Judging Sara

Chapter One

On a scale of one to ten, Sara Michaels decided James Smith’s kiss rated no more than a five. It wasn’t a great kiss; her pulse didn’t soar and her heart didn’t flutter like the heroines in the books she read. But it wasn’t bad, either. His lips were cool and dry, and though he kept his mouth firmly closed, he tasted like spearmint-flavored mouth-wash.

Impulsively she pulled James against her and returned the kiss with unusual gusto. Normally he kept a proper distance between them and she could sense his surprise when her body molded to his and her arms slipped up to encircle his neck.

He hesitated for only a second before his lips captured hers, more demanding this time. In that moment his rating rose to a six. Sara resisted a sudden impulse to run her fingers through his carefully coiffed hair or maybe even nuzzle his neck.

Sara stopped herself just in time. She could only imagine his response if she did something so foolish. He’d probably think she’d turned into some kind of wanton woman. Straight-as-an-arrow Sara a wanton woman? Laughter bubbled up from deep inside and tugged at the corners of her mouth. Unexpectedly a giggle slipped out.

Sara? James broke the contact and took a step back. His brows pulled together and she could see the hurt confusion in his eyes.

Shame flooded Sara. He probably thought she was laughing at him.

I don’t know what got into me. She touched his arm with her hand. I’m sorry.

James was a wonderful man, an honorable man. A man any woman would be lucky to call her own. The dozen yellow roses sitting on the side table in the crystal vase were a testament to his generosity and thoughtfulness. Even though he knew red was her favorite color, he’d chosen yellow for friendship rather than be presumptuous and pick the ones that stood for love.

Am I interrupting? Meg Stanley, Sara’s manager, stood in the doorway, a knowing smile on her face.

No, of course not. James just stopped by. With flowers. Sara swept a hand in the direction of the coffee table. Aren’t they lovely?

Beautiful, Meg said. Though she’d once told Sara she personally didn’t care much for James, she graciously cast an admiring glance at the flowers. You done good, James.

James winced, and Sara knew even though he understood that Meg’s grammatical error was intentional, it had still hurt his ear. Sometimes his insistence on perfect grammar got tedious, but he meant well.

Sara’s once-abysmal grammar had improved dramatically over the past year, thanks to James’s tutelage. Of course, he insisted that, as her publicist, honing her image was just part of his job.

What brings you by today? James’s gaze narrowed. I thought you were out of town this weekend.

I was. Meg dropped her purse to the floor and settled into a nearby chair. But I got a hot lead on a bodyguard for Sara.

Bodyguard? His blond brows slanted in a frown. I can’t believe you’re doing all this because of a few ridiculous notes. Don’t you think you’re overreacting?

I’m not overreacting and they’re not ridiculous. Meg’s blue eyes snapped. They’re threats against Sara. I would think you’d be more concerned. As her publicist, if nothing else.

That’s exactly why I am concerned, Meg. James didn’t bother to hide his displeasure.

Here we go again.

Sara took a seat on the Queen Anne sofa and waited for the battle to begin. The two had been arguing steadily about how to handle the matter since the day that Meg had discovered Sara had been receiving threatening notes and called the police.

James had been furious because of the possibility of bad press. Sara had deliberately played it cool. No one could suspect she knew more than she was telling.

The police had said that although the notes were disturbing, they weren’t threatening in the legal sense of the word. And that, even if they found the writer, they wouldn’t be able to prosecute.

Sara had thought that would be the end of it and Meg would let the matter drop. Obviously she’d been wrong.

C’mon, Meg. Sara kept her tone light. Having a bodyguard could cause all sorts of unnecessary talk.

I agree, James added.

I agree, too, Meg said.

You do? Sara and James spoke as one.

Of course. Meg’s lips curved up in a slight smile. That’s why I thought we’d say he was your new boyfriend.

Boyfriend?! Sara’s voice came out as a high-pitched squeak.

Absolutely not. James crossed his arms across his chest and a hint of sheen graced his forehead.

