Into the Fury

Book 1: BOSS, Inc.

by Kat Martin

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Mystery; Thrillers

Synopsis

The first of three novels, Into the Fury follows Ethan Brodie, who's contracted as extra security for La Belle Lingerie when their top 10 models receive threatening letters. His job: to protect the ladies - and maybe find the culprit. The one rule: no fraternizing with any of the models. Having sworn off women indefinitely, he thinks he'll be able to handle it.

Then he meets Val, one of the threatened models, who's just trying to make some money, go back to school, and finish her veterinary degree. As the threat becomes real and someone dies, Ethan finds he wants to keep Val safe, and it's not just because of his job.

Release date: February 1, 2016

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 400

Sample

Seattle, Washington

Standing next to the long mahogany table in the conference room, Ethan Brodie reread the note he’d just been handed. Printed on a plain sheet of white paper, the ominous words were typed in different fonts and sizes, all of them in big bold letters.

Fairly old-school for the twenty-first century, Ethan thought. But then, e-mail was a helluva lot easier to trace.

The client, Matthew Carlyle, was head of operations for La Belle Lingerie, a retail fashion chain, kind of a knockoff of Victoria’s Secret with slightly less expensive garments. In his midforties, five ten, lean and fit, Carlyle had silver-threaded dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and a thin scar that ran close to his ear along his jaw.

The other man in the room was Ethan’s boss, his cousin Ian, owner of Brodie Operations Security Services, Inc.

“I imagine in the lingerie business you get threatening notes all the time,” Ethan said to Carlyle.

“We get kooks all right. Plenty of them.” Carlyle accepted the note Ethan returned. “But a letter like this was mailed to each of our ten top models, sent to them at our flagship store here in Seattle, and the company isn’t happy about it.”

“You talk to the police?”

“Not yet. We’d prefer to handle the problem discreetly, avoid any bad press. That’s why I came to BOSS, Inc. Ian and I have worked together before. I trust him to handle the problem.”

Ethan turned to his cousin, conservatively dressed in tan slacks and a yellow button-down shirt. While Ian was blond, Ethan was dark-haired, like most of the Brodie men. Both were tall, Ethan taller, at six foot three. “You have the notes checked for prints?” he asked.

“I did,” Ian said. “Papers were all clean. The letters were mailed out of different post office locations in the area so that led nowhere. Since the models are about to go on tour, Matt’s decided to temporarily beef-up La Belle security, just to be on the safe side.”

“Probably a good idea.” Though Ethan wished someone else was taking the job. The thought of traveling for weeks with a group of airheaded fashion divas was the last thing he wanted. Still, he worked for a living, and this was exactly the kind of job he was good at.

Silently communicating his dislike of the assignment, he flicked a hard glance at his cousin, whose blue eyes lit with amusement.

“Ethan’s the best man for the job,” Ian said, not the least repentant. “He’s an ex-cop, worked personal security for some of the top execs in the dot-com business. You can be sure he knows what he’s doing.”

Carlyle nodded. “I read his résumé. Looks like he can handle the job.” He returned his attention to Ethan. “Aside from working protection, you’re a private investigator, correct?”

“That’s right. Before I went to work in Seattle, I was a homicide detective on the Dallas police force.”

“Good. I’d really like to find the guy who sent those notes. I’ve got a feeling about this, and I’m not liking it. I’m hoping with your background, you’ll be able to sniff around, talk to the models and the hands backstage. If the guy’s part of the crew, we want him out.”

“I can do that.”

“You’ll need to be discreet. I don’t want people shook up before we go on tour. But it’d be best for everyone if you could come up with something that will help us track this bastard down.”

“Understood.” And he’d rather be busy than standing around waiting for trouble that probably wouldn’t come. With any luck, the most he’d have to worry about was crowd control and a few overzealous fans.

“How many more men do you think you’ll need?” Ian asked Carlyle. Though they’d gone into the conference room for privacy, they hadn’t bothered to sit down. The meeting wasn’t going to take that long.

“We’ve hired a couple of guys already, but we could use at least one more man with a background in personal protection.”

“That would be Dirk Reynolds,” Ian said. “I’ll talk to him, see if he can take the job.”

