Poker Face Page 22

  “Go get ’em,” Christian murmured.

  Stone rolled his eyes and stepped out on stage. Shit. He was walking like Jack.

  “Less swagger, less swagger!” he whispered frantically.

  Stone’s stride shifted to something more akin to marching. It looked stiff and unnatural, but at least it didn’t look straight off a West Texas ranch anymore. Every light in the room trained on Stone.

  He stepped up to the microphone and said uncomfortably with a slight hint of a British accent, “I’m not sure what all the fuss is about. I wasn’t aware that it was newsworthy stuff for two guys to share a kiss on South Beach at sunrise.”

  A faint chuckle passed through the group of reporters.

  “But you don’t look gay,” a woman in a pastel pink Jackie O suit said in a wondering voice.

  “And exactly how does gay look, ma’am?” Stone bit out.

  Perfect. He sounded irritated, and when he got irritated, he got intimidating. Indeed, Stone gripped the edges of the podium, unconsciously flexing his biceps in a heart-stopping display of muscle, and he leaned forward a little, staring down the unfortunate woman.

  “Well, I’m sure I don’t know,” she huffed.

  “Tell us how you met Christian Chatsworth-Brandeis!” someone shouted.

  Stone frowned. “In a bar. Arguing over how to properly drink Jack Daniels.”

  “How long have you known each other?”

  Stone’s frown deepened into a dangerous-as-hell scowl. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business. I’m here today to let you know you got your facts wrong, and that’s all. Christian Chatsworth-Brandeis is my boyfriend, not Senator Lacey’s. If you need to know more about me, then I’d suggest you contact my employer, Wild Cards, Incorporated, in England. It’s a high-end private security firm.”

  “Reenact the kiss!” someone shouted.

  “Are you with Penthouse or something?” Stone demanded. “You’re gonna have to pay for that shot, buddy.”

  The mainstream media reporters snorted, enjoying the putdown of whoever had asked the question. Must have been some scandal-rag reporter who’d slipped into the press conference.

  “I expect you all have actual news to cover, and I have a job to get back to. It’s been fun, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s not do this again soon.” And with that, Stone strode off the stage, looking every inch the dangerous security type.

  He joined Christian and Jill in the wings and muttered a single word to them. “Move.”

  They turned as one and hurried to the exit.

  “Go right,” Stone ordered.

  They hurried down a short hallway to the kitchen, wound through the maze of prep tables, and hustled into a service elevator at the back of the kitchen used by the room service staff.

  The elevator door shut, and Jill demanded, “Why the emergency exit?”

  “That guy who asked for the kiss was going to jump us in the hallway. He was pissed at my mouthing off and embarrassing him, and he had a look in his eye. He’s going to dig for more dirt.”

  “I’ll tell the hotel security guys to keep an eye out for him and keep him as far away as possible,” Christian responded.

  Stone’s cell phone rang, and he dug it out. He listened to someone, and as he did so, his expression went dark, then black.

  “What?” Christian asked as soon as he disconnected.

  “Later,” Stone bit out, glancing significantly at Jill, who was looking the other way.

  Crap. What had Jack done now?

  They delivered Mrs. Lacey to Jack’s suite, and then the two of them headed down to Stone’s room. The door closed behind them and Christian bit out, “Spill.”

  “You might want to sit down.”

  “Cripes. What’s so bad I have to sit? What has he done?”

  “Sit.”

  Scared to death, he sat.

  Stone exhaled hard. “The Wrastle Castle has arrived in Barbados.”

  “Okay. That’s good news.”

  “And Tucker is with Jack and Chesty on the boat right now.”

  “Even better news.” Still, he felt a sword dangling by a thread over his head, and Jack Lacey was holding a pair of scissors.

  “Apparently, Jack told Chesty a while back, when they first met, that he’s had a vasectomy.”

  Christian frowned. “Not that I’m privy to every detail of his life, but I’m not aware of one. Jill couldn’t have children, and Valerie had her tubes tied years ago.”

