Page 24 of Unguarded

She stares at the items, blinking slowly.

“Do you think they’ll recognize you in it?” I ask.

She lets out a snort. “I mean, no.”

“Exactly.”

She dons the hoodie obediently. It’s gigantic on her. She pulls the ball cap on before flipping the hood over herself. Something possessive stirs in me at the sight of her in it. When she adds her thick sunglasses, I’m sure that not even her biggest, most obsessive fan would know it’s her.

“The rest of the team will come in after we give them the go-ahead. Brooks already checked us in.”

I open up the door for her, climbing out first and turning to help her down from the car. We get a few curious looks from people passing us by, but no one seems to notice her as more than a tourist with a strange sense of style.

Brooks meets us near the elevator with the key cards. This hotel is just as nice as the original one we were in, but it’s farther from the concert venue. I place my hand on Monroe’s lower back as we get on the elevator.

The room is only on the seventh floor as opposed to the penthouse. It has an adjoining room. We walk in and I immediately do a sweep of the rooms.

Monroe gently sets my hat on the dresser before she curls up on the king-size bed in the larger room with a connected sitting room and kitchenette. She covers her face with a pillow, still wearing my hoodie.

I don’t know how she’s supposed to perform tomorrow night when she seems so withdrawn.

Not my concern.

Brooks and I retreat to the sitting area. He sits on the plush pale pink sofa while I go to the window to make note of the exterior landscape. We’re in the middle of the city, crowds of people walking on the sidewalks below. The sun is beginning to set, and the neon signs of businesses, bars, and restaurants nearby are glowing.

“I agree with you, by the way. Moving her was the safest option,” Brooks muses.

I rub my forehead, where a headache is beginning to form. “She doesn’t seem to have many people advocating for her safety over her career.”

He doesn’t respond for a few beats, and I worry I might have said too much. I trust Brooks instinctively. He’s ex-military and the only one who seems capable of his job and dedicated to it. The others are here for the paycheck. I’ve always had killer instincts, using them to help guide business and hiring decisions for Redford Ranch for years. Being quiet and reserved means I read people, picking up on their tics, interests, passions, abilities, and motives. I’m also a damn good lie detector.

“I think Ember cares about her, but she’s a fish out of water with the safety stuff. Fidel loves her, but in his own twisted way because he also loves that she’s made him rich as fuck. This is the first time I’ve met Franky. He seems to care, but he’s clueless. I agree about the bodyguards. They do their job with the crowds, but none of them take the stalker shit as seriously as it is. The up close pictures are a bad sign. This guy has way too much access.”

Angry heat flares inside my chest. I have to figure out how he’s getting so damn close without detection.

“What scares me the most is how close he’s been able to get to her. First her home in California, and after just two days on tour, he’s already found her hotel room? He’s smart.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, shutting my eyes to try and clear the fog in my brain. The adrenaline pumping through my veins is finally crashing down, leaving me feeling lightheaded and exhausted.

“I’m going to check on her. Will you order us some food? Don’t use any real names.”

Brooks nods, finding the menu on the glass end table. I walk back toward Monroe’s cracked door, tapping on it lightly before pushing it open a few inches. The TV is on, playing an episode ofFriends.

I stare at the TV. It’s the one where Monica and Chandler start hooking up while in London at Ross’s wedding. I blink, clearing the daze I was in before looking down at the bed. Monroe must not have heard me tapping because she’s still curled up in a ball, now hugging a fluffy white pillow and staring at the screen with droopy eyes.

“You likeFriends?”

She peers back at me, eyes red-rimmed. Something inside me crumbles at the sight, at the broken look on her face.

I fold my arms across my chest to avoid the temptation of sitting next to her on the bed.

“It’s my comfort show. I used to watch it when I first moved to LA and I missed home. My mom always had it on backhome.”

I inhale a deep breath, slowly exhaling before I respond, “I used to watch it with my mom before she died. She never got to see the last season.”

Monroe looks up at me, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “It’s better than the company of real people sometimes. Which one are you?”

“I’m a mix of Chandler and Phoebe.” Tendency to be withdrawn and isolated, even when I’m surrounded by my family. I also have a dead mom and I’m a little unhinged.

She laughs. “I need more details about why that is. Who do you think I am?”

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