Dirk worked freelance for the company, same as Ethan and his brother, Luke, as well as his cousin, Nick. Nick was married. With his little wife pregnant, he preferred to stay close to home.

Luke was on a case. Even if he weren’t, his specialty was bail enforcement, not personal protection. Dirk Reynolds was one of Ethan’s best friends, a former Ranger and a damned good man.

“I’ll leave you two to discuss this further,” Ian said. “Matt, I’ll get back to you after I talk to Dirk.”

But Ethan figured his friend would take the job. The money was extremely good, and having just wound up an assignment, Dirk was currently looking for something to do. The tour might provide an interesting escape from Seattle.

Ethan thought of the weeks ahead and inwardly groaned. For him, babysitting a bunch of hot-bodied women in scanty underwear would be a twenty-four-hour-a-day headache. He’d had more than his share of trouble with the female sex—still did—and he didn’t want more.

“One thing I need to make clear,” Carlyle said as Ian walked out of the room and closed the door. “These are some of the most beautiful, sexiest women in the world. They’re every man’s fantasy. That’s the reason La Belle has a strict no-fraternization policy. There’s no way you can do your job if you’re thinking about getting laid. We expect you to be pleasant, but steer clear of anything more than that. You with me so far?”

“Oh, I’m with you.”

“I realize you’re only human, but I need to know you understand and accept our policy. Any breach is grounds for automatic dismissal.”

“All right. One thing you need to know. I wouldn’t accept the job if I thought my dick would get in the way. I admire a beautiful woman, same as any other man. But I’m being paid to do a job and that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

Carlyle seemed relieved. “I hope you’re speaking for your friend Reynolds as well.”

“Dirk’s a professional. Beyond that, he’ll have to speak for himself.”

“Okay. Sounds like we understand each other. We’ll be doing dress rehearsals for the rest of the week. Then our first show is here in Seattle on Saturday night. You can report to the Paramount Theatre at eight tomorrow morning. At that time, I’ll introduce you and Reynolds to the rest of your team and our ten top models. Just keep in mind what I said.”

Ethan made no reply. If Carlyle knew how much he wasn’t looking forward to meeting a gaggle of vain, self-absorbed females, he would probably do handstands. But actions spoke louder than words. It shouldn’t take the man long to figure out Ethan was off women indefinitely.

His ex-girlfriend, Allison Winfield, had done everything in her power to make sure of that.

“Oh my God. Would you look at the eye candy that just walked backstage?”

There was awe in her friend Megan O’Brien’s voice. As Val bent over to fasten the buckle on her strappy high heel, she tried for a glimpse but couldn’t actually see who’d just arrived.

Megan kept staring and just kept talking. “You see the one on the left? The guy with the sexy mustache? He looks like he walked out of a biker fantasy. He can knock on my door any time, day or night.” She rolled her eyes. “Especially at night. And the big one on the right turns the words tall, dark, and handsome into an understatement. I think I’m in love.”

Val finally looked up. Two men stood next to Matt Carlyle. One was about six two, good-looking, with medium brown hair, and a horseshoe mustache that framed his mouth, curved down to his jawline, and made him look like a real badass. A real sexy badass.

It was the bigger man who snared her attention, at least six three, with dark brown hair, dark eyes, and a face any red-blooded female would be hard-pressed not to admire. His hair was trimmed cop short and fit his hard-jawed, handsome face perfectly. The way he filled out his black T-shirt said he was two hundred pounds of solid male muscle.

When those dark eyes moved in her direction and skimmed lightly over her frame, an unexpected zing of electricity shot through her body.

“Who are they?” The little shot of awareness was new to her. Val was too busy for men. Being a La Belle model was difficult and demanding. At the same time, she was taking online college courses, getting ready to start a part-time job at the end of the tour and go back to school in the fall to finish her degree.

“They’re extra security,” Megan said. “After we got those threatening notes, Matt hired a few more men. The big guy’s heading up an additional team.” Megan sighed. “Those two look yummy enough to eat.”

“You know the rules. No fraternizing with the staff.”

“I know. I don’t usually care, but in this case . . .”

