Free Bodyguard: Target by Chris Bradford Page B

with
chopped dyed-red hair, ruby lips and a cosmeticallyyouthful face, Kay Gibson was a
daunting bombshell of a woman. Record company executives admired her striking looks
as much as they feared her brutal negotiation tactics and sharp business acumen.
Within the music industry, she was known as the Red Devil or the Ruby Angel,
depending on which side of the table one sat, for Kay was deeply loyal and
protective of her artists andalways struck the best deal for them.
    ‘Glad to see you’re not
wasting your free time,’ she remarked, eyeing the TV remote in his hand.
    Ash sighed. ‘I need to get out of
here.’
    ‘Soon.’
    ‘That’s what you always say.
I’ve been living in this hotel room for almost two months!’
    Kay gazed round at the fine furnishings,
four-poster bed and original artwork lining thewalls. ‘You don’t have
any complaints about the room, do you?’
    ‘No, it’s just that
I’d like to be in my own place again,’ he explained, pulling himself
into a sitting position. ‘I can’t write here.’
    Kay raised a manicured eyebrow in alarm.
‘That’s not good. But I’ve told you – it isn’t easy
acquiring new property in London. Especially one that’s exclusive and secureenough to meet your needs, but …’ Her green eyestwinkled with promise. ‘I’m pleased to say I’ve found you one
at last.’
    Ash stared at her in disbelief.
‘Really? So when do I move in?’
    ‘With any luck, by the
weekend.’
    Ash leapt off the sofa, whooping with
delight.
    ‘But we need to tighten your
security arrangements,’ she warned. ‘We don’t want your newaddress being revealed. Just because that letter bomb turned out to be a fake
doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take any threat seriously.’
    The mention of the bomb punctured
Ash’s buoyant mood. ‘Have the police found out who sent it yet?’
he asked.
    Kay shook her head. ‘They’ve
still no leads. The only fingerprints on the packaging were yours and Big T’s.
The police concludeit was a well-planned hoax.’
    ‘Is their investigation over
then?’
    Kay nodded. ‘I’m afraid so.
With no postmark or any other clues, they say there’s nothing they can
do.’
    ‘But it wasn’t exactly
standard hate mail, was it?’
    Kay put a motherly arm round him.
‘It’s a one-off. Think of it as a status symbol. It means you’re
officially famous now.’
    ‘Wow, that’sreassuring,’ muttered Ash.
    ‘Don’t get down about it.
All the great artists receive death threats and acquire their own stalkers. Madonna.
Lennon. Beyoncé –’
    ‘But wasn’t John Lennon
killed by his stalker?’ interrupted Ash.
    Kay looked pained.
‘Bad example. But you don’t have to worry – you’ve got Big T
as your bodyguard. And considering what’s happened I’ve employedhim
full-time now. He’s worth his weight in gold. Not literally, of course; that
would cost us a small fortune.’ She laughed at her own joke, then became
serious again. ‘But if that had been a real bomb Big T would have saved your
life.’
    Ash fell silent, his brush with death a
chilling thought.
    ‘I’ve something
that’ll put a smile back on your face,’ said his manager,fishing into
the pocket of her tailored suit. ‘The master of your new single!’
    She produced a memory stick. Grinning,
Ash took it from her and plugged it into the portable recording studio set up in the
corner of the room. He’d been waiting for his producer to put the final
touches to the recording. Switching on the monitors, he loaded the file labelled
Indestructible
into his computer’s media player. A driving beat
in the vein of Michael Jackson’s ‘Billie Jean’ pulsed from the
speakers. A throbbing bass line amplified the groove, then a guitar riff kicked in
as Ash launched into the opening verse.
    ‘This song is going to make you a
megastar like no other!’ declared Kay, tapping her foot to the beat.
    As the song hit the chorus, Ash’smobile phone beeped. He glanced at the screen and