Wyoming Cowboy Bodyguard. Nicole Helm

Zach asked casually, taking a bite of the eggs, which were perfectly cooked.

      “Because he’s perfect?”

      “You wanted to divorce him,” he pointed out. “He can’t be perfect. No one is.”

      “Or that’s exactly why I wanted to divorce him.”

      He studied her. The lifted chin, the challenge in her eyes. “Yeah, I don’t buy that.”

      Her shoulders slumped. “Yeah, our families didn’t, either. Neither did he, for that matter. I don’t know how to explain... Do we really have to discuss my very public divorce?”

      “Yeah. We really do. The more I understand, the better I can find the pattern.”

      “And if it’s not him?”

      “Then the pattern won’t say it is.”

      “People aren’t patterns, Zach. They’re not always rational, or sane.”

      “Yeah, I’m well aware, but routine stalkers are methodical. It’s not a moment of rage. It’s not knee-jerk or impulse. It’s planned terrorizing. Murder of your bodyguard? There was no struggle. It was planned. This person is methodical, which means if I can figure out their methodology, I can figure this out.”

      She heaved out a sigh. “You believe that.”

      “I know that.”

      “Fine. Fine. Why did I file for divorce against Jordan? I don’t know. It’s complicated. It’s all emotions and... Did your parents love each other?”

      Unconcerned with the abrupt change, because every thread led him somewhere, he nodded. “Very much.”

      “Mine didn’t. Or maybe they did, but it was warped. It hurt.”

      He thought about his brother, alone in a psych ward, still lost to whatever had taken a hold of his mind. “Love often does.”

      “You got someone?”

      “Not romantically.”

      “Family, then?”

      He nodded.

      “I used to think loving my brother didn’t hurt, not even a little—not the way loving my father did, or even my mom. Vaughn was perfect, and always did the right thing. He protected me and loved me unconditionally. But this hurts, thinking he could be in danger because of me.”

      “He’s a Texas Ranger.”

      “That doesn’t make him invincible. He also has a wife and two little girls and...” She swallowed, looking away from him. “I can’t...”

      “The best thing for ‘I can’t’ is figuring this out. Looking at the patterns, and finding who’s at the center.”

      “You really think you can do that?”

      “I do. With your help.”

      She nodded. “Okay. Okay. Well, sit back and relax, cowboy. The story of Daisy Delaney and Jordan Jones is a long one.”

      He lifted the coffee mug to his lips to try and hide his smile. “We’ve got nothing but time, Daisy.”

       Chapter Four

      “We met at a party.” It was still so clear in Daisy’s head. She’d stepped outside for air, and he’d followed. He’d complimented her on her music—never once mentioning her daddy.

      She’d been a little too desperate for that kind of compliment at the time. She’d made a name for herself, but only when that name directly followed her father’s.

      “And this was before any of Jordan’s success?”

      Zach sat there, poised over his computer like he’d type it all out. Jot down her entire marriage in a few pithy lines and then find some magical pattern that either found Jordan culpable or...not.

      “My brother looked into Jordan, you know.”

      “Yes, I know. I have all the information he gathered in regards to the...let’s call it external stuff. But there’s a lot of internal stuff I doubt you shared with your brother.”

      She laughed. “But you think I’ll share it with a complete stranger?”

      Zach blew out a breath, and though he had to be irritated with her, it didn’t really show in the ways she was used to people being irritated with her.

      “I know this is personal,” Zach said, all calm and even and perfectly civil. “It hurts to mine through all these old things you thought were normal parts of a normal life. I’m not trivializing what you might feel, Daisy. I’m trying to understand someone’s motivation for stalking and terrorizing you, and murdering your bodyguard.”

      “So you can find your precious pattern?” she asked, her throat too tight to sound as callous as she wanted to sound.

      “Yeah, the precious pattern that might save your life.”

      She wanted to lean her head against the table and weep. Somehow, she had no doubt Zach would be kind and discreet about it, and it made her perversely more determined to keep it together. “He was sweet, and attentive. We had a lot in common, though he’d grown up on some hoity-toity, well-to-do Georgia farm and I’d grown up on the road. Still, the way he talked about music and his career made sense to me. He made sense to me. He asked me to marry him assuring me that it didn’t have to change my career—because he knew where my priorities were.”

      “So you married for love?”

      “Isn’t that why people get married?”

      “People get married for all sorts of reasons, I think. In your case, you’ve got fame and money on your side.”

      “Are you suggesting Jordan married me for my fame and money?”

      “No, I’m asking if he did.”

      “I didn’t think so.” Even after she’d asked for a divorce, she hadn’t thought Jordan could be that cold and manipulative, but after everything that had happened since the divorce... “He was so careful about any work we did together. Had to make sure it was the right project. He didn’t insinuate himself into my career. So it didn’t seem that way...”

      “But?”

      She didn’t like the way he seemed to understand where her thoughts were going. She was clearly telegraphing all her feelings, and Zach was too observant. She needed to pull her masks together.

      “He didn’t fight me on the divorce. We’d grown apart. He’d thrown everything into his tour, his album, and I was touring and... We were both sort of bitter with each other but couldn’t talk about it. I said we should end it and he agreed. He agreed. So simple, so smooth. Everything that came after was... calculated. Careful. He wanted us to split award shows.”

      “Huh?”

      “Like choose which award shows we’d attend. If he was going to be at one, I wouldn’t be. Like they were holidays you split the kids between. I don’t know. I remember when my parents got divorced, it was screaming matches and throwing things and drunkenness. Not...paperwork.”

      “So it was amicable?”

      Daisy hesitated. She’d dug her own grave, so to speak, with some of her behavior after she’d asked for the divorce. Because when he’d politely accepted her request and immediately obtained the necessary paperwork, she’d been...

      Sometimes she tried to convince herself her pride had been injured, but the truth was she’d been devastated. She’d thrown out divorce as an option to get some kind of reaction out of him, to ignite a spark like they’d had before they’d gotten married.

      But