Okay. Meg shrugged. Have it your way. I’m not inflexible. If you only want Crow as your bodyguard, that’s fine too.

Crow? A faint image of a martial arts master flashed through Sara’s mind. You’ve got to be kidding.

Tell me you haven’t been drinking.

Meg gasped.

James! Sara slugged him in the arm. What in the world has gotten into you?

Although Meg freely admitted she’d been an alcoholic, James also knew she hadn’t had a drink in five years. She’d quit drinking the year before she’d taken over handling Sara’s career and she’d been sober since.

I’m sorry, Meg, James said, sounding remorseful. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.

Apology accepted, Meg said smoothly with no expression on her face, but her eyes were stony with anger. To answer your question. No, I haven’t been drinking. And no, I’m not kidding. Not at all.

I seem to be putting my foot in my mouth a lot today, so I hope you don’t take this wrong. James moved to stand behind Sara and his hand dropped to rest loosely on her shoulder. But it appears to me that having a bodyguard or not having a bodyguard is Sara’s decision, not yours.

I’m her manager. And her friend. Meg’s gaze shifted to Sara. Unless that’s not what you want anymore.

Meg’s expression was carefully controlled but her hands were knotted on her lap. Sara knew Meg realized the chance she was taking, pushing the issue.

It was no secret that for months James had been trying to get Sara to move her management contract to a firm run by one of his friends. A firm he said had the ability to make her into a superstar.

Sara. You don’t want this investigation pushed, James said persuasively. You’ve told me so yourself.

That much was certainly true. The thought of what such an investigation might uncover turned Sara’s blood cold. But the thought of hurting Meg, who’d been more of a mother to her than her own had ever been, was unbearable.

Dear God, please help me.

Meg is talking bodyguard, James, Sara said finally, flashing a reassuring smile at her manager. Not a P.I. or a cop. Right, Meg?

Meg hesitated for a moment and then nodded. That’s right.

Well, then. Sara smiled brightly. I don’t see any problem. But I’m not sure when I’ll be able to meet this Mr. Crow—

It’s just Crow, Meg interrupted. And as far as when, why not now?

Now? Sara frowned.

Now is as good a time as any. Meg rose from the overstuffed chair. He’s in the foyer waiting. I’ll go get him.

He’s here? Sara forced herself to remain calm. She needed to slow things down. The trouble was, she didn’t know how to do that without arousing suspicion. Still, he was only a bodyguard. And he would be working for her.

You certainly didn’t waste any time getting this all arranged, James said.

A self-satisfied smile crossed Meg’s face. Sara pays me to keep on top of things.

He stiffened as though Meg had struck him.

Sara hid a smile. One of James’s selling points for the new firm was that they’d keep on top of the changes in the industry. But in the year he’d been her publicist, he’d never taken the time to get to know Meg. Or to give her any credit.

In Sara’s mind, there wasn’t a better manager in the business. And it didn’t surprise her in the least that Meg had come with all her ducks in a row, fully prepared.

What are we waiting for? Sara said. Bring him in.

Salvadore Crow Tucci shifted uncomfortably on the rock-hard settee and glanced down at his watch.

The fifteen minutes of waiting had been pure torture. Unlike many guys who could sit in a recliner all afternoon watching football, Crow needed activity—the more physical the better.

That’s why he’d chosen law enforcement after graduating from college instead of becoming a physician like his brother Nick, or a lawyer like his other brother Tony.

At first his parents had been supportive. But when he’d gotten promoted and gone undercover, all that changed. His mother’s fears skyrocketed out of control. She was certain every time he took an assignment that his cover would be blown and he’d get shot. His father worried more about him adopting a new identity for weeks or months than he did about the physical danger.

Crow had dismissed these concerns. And for the first three years he had little difficulty separating his personal life from the life he led as an undercover cop. But recently he’d noticed a subtle shift. He’d started to feel more like Crow than Sal. He’d become suspicious and cynical and his temper had started to flare at the slightest provocation. That’s when he’d decided it was time for a break.

