Silent Nights

Chapter One

Melissa Mays rested her chin on the palm of her hand and stared out the heavily tinted SUV window as the icy roadside of East Montauk Highway flew by outside. The upscale, infamous scenery of The Hamptons whizzed by in a never-ending blur of trees and multi-million dollar properties, each of them illuminated in displays of opulent holiday cheer. It was a wet and chilly December afternoon, but in the back seat of the luxury vehicle, Melissa was warm, dry, and surrounded by the sounds of the season. Tinkling bells, easy guitar riffs, and the harmonized voices of a quintet of crooning men flowed over the radio as they sang about the joys of rocking around the clock.

Ay, it’s one of Mr. Szink’s songs!

The driver’s eyes were merry and bright in the rearview mirror as he turned up the volume on the radio. Al, the amiable chauffeur that had been shuttling her from the airport for the last hour was the very cliché of a New York City taxi cab driver. Thanks to his gregarious, talkative nature, Melissa had already begun to warm up to the kindly man behind the wheel.

Yeah, I remember, she said, throwing a raised eyebrow at her rearview reflection. This song was on the radio non-stop during Christmastime in my senior year of high school.

Seems like only yesterday the boys released this one, he chuckled. Twenty years. Man that went by fast.

Don’t remind me, Melissa groaned, pulling out her notebook. So have you been Nick’s chauffeur for this entire time then?

Yup, Al said, turning onto a long tree-lined drive. Since right before he struck out on his own and really made it big. He was good to keep me on all these years.

The vehicle slowed as it came to an arched wrought-iron gate with twin Zs adorning each side. Melissa whipped her head around as they passed through the very open and accessible entrance located right off the main highway. Anyone could easily turn onto the driveway and enter the property unchecked. She frowned and jotted down another note in her book. Strike one.

There’s no secure keyed entry into this place? she asked.

Al shook his head.

Not until you get to the front door, he said. Mr. Z says he doesn’t like to feel caged in.

That’s going to have to change, Melissa sighed.

As the SUV traveled down a path of barren trees, their idyllic snow-covered destination was revealed. Situated on a rocky stretch of Atlantic beach, the three-story shingle-style brick mansion was illuminated with what appeared to be thousands of white lights. The picturesque, stately home glowed against the hazy late afternoon sky like the cover of a Martha Stewart Living magazine. As if the entire scene weren’t infused with enough Christmas cheer, an enormous artificial tree decorated in multicolor lights and bulbs stood at the center of a paved roundabout in the front of the house. However, despite the impeccably landscaped setting blanketed in snow and the frosty winter air, Melissa’s mood was anything but festive.

As she stepped out of the SUV and surveyed the exterior of the home, the low heel of Melissa’s combat boots crunched against the paved driveway. Her eye was instantly drawn to an ancient camera mounted by the front door, its exposed wires begging to be cut. A three-car garage to the left of the roundabout had every bay open, with two sports cars accessible and in plain sight. The path to the backyard was also wide open and featured a visible straight shot to the covered in-ground pool. Strikes two and three. It was clear that she had her work cut out for her.

A puff of exasperated vapor filled the air as Melissa followed Al up the paved front steps to a set of glass-front French double doors. A giant wreath decorated in bulbs and oversized red bows adorned each door, but also blocked the view of whoever was on the other side. The wreaths would have to come down as well. As the shadow of a man approached on the other side of the frosted glass doors, Melissa threw back her shoulders, straightened her spine, and steeled herself for what was to come.

Hello, Al, a man’s voice said. Is this her?

Al cleared his throat and stepped back to reveal a short, bespectacled man in a three-piece suit. His expression was nowhere near as bright and cheerful as the exterior of the home.

Miss Mays, this is Gerald Dean, Mr. Szink’s manager.

Melissa’s eyes flicked up to Al’s and then back at the dour-faced man. She held out her hand in greeting.

Nice to meet you, Mr. Dean, she said.

Call me Gerry.

The man in the doorway turned on his heel without so much as acknowledging her gesture and took off down a long corridor. Melissa flexed her rejected hand into a fist and swallowed down a ball of anger. The manager’s heels echoed against the cavernous walls of the home as Melissa stood in the entryway, speechless as she attempted to shake off the sting. Al glanced back down at her and shrugged.

You’ll get used to it. Gerry is a jerk to everyone.