  “Well, Chesty’s pregnant, and she insists the baby is his.”

  “Oh, dear Lord,” he groaned. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Wish I was. Apparently, she’s livid. She’s accusing Jack of destroying her career and her reputation.”

  “Fair. If he lied and he’s the father, she has a right to be mad.”

  “Tucker says that when he boarded the yacht, Jack was locked in his stateroom and refusing to come out. Travis had to take a revolver away from Chesty. Pearl-handled derringer. An antique. Sweet little piece—”

  “Focus, Stone. What else did Tucker have to say about Jack?”

  “Oh. He’s drunk. Been drunk for most of the past week. And seasick too.”

  Christian’s gaze narrowed. “Can’t say as I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Stone grinned. “Me neither.”

  “How fast can Tucker pour him onto a plane and get his ass back here?”

  “Depends on whether a private jet happens to be sitting down there with an available crew,” Stone answered. “He’s working on arranging it now. The gang at Wild Cards is helping. They usually have a string or two they can pull and make the impossible happen.”

  Christian flopped into the nearest chair. “I need a drink.”

  He slugged a shot of whiskey far too elegant to be tossed back like rotgut but felt better when its burn hit his belly. It cleared his mind and made his rage at his boss manageable.

  Jack had knocked up a woman when his wife and his mistress were breathing fire in his direction. What man anywhere made three women homicidal at the same time? The bastard bloody well had a death wish.

  His cell phone rang and he tugged it out of his pocket. He saw the caller ID and put it on speaker so Stone could hear too. “Yes, Mrs. Lacey. What can I do for you?”

  “Did the press conference work?”

  “Too early to tell, ma’am.”

  “What comes next?” she fired off.

  “Ideally, Stone will make an immediate appearance as Jack in the next hour or two. Someplace public but where we can hold back the press so they don’t get too close a look at him. Honestly, Mrs. L, I’d suggest you be seen with him, as well.”

  “I know just the place,” she declared. “Not to mention I’m in need of some serious retail therapy after all these shenanigans. On Jack’s credit card, bless his cheating heart.”

  He winced. Bless your heart was the kiss of death from Jill Lacey. It was her Southern version of fuck off, you moron, but ever so much more politely offered up, of course. Because Jill was a lady.

  “Y’all come on up so we can transform our boy. And then Jack 2.0 and I are going shopping.”

  Christian disconnected the call, laughing at the long-suffering look on Stone’s face. “Thanks for taking one for the team, man,” he teased. Stone had obviously been dragged on shopping sprees before and knew what misery lay ahead of him.

  They got back to the Lacey suite, where Stone shaved, and the makeup artist put on his Jack makeup. Stone put on one of Jack’s altered suits and stomped into a pair of the senator’s lizard-skin cowboy boots.

  Even Jill stared when he came out of the bedroom. The transformation was amazing.

  A pair of security guards lent by the hotel were going to act as bodyguards for the day, and the upscale mall that Jill had chosen for the outing had already been notified to have its own security personnel hold back any press that tried to get close to Jack.

  The suite went silent as everyone else left, and Christian collapsed on
the couch. It was done. His life was ruined. He just hoped it hadn’t been all for nothing.

  Chapter Fourteen

  THE CASINO night was starting downstairs, and there was still no sign of Tucker and Jack, even though their plane had left Barbados several hours ago. Which meant Stone was going to have to go through with appearing as the senator and risk his life for the bastard.

  Christian broke the news to Jill about Chesty’s pregnancy after the mall trip, which was a blessing. Jill was so furious she couldn’t form words, and he’d been genuinely worried she might give herself a stroke the way her face turned nearly purple and the veins in her temples throbbed visibly. Stone had walked her into the bedroom and gently forced her to lie down on the bed and put her feet up. But as he left the room, she’d been reaching for her telephone with a murderous expression on her face.

  Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he’d been certain Jack would show up at the last minute to save him from tonight’s insanity. But there was no telling exactly when the plane would land and whether or not Jack would even deign to show up at the event.

