeling churning within her. She should’ve said something, alerted someone. “Oh Davina, if only I’d said something, maybe I could’ve stopped this from happening.”

Davina pressed her to her breast, soothing her. “Darling, you couldn’t have known what he was planning to do.”

On the way in she’d been thinking about her speech and her friends, but maybe she could have had him questioned or removed. She swallowed hard against searing tears of guilt and regret that filled her eyes.

The sound of hysterical crying echoed in the hallway, and Penelope inched open the door to two women. “In here,” she called, pulling the pair inside to safety.

Outside, screams and scuffling ensued. Davina put her arms around Fianna and Elena to calm them and then reached out to the two panic-stricken women to bring them into the circle.

Penelope stood by the door, pressing her ear to it. No way was that lunatic getting in here.

One of the women cried out, “What will we do if the shooter tries to get in?”

“We’ll stop him.” Penelope set her jaw. Never before had she been singled out for violence. She had no idea why anyone would try to kill her, but there were nuts out there, and now he was a threat to everyone. Was he a fan? Had he faked his press credentials? Thoughts raced through her mind, though nothing made sense to her.

After a few minutes, the havoc outside seemed to taper off, and the lights above them flickered on.

“Thank goodness.” Penelope turned off the mini-flashlight.

A knock burst at the door. “Penelope, you ladies okay in there?”

He knew her name. But then, she’d been introduced when she’d gone up on stage. She eased the door open to the man who’d saved her from danger.

“Shaken, that’s all.” For years Penelope had traveled the world to remote locations in Africa, South America, and the Middle East. She’d been trapped in political uprisings, but nothing had prepared her for a direct public attack. That is, except for the self-defense classes her parents had insisted she take when she left home to begin her career.

She peered at the muscled man who stood taller than she did—six-feet-five with her towering Manolo Blahnik heels—and stopped, agape as he stood before her, his mirrored glasses now in his hands.

“Stefan? What are you doing here?”

“I’m on duty.”

“What the—why?” Shocked by his presence, Penelope could hardly think.

He looked past her into the room. “Everyone stay put for now.”

Davina spoke up. “Has that man been caught?”

Stefan pressed a finger to his ear, and only then did Penelope realize he wore a discreet earpiece. “Not yet. He escaped in the dark. Police have surrounded the building and closed the street. They’ll need to interview witnesses.” He turned to face Penelope, his startling blue eyes shot with concern. “They want to talk to you.”

“Of course.” All at once, Penelope felt the adrenaline drain from her body, and she began to shiver. Or was it the presence of Stefan, the man she’d thought she’d never see again? Despite her protests, he had forged into action with such authority.

But then, he always had.

“Better sit down,” he said. He grabbed a bottle of water from a table and opened it for her. Pulling up a chair, he sat across from her, leaning his elbows on his knees and staring into her eyes with the direct gaze that had touched her so many years ago. “Do you know who tried to shoot you?”

Davina and the other women sat down, watching them.

Shaking her head, Penelope blinked. His eyes were clouded with concern, just as when he’d broken off their relationship in the worst way. She drank and tried to appear calm despite her hammering pulse. “He was taking photos outside, but now I doubt he was a photographer.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He didn’t know how to use his camera.”

“And how did you know that?”

“While their cameras are pointed at me, I’m watching them.”

Stefan studied her for a moment, a corner of his mouth turning up in approval. Seemingly satisfied, he tapped his earpiece and said, “Roger that.” To her, he added. “The police are on their way back. Glad you’re not hurt.” He stood and walked to the door.

“Stefan.” It took all the energy Penelope had to utter his name.

He hesitated, his hand on the knob. “Yes?”

“Will you come back?” Penelope crossed her arms. Where did that come from?

His expression gave no indication of the relationship they’d once had. “If that’s what you want.”

The two women who’d sought refuge with them followed Stefan out the door, and as soon as the door closed, Davina clasped her trembling hands. She inclined her head toward the closed door. “That man with the Paul Newman eyes. Is that your Stefan?”

Penelope nodded, still trying to process what had just occurred. “He’s changed. His hair…it’s a little longer.” But he still had the same piercing blue eyes that took her breath away. “I never thought I’d see him again.”

Fianna and Elena traded a look before Fianna spoke up. “Excuse me, that incredible specimen of a man…you know him?”

Penelope rubbed her bare arms and blew out a breath. “I haven’t seen him in a long time.” Since the day she and Monica had parted ways as friends.

“Wow. You kept that hunk of man from us?” Elena pressed her lips together. “He looks like a Navy SEAL.”

“Actually, he was.” Penelope stared at the door. Of all the men…

Tossing her fiery mane over one shoulder, Fianna waggled her eyebrows. “Oh, my God, if it weren’t for Niall—”

In a release of intense fear, nerves gave way to a twitter of laughter in the room.

“Hands off, you two lovebirds adore each other,” Elena cut in, playfully slapping Fianna’s hand. She turned to Penelope. “And you never dated him?”

Penelope felt her face flush. “I didn’t say that.”

Elena’s mouth formed a silent O, while Davina shook her head in warning. The last thing Penelope wanted to discuss was her relationship with Stefan.

Fianna leaned forward, her eyes flashing. “Stefan’s so hot. The way he scooped you up and looks at you, I think he’s interested. What happened?”