Val grinned. “Down, girl. Best not get your thong in a twist. Far as we’re concerned, they’re untouchable.”

“Yeah, more’s the pity.”

Val laughed. She glanced back at the men, saw the bigger man looking the other way, and enjoyed a long, unabashedly thorough appraisal. Sometimes pure masculine beauty deserved to be appreciated.

Hearing the voice of Daniel Clemens, the show’s choreographer, along with the light rustle of feminine laughter, reminded her where she was. Shoving the men into a far corner of her mind, Val went back to work on her shoe so she could take her place in the lineup with the rest of the models.

Carlyle gave Ethan and Dirk a brief tour of the theater where the girls were rehearsing and would later be performing the first show of the summer tour. The Paramount in downtown Seattle was a landmark, a performing arts theater that could seat up to twenty-eight-hundred people. Built in the twenties, it was a wildly ornate structure with gold leaf on the walls and Baroque plaster moldings overhead.

Carlyle looked up at the huge crystal-beaded chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, scanned the ornate designs painted on the walls. “I hope the setting doesn’t overpower the costumes,” he grumbled.

Ethan figured mostly naked women in sequins and feathers wouldn’t have much trouble holding the audience’s attention.

Carlyle led them toward a big muscle jock with a shaved head and earrings in his ears. “You need to meet our chief of security. He’s got his own crew, so hopefully you won’t be bumping into each other too much, but you need to know who’s who.”

Carlyle stopped in front of the beefy man, about Ethan’s height but bulked up more in the chest, arms, and shoulders. An overzealous Arnold Schwarzenegger. Ethan wondered how many hours a day he spent at the gym.

“Beau Desmond, meet Ethan Brodie,” Carlyle said. “The guy with the ’stache is Dirk Reynolds.”

Desmond reached out a hand and Ethan and Dirk both shook.

“Ethan’s heading up the additional security team we’ve hired. He’s also a PI, so he’ll be doing some digging, trying to find out who sent those notes.”

“Long as he keeps his nose out of my business he can do whatever he wants,” Desmond said.

One of Ethan’s eyebrows went up. So it was going to be a pissing contest. Who’s the toughest, who’s the best at his job. He’d been afraid of that when he’d spotted the earrings.

“I’ll do my best to stay out of your way,” Ethan said diplomatically. He was there to do a job. He’d do it with or without Beau Desmond.

“Make sure you do,” Beau said, determined to get the last word.

Carlyle made no comment, but clearly he had picked up on Desmond’s belligerent attitude. As they walked away, Dirk was grinning in anticipation. He loved nothing better than making a dickhead look like a fool.

“Beau’s good at his job,” Carlyle said. “Be helpful if you kept that in mind.”

“Oh, I will,” Ethan said.

Dirk wisely made no comment.

Leaving Beau Desmond behind, Carlyle led them into a room where four men stood drinking coffee. They each wore jeans and a black T-shirt with a white La Belle logo on the front left corner, the symbol for male and female, a round circle with a cross at the bottom and an arrow off the circle at the top.

The shirts made them easily identifiable as La Belle security. He and Dirk had been given a stack when they’d walked in that morning and each was wearing one now.

Carlyle made the introductions. “Listen up, you men. The guy on my right is Ethan Brodie. He’s heading up additional security for the show. That means the four of you. The guy next to him is Dirk Reynolds. They’re both professionals. They know what they’re doing, so listen and do what they say.”

The men introduced themselves one at a time. They all had some security experience, not much. A sandy-haired, thirtysomething parking lot guard named Sandowski, a tall beanpole of a guy named Walt Wizzy who had worked for Walmart. A Hispanic named Pete Hernandez who was built like a brick house but stood only about five foot six and, by the jut of his chin, probably had a little-man’s complex. Ethan figured if there was trouble in the group, Hernandez would be it.

A black guy named Joe Posey was an ex-cop, but he was older and out of shape. The men were hardly first-string, but Ethan figured unless something really bad went down, they would do just fine.

He gave the guys a brief rundown of what he expected them to do. “Your job is to keep people out of the theater who aren’t supposed to be here. With this many women around, there’s bound to be a handful of smart-asses who think they’re God’s gift. Handle them pleasantly but firmly. Whatever bullshit story they come up with, don’t let them anywhere near the models. You get in over your head with one or more of them, use your radio to call for backup. Questions?”

