Bodyguard: Target (26 page)

‘So there you have it,
folks,’ said the presenter, flashing her crystal-white smile at the camera.
‘Ash’s guardian angel wasn’t just a fan after all. The Wild Cat,
as we’ve all come to
know her, was a trainee PR girl on his team. It seems
that protecting a rock star’s image nowadays takes more than the ability to
type up a press release. You have to be a ninja!’

A picture of a black-hooded assassin
flashed up on the studio monitors and the sound of clashing swords and the shouts of
kiai
were overdubbed.

Charley stood off-camera with Big T and
Zoe,
watching Ash’s interview from the darkened wings of the recording studio
in Dallas, Texas. Kay had agreed with Zoe’s suggestion that their best PR
strategy was a straight exposure of Charley by Ash on national TV. This, they all
hoped, would bury the story and the news agencies would move on to the next
celebrity scoop.

Charley felt her phone vibrate in her
pocket. She
glanced at the glowing screen. Following the porter incident in Miami,
she now routinely fitted an Intruder device outside
Ash’s
hotel room. But it wasn’t an Intruder alert. It was a text from Blake:

Outside the official report-ins, it was
always difficult to find time to chat and Charley sensed something was on his mind.
She thumbed a reply:

The presenter swung her beaming smile
back towards Ash and concluded her interview. ‘Thank you for coming into the
studio, Ash. I’m glad the paparazzi didn’t run you off the road like
they did in New Orleans. And good luck with the concert tomorrow. I hear it’s
a sell-out!’

‘It sure is!’ Ash replied
with enthusiasm, the cut above his left eye now healing and hidden by make-up.
‘I can’t wait to see all my Dallas fans go WILD!’

‘Well, judging by the crowd
outside our studios, they can’t wait to see you either. Now, I believe
you’re going to play us out with your biggest hit, “Only
Raining”.’

Ash nodded, then joined his band on the
opposite side of the studio.
The cameras moved in for a close-up as he began the
opening riff to his worldwide smash.

Charley found herself bobbing her head
in time to the music. As Ash sang, ‘
We all need a shelter to keep us from
the rain …
’ her thoughts drifted back to the moment on the beach
in California when she’d decided to catch that
once-in-a-lifetime wave and become a bodyguard. How her life
had changed
– from being a surfing beach bum to protecting one of the most famous
teenagers on the planet! And, though being a bodyguard wasn’t easy, her life
no longer felt empty or without purpose. Yes, Kerry was still a huge hole in her
heart, but the memory only stung … it didn’t burn any more. For that she
was thankful. She just wished her parents could’ve been around to witness
this. But if they were, of course, she’d never have become a bodyguard in the
first place.

Charley became aware of someone at her
side. Glancing over, she did a double-take: same quiff of honey-brown hair,
identical hazel eyes, dimpled chin, a matching smile. Standing next to her was a
carbon copy of Ash.

‘How did you get in here?’
hissed Charley, suddenly realizing
who it was.

‘The receptionist thought I was
Ash!’ The clone laughed quietly. ‘Look, I’ve even got the same
tattoo now.’

Pete pulled back the sleeve of his shirt
to reveal an identical phoenix design on his right forearm.

‘You really shouldn’t be
here,’ insisted Charley.

‘I know,’ he said with a
charming smile he’d stolen straight from Ash, ‘but I wanted to see
what
a TV studio was like.’

The band brought the song to an end and,
after thanking Ash, the presenter made her closing remarks. As the studio’s
red recording light switched off, the producer announced, ‘OK, everyone,
we’re off the air.’

‘Excellent interview, Ash, and
even better performance,’
praised Zoe, handing him a
bottle of water as she led him from the set.

‘Thanks,’ said Ash, lifting
the bottle to his lips. But he didn’t get any further with his drink,
literally stopped in his tracks by the sight of his double.

‘Hi, Ash! Check out my
tattoo,’ said Pete eagerly.

Ash glanced at it. ‘Nice
tat,’ he mumbled, then studied his apparently identical twin.
‘You’re …
me
!’

Big T came striding over and, after a
momentary
blink of disbelief, immediately took charge. ‘I’m going to
have to ask you to leave,’ he said firmly to Pete.

The doppelgänger held up his hands.
‘Hey, Big T, I’m no threat to Ash. I
idolize
him.’