  Now that Stone was alone with only minutes to go before he made a major public appearance as another man—in front of people who knew the real Jack Lacey, no less—he let himself pace the suite in a futile effort to work off some of his stress.

  Ominously, there had been no more emails from the stalker. The Wild Cards’ profiler was concerned that the person was done talking and was now preparing to take action. The police and gun stores in the local area had been quietly put on alert, and the Wild Cards staff was watching every layer of the internet like hawks. But that was about all anyone could do until the stalker made his or her next move.

  It was ironic that he’d been the one adamant to have Jack cancel the appearance, and now he was the one insisting on going through with it. Christian had tried last night to talk him out of it and then to seduce him out of it. But this stalker nutball had to be caught, and this was the most expedient way to do it. Not that he cared much at this point if Jack got shot.

  But he did care a great deal if Christian got shot or not. He didn’t want Christian working or making public appearances anywhere near Jack Lacey until whoever was planning to shoot at Jack was caught.

  It scared him that Christian’s arguments last night actually had the power to sway his decision. Not only did he respect the man’s opinions, but when Christian had spoken earnestly about not being able to live with himself if something bad happened to Stone because of him, it had actually moved Stone. Emotionally. Complete with a torn-apart feeling in his gut. What the hell was up with that?

  He wasn’t a feelings kind of guy.

  Apparently, he was now, compliments of one Christian Chatsworth-Brandeis.

  Jill had already left for the party, with Christian acting as her temporary escort. They were going to spread a story that a crisis had come up in Washington and Jack had to deal with it before he came down to join the festivities. Fortunately, there was a full slate of other politicians to keep the crowd occupied and feeling schmoozed until Jack 2.0 put in an appearance.

  Of course, that very slate of politicians was their biggest problem. Many of them knew Jack well enough to spot an impersonator. Stone was supposed to wait up here until just a few minutes before Jack’s speech and only then go downstairs.

  He checked over his bullet-resistant vest again, then cleaned and reloaded his pistol to pass the time. He picked up the deck of cards Christian had used earlier to explain poker to Jill and idly dealt himself hands. His left hand kicked his right hand’s ass at seven-card stud before his cell phone rang, startling him and shattering the silence of the room.

  Jeez, dude, get your act together. He answered the phone tersely with “Go ahead.”

  “Hey, it’s me.” He exhaled in relief. Just hearing Christian’s voice made him feel better. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m tense, which makes me horny as hell. I would rather be in bed with you than playing fake senator. But otherwise I’m fabulous.”

  Christian laughed in his ear. “Glad to hear it. You’re on in ten. I’ve sent the security guys up to get you.”

  “See you in a few, good lookin’.”

  “Right back at you, sir.”

  Sir? Oh, right. In case anyone was eavesdropping, Christian was talking to “Senator Lacey.”

  The knock on the door came, and two burly, expressionless men stood there. Stone noticed one of them surreptitiously checking the suite over his shoulder. They thought the crisis was a woman, huh? Even with Jack’s wife entertaining his guests downstairs as they stood here? Wow. That was one hell of a low opinion they had of Jack Lacey. And fully deserved.

  Both of the bodyguards were big men. He sighed. People who didn’t know a lot about the security business seemed to think that bald, overmuscled giants in black rock band T-shirts were the way to go for protection. Size helped if—and only if—the security operative knew what to do with his body mass to protect a client with it.

  Given that these two stepped back respectfully to let him out of the suite, his money was on them knowing absolutely nothing about blocking a real security threat. Shiny.

  At least one of them had the good sense to step out of the elevator first when they reached the ground floor. They skirted the edges of the busy prep tables in the kitchen and dodged the ant line of waiters entering and exiting the space.

  “Where to, Senator?” one of them asked loudly enough to turn a few heads in his direction.

  Jesus H. Christ. The idea was to be anonymous, not shout out his identity to everyone in earshot. “Backstage,” he muttered without moving his lips.