No one spoke.

“The second part of your job is to keep an eye out for anyone or anything that looks suspicious. Someone who has ill intent, no matter what it might be. Report anything out of the ordinary directly to me or Dirk, and don’t be afraid to say something, even if it seems insignificant. It’s always better to be safe than sorry.”

Joe Posey raised a dark hand. “I heard a rumor someone sent threatening notes to some of the models. That true?”

It was, but Carlyle didn’t want the media getting their hands on the information, turning the show into some kind of circus.

“These women model lingerie,” Ethan said. “They get all kinds of mail, some good, some not so good. Carlyle has his own men escorting the ladies to and from the theater, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

He ended by filling them in on what Carlyle had told him. “Rehearsals the rest of the week. They start at eight in the morning, go till they’re finished. We’re here before they get here until after they leave. The show is on Saturday night, then we travel. You all understand we’ll be spending some time on the road, right?”

The men rumbled an affirmative.

“One last thing: Keep your hands off the girls. No fraternizing, no hassling the women. Stick to that rule and we’ll get along just fine. Break that rule—you’re fired.”

They had all been warned, but it didn’t hurt to repeat the warning. “Now, I’d like you to spend some time getting familiar with the theater. You need to find all the nooks and crannies, places some joker could hide. Take your time and make it thorough.”

It was a task he and Dirk would be performing, too, as soon as Carlyle was finished with them. The group of men broke up and headed out the door.

Ethan turned to Carlyle, who had been standing quietly to one side. “What’s next?”

“Now I introduce you to our ten top models. There are thirty in all, but these are the stars of the show, the ones who got notes like the one I showed you. These are the women I’d like you to focus on.”

Carlyle led them out of the room, back to the rear of the stage, where all thirty models were lined up, ready to start rehearsing.

“There are five segments to the show,” Carlyle explained. “Countries of the World, Nashville, Devil-Angel, Winter Wonderland, and Diamond Jubilee. There’s a wrap with the entire cast, then we’re finished. Each of the women makes at least two costume changes. They’re working on the World segment now. Follow me.”

Ethan and Dirk followed Carlyle toward the group of women standing in a semicircle, taking direction from the choreographer of the show, who stood in front of them.

“That’s Daniel Clemens. He can be a little pissy, but he’s damn good at his job. We couldn’t do the show without him.”

For rehearsal, most of the women were wearing black leggings under a collection of very short skirts, cutoff jeans, long T-shirts, and cutoff sweatshirts.

“For the next few days they’ll be working on their routines. There’s a full dress rehearsal the day before the show. That’ll include final costume fittings, live orchestra, everything.”

Ethan’s gaze ran over the women. At least for the moment, they were decently covered. Their casual dress didn’t change the fact that each woman was incredibly beautiful, their faces right out of a magazine.

Carlyle roll-called ten names and the women came forward. A couple of redheads, five blondes, two brunettes, and an ebony-skinned beauty with amazing cheekbones and long jet-black hair.

Ethan flicked a glance at Dirk, who carefully kept his eyes straight ahead.

“Ladies, these men will be working as additional security while we’re on tour. Ethan Brodie is the big guy on the right. Dirk Reynolds is the guy with the ’stache.”

Carlyle smiled. “Do me a favor and cut them some slack. They have a job to do, same as you. It’s easier if they don’t have to contend with naughty smiles and flirty remarks.”

The women chuckled good-naturedly.

“Introduce yourselves. First names are enough. Start at the far end and work this way.”

A redhead stepped forward. “I’m Caralee,” she said with a soft Southern drawl.

“I am Katerina.” A beautiful, smiling blonde with a hint of Russia in her voice.

As the women each spoke their names, Ethan mentally attached the name to a face, knew Dirk would be doing the same. The redheads were Caralee and Megan. The blondes were Heather; Katerina, the Russian; Delilah, with very high cheekbones; Ursula—either German or Austrian; and Valentine.

