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Synopsis
"A sensual, action-filled page-turner that evokes waves of emotion....The sexual tension is thick enough to stop bullets." —Publishers Weekly, Starred Review
To keep her safe, he'll have to uncover all her secrets...
Rayne Alexander. A face I never thought I'd see again, and one I never could forget. Nine years ago, she left town–and me–without a backward glance. But now she's back, with a haunted look in her eyes and a feisty attitude that didn't exist when we were teenagers. Seeing this grown-up–and sexy–Rayne is something I wasn't prepared for... and it's bringing up feelings I'd thought I'd buried years ago.
Although I want to demand answers from Rayne, working on black ops at Night Eagle Security has taught me that it's sometimes better to keep my mouth shut. So when I catch her hiding a photo of a little boy, I'm curious. When I see her jump as her phone rings, I'm concerned. But the second I notice a car following her home, I know she's hiding something. Something dangerous. And while I may not know why she left or why she's back, if there's someone out there Rayne is afraid of, I'll make damn sure that threat is eliminated.
The Rescue Ops series:
Sworn to Protect
Promise to Defend
Mine to Save
Release date: June 4, 2017
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Print pages: 320
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Sworn to Protect
Diana Gardin
Prologue
My heels click on the polished marble floors as I hurry from the inner office back to my desk in the outer suite. The air, chilly in the late evening hour, feels extra frosty as it filters through my silk sleeveless blouse. I throw a glance back over my shoulder, my eyes scanning the empty hallway behind me for any sign of him.
Just because I don’t see him doesn’t mean he isn’t close. And getting closer.
A sound echoes somewhere in the giant building, close enough that it ricochets through my body like a gunshot. I jump, my heart leaping into my throat as my pulse skyrockets.
I go still, listening.
The sound of insistent footsteps pounding on the same marble I just traversed spurs me into moving again. I skid to a stop at the end of the hallway, looking down the intersecting hall in both directions.
Which way? Which way?
Going for the exit would be the long way. The elevator is two halls away, and my movements can be tracked on any security camera. Especially when my boss, who started this multi-million-dollar tech corporation, is the man I’m running from now.
Oh, my God. I need to get home. I need to get to Decker.
Thinking of my sweet boy triggers a new surge of adrenaline inside me, and I leap forward, choosing to head right, toward the stairs. At least if I’m in the stairwell, I can hear anything coming above me or below me. All I’ll have to do is get down fourteen floors to the lobby, and then I’m free.
Free. Free. Free.
Kicking off my shoes, I grasp them in one hand and break into a run. Crossing the short distance to the large double doors marked STAIRS, I push through them and allow them to latch silently behind me. Sucking in a deep breath, I start down the steps.
One flight at a time, Rayne. You can do this. You have to do this.
If Wagner Horton takes time to scan the security footage, that’s even better for me. That gives me time to get out of this damn building, and get to my kid. The heel of my palm pounds against my head as I hurry downward. Over and over again. As if I could thump away the memory of the sight that got me into this mess in the first place.
Just work, the same work I’ve done every day for the past eight months. Only this time, being Wagner Horton’s executive assistant gave me access to information I never wanted and wasn’t supposed to see.
A sound from somewhere above me jars me back into awareness, back to the here and now. Step by step, I rush down the stairs. When I’m crossing the threshold to the seventh floor, the stairwell door below me opens and closes.
I freeze, holding my breath.
“Rayne? I know you’re here.”
Wagner’s voice has never, ever scared me.
Until now.
I mean, he’s a tech geek turned billionaire. I never considered him to be dangerous. But the look in his eyes tonight when he discovered me in the building after hours, working late…I shudder, remembering.
I close my eyes, willing him to just go away.
Silence from one floor below me.
Brrrrrrrrrrng.
In my pocket, my cell phone rings.
Wagner’s laugh floats toward me. “There you are.”