“Too complicated to explain.” Penelope met Davina’s eyes, which were rimmed with concern. She’d cried in her arms when Stefan left, and ever since, she’d compared every man she met to him. With her busy career, she didn’t have time for serious dating, so it had been for the best. Of that she was certain.

Davina lifted a brow and squeezed her hand. “Fianna, Elena, enough with the questions. Our Penelope’s in shock.”

“I’m okay.” Penelope shook her head, though she wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince Davina or herself.

Two police officers arrived and set to work taking their statements. Penelope told them everything she could remember, but the only thing that seemed to help them was that she didn’t think he was a photographer.

“Can you think of any motive this man might’ve had?” asked the officer who sat before her.

Fianna cut in. “Motive? For Penelope? You’ve got to be kidding, that guy’s a mentaller,” she exclaimed. When the police officer looked confused at her Irish slang, she put her hands on her hips and huffed. “How about just bat-s**t crazy?”

Penelope nodded with a rueful grin. “Next question.”

“Have you received any odd correspondence from anyone? Anything through social media?”

“I get the regular love letters and suggestive Anthony Weiner-style photos, but I don’t know if any of those could be traced to this.”

“We’ll need to see those.”

“I trashed them.” Penelope crossed her legs and tapped her foot as the officer shook his head. “What’s the point of keeping that stuff?”

“Isn’t it obvious now?” He shook his head and spoke to her as though she were a child. “When you chase the spotlight, you have to take precautions.”

Penelope crossed her arms and glared at the officer. “I never chased the spotlight, that’s not why I’m in this line of work. I was a skinny fourteen-year-old, five-foot-ten-inch swimmer when someone asked if I wanted to make extra money wearing new clothes one weekend. So I did.”

The detective glared back. “Lot of models claw their way to the top.”

“I work hard. That’s how I got where I am today.”

“Uh-huh.” He scratched a note. “Your photos are everywhere. You sell photos or stories to the media?”

“And if I did?” She huffed. “Print campaigns for brands and magazines—that’s my job. As for the media, yes, they follow me. If I can leverage that for a good cause, I do. But no, I don’t sell stories or photos to the tabloids.” Penelope tapped her dark purple nails on the table, wondering when Stefan would return. And why she wanted him to.

The detective dotted an i with a jab. “Let’s try this again. Anyone who’s contacted you lately that you can recall?”

Penelope tried to take calming breaths, but found she could hardly draw in air. “I’m trying to be helpful, but you have no idea how many people reach out to me on social media. I don’t see everything. I have a VA who helps answer messages while I’m working.” Her throat threatened to close, and she pushed down an involuntary sense of panic. “Shouldn’t you be out looking for that guy instead of questioning me?”

“VA?”

“Virtual assistant.”

“I’ll need that name.” The detective flipped to a new page on his notepad and spun it around.

Penelope leaned over and printed the name. She wanted to be hopeful, but she had a sinking feeling. “Think you’ll catch the guy?”

“We’ll do our best.”

The officer left his card with her, asking her to call if she thought of anything that could help in the investigation. He moved on to talk to Davina, Fianna, and Elena.

“Hey there.” A deep voice reverberated behind her.

Penelope raised her eyes and found herself staring at Stefan again. “Hey.”

“Looks like your friends will be busy for a while. Think they’d mind if we took a walk?”

Any other time the answer would’ve been no. “I’ll tell them.” Penelope crossed the room and knelt by Davina. “If I don’t get out of here—”

“Go,” Davina interjected. “No need to stay. I’m sure your nerves are in tatters. I’ll stay with Fianna and Elena.” She arched an eyebrow toward Stefan. “You’ll be all right with that one?”

“We’re just taking a walk. I’ll be safe with him,” Penelope said, though she wasn’t sure her heart would be.

Clutching her arm, Stefan cut through the crowd.

After the way he’d broken her heart, any other time Penelope would have slapped his hand off, but she let it stay, recognizing she might still need assistance in this highly charged situation. Police had cleared the party and were checking people and taking statements in the wide hallway outside the room. The mood in the anteroom was tense and jittery. Party-goers were live-streaming the chaotic scene on their phones to social media.

“Hey Penelope,” a woman called out. “Are you okay?”

Across the crush of fashionable people, a sea of faces and camera phones swung her way. Feeling the heat of attention, she raised her hand and gave a thumbs-up sign, curving her lips into the semblance of a smile, though her nerves were still raw.

People she passed chimed in with their sentiments, and she thanked them as Stefan led her through the throng.

Only Monica turned away as soon as she saw her with Stefan. Monica’s shimmering, ice-blue dress clung to her nearly skeletal frame, revealing everything, even the tension between her shoulder blades. She had always been extremely thin but Penelope imagined that her BMI index was now below the line set by the participating countries. She wouldn’t see Monica in France unless the woman started eating.

Besides, one couldn’t live on vodka alone. Or whatever she was into now.

Stefan pressed his hand slightly on the small of her back in a familiar protective gesture, and Penelope stiffened. His touch still shot through her with the heat of molten lava. She pressed a hand over her heart, feeling pressure build in her chest.

He leaned close to her ear and said, “I know a place we can go where it’s quiet.”

Not a walk, but alone with Stefan. If I have any sense at all, she thought, the answer is no. She blinked while he stood gazing at her, waiting for her response.