Melissa bit her tongue and offered an exaggerated smile as she followed Al across the threshold into the mansion. She highly doubted that she would get used to anyone being a jerk to her. Thankfully, the foyer was much warmer and inviting than her chilly reception.

You can take your coat off if you want, Al said. Mr. Z doesn’t have a doorman or anything, but I can hang it up for you.

That’s another thing that’s going to have to change too, she said, unzipping her puffer coat. Why isn’t there more staff here, Al? This place is huge.

He shook his head.

I dunno. Mr. Z enjoys his privacy. I don’t think he likes to rely on too many people.

Makes sense, she said, her eyes darting to every corner of the room.

Melissa handed Al her jacket and followed him through the maze-like corridor of the estate, all the while making mental notes of spaces that would require security checks. She hadn’t given much thought to what the home of her client might look like before she arrived; Melissa assumed it would probably smell of cheap drug store body spray and be littered with empty energy drink cans and video game controllers. But those were her assumptions of Nick Z from twenty years ago.

Al led her to a large living space where her client’s manager was waiting, his face still painted with the same unpleasant expression. However, it wasn’t the displeased manager that caught her eye, but the sleek yet comfortable styling of the room. Overstuffed leather chairs, a geometric patterned rug and a crackling, cozy fire made the room a place that appeared to actually be lived in. The abstract wall art displayed on each side of the great room showed the sophisticated tastes of a man, not some wild boy band idol. By the looks of the neat, modern space, it was apparent that the most popular member of 2Real had grown up.

Mr. Szink is finishing up with his personal trainer, Gerry said. I’ll let him know you’re here.

Al turned and motioned for her to take a seat on one of the couches.

I’ll let Celia know you’re waiting in here, too, Al said. She’s Mr. Z’s only housekeeper on staff. You want a coffee or something?

No, I’m fine, Melissa said, writing all of the new names in her notebook. Thanks for showing me in.

No sweat. I’m gonna go take your bags and your coat to your room then. If you want anything just tell Celia, she’ll get it for you.

Okay, thank you, Melissa laughed. Al waved goodbye and disappeared back down the hall the way he came. She eyed the plush couch but knew not to let herself get too comfortable. She was on the clock after all. As amiable as Al was, she still couldn’t believe that she was being left alone in her client’s house; her very vulnerable and threatened new client. Before she had too much more time to mull over her situation, a pair of harried footsteps clacked down the hall toward the formal sitting area. Melissa placed a hand on her core and sucked in a breath as the manager and her new client came into view.

I told you, Gerry. I don’t think this is necessary.

Melissa looked up from her notebook and locked eyes with one of the most infamous celebrities that the music industry ever churned out. The man standing before her was casually dressed in a gray sport tank and basketball shorts instead of the gold chain necklaces and outrageous designer suits he was known for. Soft crinkles had set in around a pair of icy eyes and his signature bleach blond curls had been replaced by an expertly groomed crop of salt and pepper hair. Despite the dramatic transformation from boy band heartthrob to silver fox crooner, Melissa could instantly tell it was him. Nick Z Szink had hired her of all people to be his bodyguard, and for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why.

Mr. Szink, she said, pulling her best stone-faced expression. Melissa Mays.

Melissa held out her hand and was pleasantly surprised this time as he accepted her reach. As she expected, Nick Z had the soft, warm hands of a man that didn’t have to do too much hard labor for himself. What she didn’t expect was for his shake to be so firm and strong.

Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting, he said, flashing a flawless, gleaming smile. Thank you for coming on such short notice.

No problem at all, Melissa said, scratching the bridge of her nose. Her eyes nearly betrayed her as they trailed toward his cut-from-stone arms glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. Keeping a flat and even expression was already proving to be difficult.

Let’s not beat around the bush, Gerry said, readjusting his frames. Miss Mays, we brought you on for a very special purpose.

Yes, about that, she said, tapping on her notebook. I would really love to talk to your head of security right away.

See, I don’t think this is really going to be necessary though, Nick said, turning to Gerry. I don’t want to waste anyone’s time. We can’t react like this just because of some silly prank.

This is more than a prank or a fan being out of line and you know it, Gerry said, his tone stern. Almost angry. Do you want to continue your Christmas tour or not?

Nick pursed his lips and sighed as his eyes flicked from