Page 6 of Trust My Bodyguard

“I know.” She keeps her head bowed. “I’ve got you at least. Some people don’t have a badass social worker sister on their side.”

My lips twitch. “I’ve never heard badass and social worker in the same sentence.”

“Really?” She raises an eyebrow. “I should call you that more often then.”

The elevator stops and we get off. We pad across the carpeted hallway floor in companionable silence toward my apartment door.

“Hold on.” I grab Iris’s arm, stopping just before my apartment door.

“What—” She stops, probably seeing what I’m seeing. “I didn’t leave the door open. I promise.”

“I know.” I edge forward, my heart climbing into my throat.

“Ivy,” she says in a hushed tone. “Someone might be in there.”

I know but I have to see. I creep closer until I’m standing in front of the open door. A boot print lines the center of the door where it must have been kicked open.

“Do you think it’s them?” Iris asks behind me.

I’m shaking. This building is supposed to be safe. We need keycards to enter. A stranger shouldn’t be able to come in. Especially not one that can gain access to my apartment. “We don’t know that.”

“It’s them, isn’t it?” Iris whispers.

I spin around to find my sister on the verge of tears. Her face has turned pink and her lips are trembling. “Hey, hey.” I pull her into my arms and hug her tightly. My god. She’s shivering. “It’s okay.”

When she was in the hospital, Iris confessed she didn’t want to continue in the music industry. She told our parents this a year ago but they coerced her into continuing. She’d reached her breaking point and she couldn’t return to the stage. I immediately fulfilled her wishes drawing up a letter for her label and a notice to the public.

Ever since, she has been receiving messages from fans. Some wish her well. Some plead for her to reconsider. Others are more forceful. Threatening. Obsessive.

We went to the police and they assured us it would blow over. Fans can be a bit over the top. I’ve handled her social media since to keep her unaware of the worst messages.

But this, this is one I can’t hide her from.

I hurry to my neighbor’s house and knock at the door.

Yolanda opens up. “Hi—”

I barrel right past her, pulling Iris along. I deposit her on the chair and wipe off her tear-stained cheeks.

“Ivy, what’s happening?” Yolanda stands over us, wringing her hands. “Is everything alright? I heard a bang down the hall earlier, but I was too afraid to check.”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t. Did you lock your front door? Lock the door.”

Yolanda hurries off and returns, her features etched with concern.

I grab my phone from my purse. “I’ve got to make a call.”

I head to the window and pull down a blind to take in the surrounding area. Nothing looks suspicious in the night as passersby go about their business.

The call to the police goes through. I forgo any pleasantries and go right down to business. “I would like to speak to Detective Callum Holton, please.”

He was the one who took the complaint about the threats Iris had been receiving. He was attentive and sympathetic and seemed competent. If any officer would understand the gravity of what we face now, it would be him.

“I will connect you to him,” the voice says. “Stay on the line.”

I glance over my shoulder as I wait. Yolanda and Iris stare in my direction. Iris is hunched over a glass of water and a blanket rests on her shoulders.

“I’m calling the cops,” I explain, pointing at the phone.

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