  “You got it,” the talkative one boomed.

  Just shoot him now. He might as well walk out onstage and make a public announcement that he was ready to die if the assassin would please get on with it.

  The noise was intense as he slipped into the wings of the main stage. The big ballroom was packed. Easily two thousand people milled around the various gaming tables, drinking, gambling, and shouting over the live band playing in the orchestra balcony. Why musicians always insisted on being thirty decibels too loud for the occasion, no matter what the occasion, he would never understand.

  He felt Christian approaching and looked over his shoulder. Good Lord, that man wore a tuxedo like an Armani model. His breath actually hitched in his throat at the sight of Christian in stark black and snowy white. Their gazes met, and they shared an instant of private acknowledgment.

  “Looking good,” Christian breathed.

  “Ditto.”

  A little louder, Christian asked, “Have you got your notes, sir?”

  “In my jacket pocket.”

  “In about five minutes, the emcee will read an introduction and finish with ‘From the great state of Texas, I give you Senator Jack Lacey.’ That’s your cue to walk out.”

  “Any news from Tucker?” Which was an oblique way of asking if there might be a last-minute reprieve from this suicide mission.

  “Talked with him about twenty minutes ago. The eagle has landed, but it can’t join us here immediately.”

  He turned to stare fully at Christian. “Why not?”

  “Customs problems. Long lines and crowds.” Christian shrugged, but Stone saw the stress lines around his eyes. Christian added, “I’ve got a helicopter standing by to airlift them directly to the roof of the hotel. It’s possible they’ll arrive soon, but I have no way of knowing when.”

  “We’ll get through this,” he muttered. “Not much longer now. Fifteen minutes, tops.”

  “I’ll have you know that speech should take no less than seventeen minutes to read.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know. Drawl and go slow.”

  “You’ll do fine,” Christian murmured. “I believe in you.”

  “I’m glad one of us does.”

  Christian reached surreptitiously between their hips to give his hand a quick squeeze.

  “Any more hassles from the pr
ess?” he asked Christian. The ticked-off tabloid reporter had been making wild allegations, but the guy didn’t seem to be gaining a whole lot of attention nationally. Thank God.

  The emcee came out from the other side of the stage and took the podium. He had a series of announcements and thank-yous to go through before Jack would be announced.

  A flurry of activity behind Stone made him and Christian both look over their shoulders. A deeply tanned man in shorts and a polo shirt was arguing with one of the hotel’s security guards.

  “Holy shit,” Christian breathed. “It’s him. He’s here.”

  Jack Lacey had finally shown up. About damned time.

  Christian raced over to a stage manager. “Have the emcee stretch it out, will you?”

  The guy in all-black clothing nodded and gave a hand signal to the emcee, who launched into a lame joke that made the crowd groan loudly and laugh reluctantly.

  Stone and Christian rushed to the senator, whose anger and volume was starting to climb as he tried to convince the security guards he was the real Jack Lacey.

  “Come with me, sir,” Christian said firmly. He grabbed the real Jack by the arm and bodily dragged him toward the kitchen. Lacey looked back and forth between Christian and Stone, a frown gathering on his brow.

  “What in the Sam Hill is going on here? Why in the hell are you wearing my damned suit, Jackson, isn’t it? The bodyguard, right? And those are my boots—”

  “Quiet, Jack,” Stone bit out.

  Shocked, the senator complied for once. They hustled into an employee bathroom, and Christian checked all the stalls to make sure they were alone before locking the exterior door and announcing, “We’ve got two minutes at most.”

  Stone talked quickly to the senator. “I’ve been impersonating you for the past week so you wouldn’t lose a crap-ton of campaign contributions. You’re welcome, by the way.”

  Aware that they had only seconds to gain Jack’s cooperation, Stone talked fast. “You need to go out and make your speech at the big fundraiser out there, and then you are going to be called away on an emergency. We have reason to believe your stalker may try to assassinate you here tonight.”