The brunettes were Isabel, a young Sophia Loren look-alike; and Carmen, a pretty, dark-eyed Latina. The exotic ebony-skinned woman was Amarika. From Africa, maybe. He couldn’t be sure.

He let his gaze travel over the women a final time, paused for a moment on the one who called herself Valentine. He liked blondes, always had. All five of them had gleaming long blond hair, some straight, some wavy. Valentine’s was the color of honey. It curled softly down her back and swung around her shoulders.

She was maybe five nine, about an inch shorter than the redhead named Megan, who stood beside her. Most of the girls were around five ten; a couple, including Amarika, appeared to be at least six feet. All of them wore strappy high heels that pushed them up another five or six inches.

In a room full of gorgeous women, it took a helluva lot to stand out. He heard throaty laughter, realized it came from redheaded Megan. Next to her, the blonde flashed a grin, and a stunning pair of dimples popped out. He’d remember that one now, Valentine. Sounded more like a stripper than a classy underwear model, but hey, what did he know?

And even in their nondescript rehearsal clothes, all of them were perfect. Chosen for their flawless faces and exquisite bodies.

Too perfect, as far as he was concerned. Even if the women weren’t off-limits, he wouldn’t be interested in a female whose entire focus was on herself. Hell, if it weren’t for sex, he’d give up women completely.

Unfortunately, he had needs, just like any other red-blooded male. As he looked over the tantalizing buffet of femininity and felt his body stir, he figured it was past time he made a date with one of his lady friends.

Women he had known for years, the sort who understood where he was coming from, made no demands, were fun to be with, and in it to satisfy their own needs, same as he was.

Not tonight. Tonight he was having supper with his cousin Nick and his wife, Samantha. Tomorrow night, maybe, if he could find the time. His gaze swung back to Valentine, and he felt a little kick. The sooner, he thought, the better.

“Ethan! Come on in.” Samantha Brodie stepped back so Ethan could walk into the single-story, wood-sided house on a heavily treed, oversized lot in the Newcastle area. The home wasn’t far from Brodie Operations’ main office in Bellevue and was also close to the Perfect Pup pet-grooming parlor where Samantha worked.

Ethan looked down at her and couldn’t help smiling. “Hi, sweetheart, how you feeling?” He was off women, had very little use for the female sex, at least for the moment, and yet Nick’s petite wife had won him over completely.

“I feel great.” She grinned, went up on her toes to give him a hug. “We both do.” Samantha was almost four months pregnant, with the little baby bump to prove it. With her freckled nose and bouncy nutmeg curls, she was the image of the girl next door. Nick was crazy in love with her and over the moon about having a kid.

“I heard you got the job with La Belle,” she said, still smiling.

“I got the job. Not really looking forward to the travel, but the money’s damn good.”

“It’s only for a few weeks, isn’t it? The show starts here in Seattle, goes to five other cities, then comes back home.”

“That’s right.” He didn’t ask how she knew what was going on with La Belle. He didn’t want to think of his cousin’s pretty wife in a pair of lacy bikini panties. He didn’t think Nick would appreciate that, either.

“Nick’s out in the backyard. Supper’s almost ready. Come on back.”

He followed her into a kitchen made cozy by warm wood cabinets, cream-colored ceramic tile counters, yellow walls, and yellow-and-brown curtains. When she turned sideways, Ethan couldn’t help noticing how much the bump had grown since he had last seen her.

He smiled at the thought. It had only been a few months since his cousin had quit his job as a homicide detective in Anchorage, moved to Seattle, and started working for Brodie Operations. BOSS, Inc., they called it.

Ethan’s smile turned into a grin. Nick hadn’t wasted any time getting his little wife pregnant.

Thinking of the baby Samantha carried reminded him of his own child, three-year-old Hannah, and the smile slid from his face. He hadn’t seen his little girl in weeks—not that he hadn’t been trying.

Ethan stepped into the kitchen. The aroma of garlic and tomatoes penetrated his dismal mood and his mouth watered. “Damn, that smells good.”

Samantha’s pretty lips curved up. She was wearing jeans and a snug little short-sleeved top that curved over her belly. It had never occurred to him that a pregnant woman could look cute, even kind of sexy.

“I’m making spaghetti. It’s almost ready.”