‘That’s more than
apparent,’ said the veteran bodyguard, stony-faced. ‘But you’ll
still have to go. This is a restricted area.’

‘I understand,’ said Pete,
shrugging his
shoulders as two studio security guards appeared. ‘See you at
the gig tomorrow night, Ash.’

‘Yeah,’ said Ash, still
staggered at his fan’s devotion. As the guards escorted Pete away, he leant
over to Charley. ‘Don’t tell him, but he’s got the tattoo on the
wrong arm!’

Charley stifled a giggle – the
poor lad, after the lengths he’d gone to in mimicking his hero.

‘Sorry about that,’ said the
producer, running over. ‘I’ll be having a word with our security manager
later. But first let’s get you on your way.’

The producer guided Ash and his
entourage out of the studio and down the corridor. Turning a corner towards
the reception, they caught a glimpse through a window of the
heaving throng of photographers and fans packing the studio’s
plaza
entrance.

‘This is ridiculous,’ said
Zoe. ‘We can’t even get out to the car!’

Following the assault in Miami and the
crash in New Orleans, the paparazzi had intensified their pursuit of Ash and his
Wild Cat. It seemed every shutterbug in the United States had descended on the tour
and it was now a challenge just to reach the venues, let alone keep Ash safe.

‘We could try the emergency
exit,’ the producer suggested.

A squeal of excitement in the lobby
caught their attention. An intern had spotted Pete being escorted away and rushed
over for his autograph. Pete signed the girl’s notepad with a flourish, the
two security guards barely able to contain their amusement at the case of mistaken
identity.

‘I have a better idea,’
said
Ash.

Shades on, Ash emerged from the TV studio
into the teeming plaza. The crowd erupted with screams and surged forward. A strobe
of camera flashes lit up his exit as the paparazzi swarmed round
their target. With
his arm protectively over the shoulders of the young rock star, Big T forged a path
through the ocean of hysterical fans and in-your-face photographers. The rest of
Ash’s entourage followed in his slipstream.

It took almost ten minutes to reach the
car, even though it was parked only fifty metres away. Unwilling to disappoint his
fans, Ash spent time
signing autographs and posing for numerous selfies. Eventually
Big T bundled him into the back of the car and they drove away from the studio. The
paparazzi immediately piled into their vehicles and set off in hot pursuit.

Their idol gone, the fans dispersed and
the plaza emptied.

‘That worked like a dream!’
said Ash, emerging from behind the reception desk with Charley.

‘Pete certainly lived up to his
role,’ agreed Charley. The plan had been that Pete would go straight to the
car with
Big T, but the boy had obviously been swept up in the
thrill of adulation and exploited his sudden stardom to the max.

‘I’ll have to employ him
full-time as my decoy,’ continued Ash. ‘I’ll get Big T to give him
a backstage pass.’

Charley frowned. ‘Are
you sure
that’s wise? You hardly know him.’

Ash laughed. ‘Of course I know
him. He’s me!’

Charley gave him a hard look.
‘Seriously, Ash, what normal fan goes so far they get the same tattoo as their
idol?’

Ash waved away her concerns.
‘Thousands of people copy their heroes. Girls are always imitating their
favourite pop stars. Why should it be any different
for a guy? Pete is just
super-dedicated. And if he can fool the paparazzi, then I’m all for
it.’

‘We should at least run a
background check on him,’ insisted Charley.

‘Fine, whatever. But look
outside.’ He pointed to the deserted plaza. ‘
No
paparazzi!
’

He grabbed Charley and did a little jig
in the lobby. Charley couldn’t help smiling. His joy was infectious
and she
too felt a weight lift from her. The constant surveillance and taunts had made her
more tense than she’d realized. It would be a welcome change to walk outside
without cameras being thrust in her face.

‘Your car’s here,’
announced the receptionist.

Ash danced his way through the revolving
doors as a second vehicle drove up to the studio entrance. Charley followed
him out
and jumped in the back with him.

‘Time to
celebrate my newfound freedom.’ Ash tapped the driver on the shoulder.
‘Take us to the best restaurant in Dallas.’

‘Big T said we should go straight
to the hotel,’ reminded Charley.

‘Come on, Charley, live a little!
Besides, what could possibly go wrong? I’ve got the Wild Cat to protect
me!’

