LITMIR.BIZ

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head spun and nausea threatened again as she swayed.

      ‘Whoa,’ Blake said, reaching for her, his big hand covering most of her forearm. ‘Easy there.’

      Ava shut her eyes for a moment concentrating on the grounding effect of his hand, and the dizziness passed. ‘I’m fine now,’ she said, shaking off his hand, reaching automatically for the back of her head where a decent lump could already be felt. She prodded it gently and winced.

      ‘Got a bit of an egg happening there?’ Blake enquired. ‘Sorry about that,’ he apologised gruffly. ‘I just kind of reacted.

      Ava blinked. Blake Walker had been magnificent. ‘I’m pleased you did. I didn’t know what was happening for a moment or two. Was that really gunfire?’

      Blake stood, using the bench and his good leg again. ‘Yep,’ he said grimly. A sound all too familiar to him but not one he’d thought he’d ever hear again. Certainly not in trendy Hampstead Village. He held his hand out to her. ‘Here, grab hold.’

      Ava didn’t argue, just took the proffered help. When she was standing upright again, another wave of nausea and dizziness assailed her and she grabbed him with one hand and the bench with the other. She was grateful for his presence, absorbing his solidness and his calmness as reaction set in and the trembling intensified. His arm slid around her back and she leaned into him, inhaling the maleness of him—cut timber and a hint of spice.

      She felt stupidly safe here.

      ‘Sorry,’ she murmured against his shoulder as she battled an absurd urge to cry. ‘I don’t usually fall apart so easily.’

      Blake shut his eyes as she settled against him. Her chest against his, their hips perfectly aligned. She smelled like wine and the faint trace of coconut based sunscreen. He turned his head slightly until his lips were almost brushing her temple. ‘I’m guessing this hasn’t been a very usual day.’

      Her low shaky laugh slid straight into his ear and his hand at the small of her back pressed her trembling body a little closer.

      ‘You could say that,’ she admitted, her voice husky.

      And they stood like that for long moments, Blake instinctively knowing she needed the comfort. Knowing how such a random act of violence could unsettle even battle-hardened men.

      The first distant wail of a siren invaded the bubble and he pulled back. ‘The cavalry are here,’ he murmured.

      Blake stuck close to Ava’s side, his hand at her elbow. ‘Watch the glass,’ he said as a stray piece crunched under his sturdy boots. Her feet were bare, her toenail polish the same red as her bikini.

      He could hear the sirens almost on top of them now, loud and urgent, obviously in the street. He flicked on the tap and removed the cloth. ‘Put it under,’ he instructed. ‘I’ll go get the door.’

      * * *

      An hour later Ava’s house was like Grand Central Station—people coming and going, crossing paths, stepping around each other. Uniformed and plain-clothed police went about their jobs, gathering evidence. Yellow crime-scene tape had been rolled out along the wrought-iron palings of her front fence and there were enough flashing lights in her street to outdo Piccadilly Circus in December. They reflected in the glass that had sprayed out onto the street like a glitter ball at some gruesome discotheque.

      And then there was the gaggle of salivating paparazzi and the regular press who’d been cordoned off further down and none too happy about it either. Shouting questions at whoever happened to walk out of the house, demanding answers, calling for an immediate statement.

      Safely inside, Ava felt her head truly thumping now. They’d been over what had happened several times with several different police officers and her patience was just about out. Her agent, Reggie Pitt, was there—a pap had rung him—to protect her interests, but it was Blake she looked to, who she was most grateful to have by her side.

      ‘Is there anyone you know who’d do this to you or has reason to do this to you?’ Detective Sergeant Ken Biddle asked.

      Blake frowned at the question. The police officer looked old as dirt and as if nothing would surprise him—like one or two sergeant majors he’d known. But Blake had felt Ava’s fear, felt the frantic beat of her heart under his and didn’t like the implication.

      ‘You think there’s any reason to shoot up somebody’s house and scare the bejesus out of them?’ he growled.

      The police officer shot him an unimpressed look before returning his attention to Ava. ‘I mean anyone with a grudge? Get any strange letters lately?’

      Ava shrugged. ‘No more than usual. All my fan mail goes to Reggie and he hands anything suss on to you guys.’ Reggie nodded in confirmation of the process.

      Blake stared at her. ‘You get hate mail?’

      Ava nodded. ‘Every now and then. Pissed-off wives, guys who think I’ve slighted them because I didn’t sign their autograph at a rope line, the odd jealous colleague. Just the usual.’

      ‘But no one in particular recently?’ Ken pressed.

      Reggie shook his head. ‘No.’

      ‘We’ll need to see them all.’

      Reggie nodded. ‘You guys have got a whole file of them somewhere.’

      Ken made a note. ‘I’ll look into it.’

      ‘Excuse me,’ a hovering paramedic interrupted. ‘We’d really like to get Ms Kelly to the hospital to X-ray her head and get her hand stitched up.’

      The police officer nodded, snapping his notebook shut. ‘Do you have somewhere you can stay for a while? I would advise you not to return here while the investigation is being carried out and the culprits are still at large. Hopefully we can close the case quickly but until then lying low is the best thing that you can do.’

      Reggie shook his head. ‘Impossible. She’s up for a new commercial—she has a call back in LA in two days. And she’s booked on half a dozen talk shows in the US next week to promote her new perfume.’

      Blake bristled at the agent’s obvious disregard for his client’s safety—wasn’t he supposed to put Ava first? But the police veteran was already on it.

      ‘Cancel them.’

      Reggie, who was a tall, thin streak with grey frizzy hair and round wire glasses sitting on the end of his nose, gawped like a landed fish. ‘You don’t just cancel, Detective Sergeant’ he said, scandalised.

      ‘Look, Mr Pitt, in my very long experience in the London Metropolitan Police force I can tell you that the best way to avoid trouble is to not go looking for it. Your client enjoys a high public profile, which, unfortunately, makes her very easy to find. Every pap in London knows where she lives, for example.’

      ‘I’ll get her a private security detail,’ Reggie blustered.

      ‘That is of course your prerogative,’ the policeman conceded. ‘But my advice would still be to lie low, which, by the way, would also be the advice any security person worth their salt would give you.’

      Blake decided he liked Ken Biddle after all. He seemed solid. He obviously knew his stuff and didn’t suffer fools gladly. And he clearly thought Reggie was an A-grade fool.

      Reggie shot the police officer an annoyed look before turning to Ava. ‘I’ll get you booked into a hotel, darling. Get some security organised first thing in the morning.’

      Blake also decided Reggie was an A-grade fool. ‘I don’t think you’re listening, mate,’ Blake said. ‘I think the detective sergeant knows what he’s on about. It sounds like it might be best for her to go dark for a while.’

      ‘Ava, darling,’ Reggie appealed to her. ‘I think they’re making a mountain out of a molehill.’

      ‘Someone freaking shot up her house,’

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