Nick walked into the kitchen just then, nearly as tall as Ethan, with wavy black hair and intense blue eyes. “How about a drink?” Nick asked. “You look like you could use one. Wine, beer, or something stronger?”

“A straight shot of whiskey might help, but I’ll just have a beer.” Ethan pulled out a chair and took a seat at the kitchen table.

Nick walked to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of Budweiser, and tossed it to him, then grabbed one for himself. “So, which is it? Your new job or something to do with your little girl? Allison still giving you ten kinds of grief?”

Ethan twisted off the bottle cap and took a long swallow of the ice-cold brew. “Both. I called Ally on my way over. As usual, she gave me some bullshit reason I couldn’t talk to Hannah.” His ex-girlfriend still blamed him for their failed relationship, though she was the one who had ended the affair.

“You’re lucky she refused to marry you,” Samantha said. “I know you wanted your daughter to have your name, but you told me yourself the two of you were a bad combination. You deserve someone who loves you.”

Ethan just grunted. After what he’d been through, going the love route was the last thing he wanted.

Nick grabbed his wife, turned her into his arms, and gave her a smacking kiss. “What else do you need me to do?”

Samantha laughed and pushed him away. “Salad’s made. You already set the table. Why don’t you sit down with your cousin and relax?”

Samantha was a fabulous cook, a wonderful homemaker, and one sexy little gal. She was also smart and a hardworking businesswoman, part owner of the Perfect Pup, a chain of dog-grooming salons. Lately, she’d been bugging Nick to let her bring home a puppy. Nick wanted to wait till she had the baby. Ethan figured the pup would be part of the household by the end of the week.

“I hear you started working with La Belle today,” Nick said, taking a seat across from him at the table. “That’s one job I’m glad you got and not me.” Like Dirk, Nick was a former Ranger. Like Ethan, he was also a former police detective. Nick was capable and tough as boot leather. But he was a married man, and he took that role seriously. “Should be an interesting assignment.”

“Yeah, well, if there was any way I could have gotten out of it, I would have. But the pay’s really great and the hours aren’t bad. As long as the women behave themselves, it’ll be fine.”

Nick snorted a laugh. “Not many men would want the most beautiful women in the world to leave them alone.”

Ethan took a swallow of beer. “Yeah, well, most men are a lot more naïve than I am. As far as I’m concerned, the only place in a man’s life for a woman is in bed.” He glanced over at Samantha, who held up a wooden spoon as if she were about to slam it against his skull.

Ethan grinned. “Present company excepted.”

Samantha grinned back and returned to her cooking.

“What about the women in the show? Anyone look interesting?”

“They’re all beautiful. Sexy. Knockout bodies. Everything a man could want—in bed. Out of it, I wouldn’t know.” He looked up to see Samantha walking toward him. The spoon was gone, so he figured he was safe.

“Speaking of the show,” she said. “There’s a . . . umm . . . favor I’d like to ask.”

Ethan smiled. “Name it, sweetheart; anything.”

“A friend of mine is one of the models. She goes by Valentine Hart. Maybe you know which one she is.”

“Valentine. Yeah, with a name like that, who could forget? Dimples, right?”

“That’s right.”

“What about her?”

“Val got this terrible note. I guess some of the other models got them, too. She said it was kind of scary, called the women sluts and whores.”

“I know about the notes. That’s one of the reasons they decided to beef up security.”

“Well, I was wondering if . . . maybe you could kind of keep an eye on Val. She’s a really great girl, you know? You’re a bodyguard. You could make sure she’s safe.”

“That’s not a favor, Samantha. Keeping the girls safe is why they hired me. That’s my job.”

“Yes, but Val isn’t—”

“You don’t have to worry, I’ll take care of her.” He didn’t want to hear about the woman. He didn’t want to know any of the models on a personal level. “If she’s your friend, I’ll keep her on my radar, okay?”

Just what he didn’t need. Any sort of up-close-and-personal with one of the women. But Samantha was family. If Valentine Hart was her friend, he’d keep an eye on her.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Ethan nodded, though he figured a lingerie model had more than enough experience with men to know how to handle herself.

“That smells delicious,” he said, hoping to change the. . .