‘I’m sorry, sir, we’re
fully booked for dinner,’ informed the bow-tied, strait-laced maître
d’ at the door of the ultra-chic restaurant in downtown Dallas. His hair was a
splash of oil
slicked to his scalp, his hands manicured to a high sheen and his
shoes polished to within an inch of their lives.

‘But I can see a free table in the
window,’ said Ash.

‘That’s reserved for special
guests,’ the maître d’ replied haughtily. ‘Perhaps I can
recommend the burger bar down the street?’

Ash ignored the man’s snub.
‘How special do you need to be? I’m Ash
Wild.’

The maître d’ looked down his
thin nose at him. ‘And who’s he?’

‘
Who’s Ash
Wild?
’ exclaimed a gruff voice from behind a velvet curtain that
separated the restaurant’s entrance from the dining area. ‘Only the
greatest songwriter since McCartney!’

Pushing through the curtain, the head
chef, with flushed cheeks and a reassuring ample belly, bowled over to greet
Ash
with a warm handshake. ‘My word, it
is
you! My
daughters adore your music. And I must admit I’m a real fan too. Just
adore “Only Raining”! I was so disappointed when I couldn’t get
tickets for your concert. But you’ve come to
my
restaurant and
it’d be an honour to cook for talent like yours.’

‘Why, thank you,’ said Ash,
startled by the gushing praise. ‘I’m sure that
my publicist can arrange
tickets for you and your daughters.’

The chef’s face lit up. He turned
to his maître d’. ‘Show Ash to the best table in the house,’
he ordered.

‘My apologies, Mr Wild,’
said the maître d’, a bald patch gleaming in the spotlight as he bowed
his head. ‘I don’t keep up with modern music.’

‘No, I’m sure you
don’t,’ said Ash politely.

The maître d’ led them
through the curtain and over to the table by the window. He drew back the chair for
Charley.

‘We can’t sit here,’
Charley said to Ash, still standing.

‘Why not?’ he asked with a
puzzled frown. ‘This is the very best seat in the house.’

‘The very best seat is often the
worst from a security point of view.’

Ash looked out of the window. ‘But
we’ve got a great view over the park.’

‘That’s the problem,’
said Charley, lowering her voice. ‘It makes you vulnerable. Anyone could spot
you or –’ she thought back to the laser at the first gig –
‘attack you.’

Ash stared at her. ‘Wow, you make
for a romantic dinner date!’

Charley tilted her
head. ‘I didn’t know this was a
date
.’

Ash glanced at the red
rose decorating
the table, then met her eye and smiled. ‘Neither did I.’

‘Mr Wild, is this table not
suitable?’ enquired the maître d’, raising a needle-thin
eyebrow.

‘It’s perfect,’
replied Ash, and sat down. ‘Listen, Charley, no one knows we’re here, so
let’s just enjoy this moment of rare freedom.’

Charley reluctantly took her seat, but
positioned it so that
she at least had a view of the other restaurant guests.
Besides, it wasn’t quite true that no one knew where they were. She’d
texted Big T an update of their location while Ash had been speaking with the head
chef. She certainly wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice with the
veteran bodyguard.

The waiter came over with a bread
basket, poured them some chilled water
and presented the menus. There was a ripple
of excitement among the other diners and staff as word spread of their special
guest.

‘So what other security advice
should we be following?’ asked Ash as he browsed the menu.

‘Well, we should have our backs to
a wall,’ replied Charley. ‘Then we only have to worry about threats from
the front. Also, it’d be better if I had
a direct line of sight to the
restaurant entrance and any other doors. That way I can keep an eye on who comes in
and who goes out.’

Ash set aside his menu. ‘They
taught you all this in bodyguard school?’

Charley nodded. ‘Among other
things.’

‘Like how to
deck a guy with a single punch!’

‘It wasn’t technically a
punch,’ replied Charley, sipping her water.
‘It was a palm
strike.’

‘Whatever, you laid that idiot out
good time,’ said Ash, grinning at the memory. He leant forward, elbows on the
table, his fingers interlaced as if in a confession. ‘I haven’t thanked
you properly for protecting me. The guy blindsided me. I just never expected
it.’

‘No one ever does.’

‘But you did. You
reacted.’