He’d put in for a leave of absence, not knowing what he’d do for six months, but at that point not really caring. When the chief asked him if he might want to take on an assignment helping out an old friend of his, it almost seemed like the offer had been heaven-sent.

Of course, Crow didn’t believe in heaven. And Sal used to, but he wasn’t so sure even he did anymore.

Regardless, here he was, in the home of Sara Michaels, a rising star on the Christian music scene, wondering if he’d lost his mind. He’d spent four years surrounded by drug addicts and hardened criminals. Now he’d be guarding a twenty-five-year-old woman the critics said had a voice like an angel, while trying to find out who was so determined to bring her down to earth.

Her manager, a nice woman with a lot of street smarts, had insisted up one side and down the other that her client had nothing to hide. But Crow wasn’t convinced. It had been his experience that where there was smoke, there was usually fire.

Actually the investigation was the part that Crow liked best about being a cop—trying to find all the parts to the puzzle and put them together until it all made sense.

Barely perceptible footsteps sounded on the wooden floor. Instantly alert, Crow rose, his whole attention focused on the sound.

Meg rounded the corner and stopped short at his intense expression, her eyes widening in surprise. Hold your fire. I come in peace.

Looks like you made it out alive, he said. Meg had told him she wanted to talk to her client in private first. He had his own reservations about playing the role of Sara Michaels’s boyfriend, but on the other hand it might be a nice change from the hyped-up junkie types he’d been portraying for the past several years. How’d it go?

It’s a no-go on the boyfriend thing. So you don’t have to make an appointment with the barber. She smiled brightly. Not yet anyway.

Crow thought about telling her that cutting his shoulder-length hair had never been an option. It had taken him too long to grow it out. And, though he hadn’t yet decided if he was going to return to the narcotics unit once his leave was up, he’d always been a firm believer in keeping his options open. But it was a moot point now. How are you going to explain my presence then?

It didn’t matter to him, but it had seemed to be a big concern of hers. When he’d met with her and the chief yesterday, he must have heard the words adverse publicity a hundred times. That’s why she’d initially come up with the boyfriend cover story.

Sara agreed some protection might be warranted, Meg said quickly. I think if anyone asks, we should just say it’s a precaution in light of what happened to that country singer last month.

Okay by me, Crow said.

One more thing. Meg’s gaze met his. She thinks that you’re just some bodyguard I hired.

He hesitated, measuring her for a moment. What are you saying?

Sara is adamant about not having a P.I. or cop involved. So I think, for now, it would be best to keep the fact that I’ve hired you to do some investigation just between the two of us.

I don’t like it. Crow narrowed his gaze. I need her cooperation to make this work.

It may be a little more difficult, Meg conceded. But I’m sure you’ve faced many difficult situations in your years on the force and prevailed.

Maybe. Crow wondered what the woman had against cops. She had to be hiding something. But what could it be? In preparation for this assignment, Crow had pored over dozens of articles. The singer had a squeaky-clean image.

For now anyway.

Someone obviously knew something that could turn this young woman’s life upside down. Had she dabbled in drugs and sex? Maybe even had some brushes with the law?

His initial run on her hadn’t turned up anything but whatever her secret was, he’d discover it. Whether she wanted him to or not.

Here he is. The door swung open and Meg entered the room with a large dark-haired mountain of a man at her side. He’s perfect, don’t you think?

Sara’s mouth went dry and her heart picked up speed. It took all her strength to pull her gaze from his.

Perfect?

Sara had always used that word to describe James—James, who was tall, blond and beautiful. With compelling gray eyes, firm features and a confident set of his shoulders, her publicist garnered admiring glances wherever they went. His hair was always cut in the latest style and his clothing choices complemented his conservative nature. Thanks to regular workouts in a local gym, James’s body was well toned but not overly muscular.

But the man before her was anything but perfect. He looked like