CHAPTER 18
Kate didn’t say a word the entire hike back to their trailers, but she bristled with questions. Cash could see it in the way her shoulders pinched, in the tightness around her mouth.
Gently, he steered her to his trailer. Better to show her than to simply tell her. As soon as he shut the door behind them, she turned to him, eyes snapping.
“How did you know? And why didn’t you say anything?”
“Your mother is Helene Montgomery. Your agent is Franco DiAngelo, who is an asshole, by the way. I didn’t want to compromise your safety in case you were in some kind of witness protection.”
Her face paled. “But how did you know?” she whispered.
He regarded her steadily for a moment, then headed for the bathroom.
“Answer me, Cash,” she called after him, trailing behind.
Holding her gaze in the mirror, he pulled off his shirt. Her eyes flashed hungrily as they tracked down his chest. His blood began to race. Would she still look at him like that when this was all over? If he had any say in it, she would.
Opening the medicine cabinet, he reached for his trimmer. “I could ask you the same thing. Why are you here? Pretending to be someone you’re not?”
Her brows scrunched together. “It’s not like that. I’m Kate. For real. I was born Kate Montgomery.”
“But the world knows you as Kaycee Starr.” He spoke without emotion, slowly trimming his beard back, so only a shadow remained.
Her shoulders slumped, and she leaned against the door jamb, nodding. “Yeah,” she whispered.
“Why are you here, Kate?”
Her gaze collided with his in the mirror, emotions flitting through her eyes with the speed of a newsfeed. “I wanted a fresh start. A chance to be me without… without all the garbage.”
He’d experienced the three-ringed circus she lived in, but still… to just disappear? “But why?”
She glared at him, then her face crumpled. “For starters, I lost my voice.” She spoke so softly, he had to strain to hear her over the buzz of the trimmer. “And vocal surgery didn’t make it better.” Her voice was laced with anguish. “My career is over. And once that news gets out, I’ll be ruined. The paparazzi will have a heyday. Vocal damage is like a big scarlet letter. People who beat down my doors to collaborate with me won’t even answer the phone. I’ve been performing since I was twelve. It’s all I know.”
He itched to take her in his arms.
“Why Prairie?”
She shrugged. “No reason. Cheyenne, the fiddle player in my band, had been here before. Said the people were nice and it was probably the last place the press would look for me.”
True.
She continued. “I know it’s selfish, but I wanted people to see me for me. Not my fame. Not my voice. Just plain ’ole Kate.”
He swept his clippings into the trash, and turned on the faucet, letting the water pour over his fingers until it ran hot. He rinsed out the sink, and applied a layer of foam to his jaw. “Nothing plain about you, Kate.”
He grabbed a razor, tensing his arm to keep his hand from trembling. Last thing he needed was a gash on his face. He pulled the skin on his cheek tight, and pulled the razor down. “You’re unforgettable. It doesn’t matter what color your hair is, or what your voice sounds like.”
He risked a glance at her in the mirror. She stared, transfixed, as bit by bit, the mask he’d hid behind washed down the drain. But there was no recognition on her face, at least not yet. His heart twisted painfully, but he gave himself a mental shake. Why would she remember him? They’d hardly spoken two words to each other. His job as protection wasn’t to be noticed, it was to keep her safe, and he’d failed. Better she shouldn’t remember him. He rinsed the razor and continued. “Your stalker is Eugene R. Williams, age forty-six. Arrested at Nissan Stadium on August 12th.”
“You could have read that in the paper,” she hissed, eyes glittering.
“I could have, but I didn’t.” His left hand started to tremble, and he grabbed a towel, pressing it to his face, heart punching a hole through his ribs. “I was there,” he spoke into the towel.
Dropping his hands, he braced himself on the edge of the sink, holding her gaze in the reflection. “Look closely, Kate.”
Her face was the picture of concentration as her eyes flicked over his face, taking in the details. She’d figure it out soon enough. He just needed to jog her memory a little more.
He lotioned his face, then spun, leaning on the edge and crossing his arms, staring at her hard. “Look at me,” he said roughly, a sudden surge of emotion making his voice thick. “Do you know who I am? Do you know why I recognized you the second I saw you?” He could hardly hear his voice through the buzzing in his ears.
Her eyes widened as recognition dawned on her face. Heat raced up his spine, his ears burned. He was going to be sick.
She snapped her fingers, as if calling the memory down. “Deuce. It’s Deuce, isn’t it? You laughed at my glitter.”
His lungs felt like a tourniquet had cinched them. He couldn’t fucking breathe as he braced for her hatred, for the look of condemnation that would surely break him.
She stared at him with a look of wonder. “You saved my life,” she breathed.
He shook his head, the air emptying from his lungs. “No. I nearly cost you yours.”