‘I’ve been trained
to,’ said Charley. ‘It’s all part of the job.’

‘Some job!’ remarked Ash,
shaking his head in amazement.

A waiter approached and took their
orders.

‘To be honest, I thought having
you around was going to be a real drag,’ Ash admitted once the waiter had
gone. ‘And, after that first gig, I had serious doubts about you. But …
you’re one amazing girl, Charley.’

He gazed at her across the candlelit
table, his smouldering hazel eyes both sincere and irresistible. Charley felt that
spark again and her pulse raced. Trying to keep her runaway emotions in check, she
selected a bread roll from the basket and began to butter it. ‘Don’t get
slushy on me,’ she said. ‘I’m your bodyguard. Not your
girlfriend.’

‘I know, but it’s really
nice having you around,’ Ash admitted. ‘If I haven’t said it
before, I’m sorry for the tour prank we played on you. It was the
bassist’s idea. I didn’t think you’d –’

‘Forget about
it. I have,’ said Charley, glancing up with a smile.

‘Well, I haven’t.’ Ash
held her gaze as he took a sip of water. ‘Being a rock star isn’t all
it’s cracked up to be,’ he confessed.
‘Everyone just sees the
riches, the fans, the celebrity lifestyle. But life on the road can be so
lonely.’

‘You’ve got the band around
you,’ Charley pointed out.

‘The band and crew are all mates,
of course. But it’s different – they’re older. They’re not
going through what I am as the frontman. They don’t have to contend with the
pressure of fame … the haters …
or the death threats. You see all that.
You understand it. I can talk to you about it.’

‘Of course you can,’ said
Charley.

Ash pulled out his phone, thumbed an app
and showed her his social media feed on the screen. ‘This is what I have to
put up with every day, every minute of my life.’

He pointed to a post that read:
Drop
dead, you talentless waster!

Another
below it declared:
Your
music is an insult to God and anyone with ears.

There were several other messages of
abuse and threats to knife, maim and harm the rock star. But, as Charley had noted
before, the majority of the posts were from loyal and loving fans:

Charley drew
Ash’s attention to these. ‘This is what you should be reading. Not those
other insults. Ignore the haters. If you don’t, they win.’

Ash sighed. ‘I know, but
that’s easier said than done, especially when one of them could be the maniac
who’s trying to kill me.’

Their conversation
was interrupted by
the arrival of their first course. Ash was presented with a plate of roasted
maple-leaf buffalo wings, while Charley had chosen king prawns in a coconut
mayonnaise. With a flourish, the waiter laid the napkins on their laps, then
departed.

‘Anyway, enough about my
problems,’ said Ash, tucking into his starter. ‘You still haven’t
told me why you became
a bodyguard.’

Since Ash had opened up to her, Charley
felt she could do the same. As they ate, she told him about Kerry, about the
bald-headed abductor and how she’d failed to react and save her friend, then
how her parents had died in a plane hijacking and her life had lost all meaning.

‘They say time heals all
wounds,’ mused Charley. ‘But, if that’s true, the memories
still
leave a scar.’

Suddenly she realized Ash was texting on
his phone under the table. ‘Sorry, am I boring you?’ she asked, her tone
sharp.

‘No, absolutely not. You’re
inspiring me!’ he replied, rapidly typing away. After a minute or so, he put
his phone down and sighed with deep relief. He gazed at her in awe. ‘Charley,
I know you’ll think this is just a chat-up
line, but you’re my missing
muse. I’ve been stuck for lyrics
for weeks. Now I can
hear the songs again – thanks to you.’

Leaning closer, he sang softly to her, a
beautiful heart-aching melody: ‘
Time will heal yet memories scar, when the
hurt’s so deep, a bridge too far …
’

Charley felt her eyes moisten and her
throat constrict.

‘
In times of trouble, I need a
helping hand. I look for you, breathe for you, have a need for you
…
’

The words and tune combined to squeeze
at her heart, the song seeming to be a distillation of her enduring grief. A tear
escaped and rolled down her cheek. Still singing, Ash reached out with his own hand,
gently caressed her face and wiped away the tear.

A sudden flash lit up the scene. Ash
jerked
his hand back. Charley blinked in half-blinded surprise.

Outside the window, grinning like a
peeping Tom, was Gonzo.