The sound of his feet pounding up the stairs mingles with the quiet thump of my bare feet turning and heading up one more floor. Moving faster than I’ve moved ever, I throw myself through the eighth-floor stairwell door and into the hallway.
The only option I have now is to hide, or to get to the elevator before he gets to me.
I choose the elevator. Sprinting around the corner and into the hall where those heavenly golden doors lay waiting for me.
“Come, on, come on, dammit!” Stabbing at the button repeatedly, I glance over my shoulder again and again.
The elevator doors slide open as Wagner rounds the corner all the way down the hall.
“Rayne!” he screams.
The desperate sound reaches into my chest and squeezes my heart, stuttering the beats.
Frantic, I push the CLOSE button over and over again, jabbing it with such violence I’m sure to feel the pain later.
OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod.
Please…close! Close!
My voice is silent as I yell at the elevator doors. They begin to slide shut and I sag against the back wall of the box, letting out the breath I’d been holding
And then Wagner appears, looming right there.
With a yelp, I press against the back wall of the elevator.
His face is a mask of hatred and fury. He goes to stick a hand between the doors, but it’s too late. The doors slide shut.
With my heart in my throat, I ride the eight floors down to the parking garage. I know for a fact that, since only one elevator goes up to our offices, Wagner would have had to take the stairs. I have a decent head start, but I run anyway as soon as the elevator opens.
Straight to my car.
Police. I need to go to the police.
But the memory of a photo I saw on the wall in Wagner’s office every day for eight months flashes in my brain. It’s a picture of him and the chief of the Phoenix police department, smiling and shaking hands for the camera after Wagner’s money built the department a brand-new, state-of-the-art headquarters.
I’ve never thought that having a chief of police in your pocket was a real thing, but that picture sends me reeling. There’s no way I’m going there. Not until I know who I can trust.
Yanking the door open and thanking the heavens for key fobs, I start the thing and peel out of my spot. Pressing the car’s Bluetooth button, I order the vehicle to call my babysitter.
“Payton? Yeah, I’m leaving work now. I don’t have time to explain, but I need you to grab Decker, get in your car, and drive to the airport. Don’t hesitate, Payton. Do it now.”
I’ll mourn the loss of my belongings later. Maybe I can send for them.
But right now? I have to get out of Phoenix. Maybe forever. I know now that what I saw was important.
Maybe important enough for him to kill me.
I’m going to have to do the one thing I never wanted to do.
For the first time in nearly nine years, it’s time for my son and me to go home.
1
When my fellow team member Grisham Abbot strolls into the Night Eagle Security conference room a few minutes after I do, I lean back in my big, leather chair.
The seriousness and tension of the undercover mission I just led siphons off me, being replaced by the relaxed comfort of being home.
It’s like I’m two different Jeremy Teagues: the one who kicks ass during a security or black ops mission or the laid-back jokester I tend to be when I’m not working. Sometimes they get in each other’s way.
Sometimes they fight for supremacy.
Grisham eyes me, one hand shoving through his short blond hair as he comes to a stop across the table beside his usual seat. “You recover from whatever it is you think you saw at the airport this morning?”
Inhaling, I try not to flip back to that moment in the airport. But the memory creeps in anyway, regardless of how hard I try to fight it…
We’re just passing under the decorative model of a single-engine plane hanging overhead into the baggage claim area when a mane of long, raven hair catches my eye. My stomach flips, my muscles tighten, and my back teeth grind together.
Fucking hell. That hair.
She turns, her profile facing me, and everything inside me stills.
My steps stutter to a stop, and I’m pretty sure the air in my lungs does, too. Everything around me, the airport crowd, the noise, fades away, and it’s like I’m staring through a tunnel of mist and fog and the only thing I can see at the end of it is her.
Because, swear on my dog, it’s her.
I’d scoured the airport after that, my head swiveling left and right, my eyes roving. Searching.
There’d been rows of taxis lined up in front of the terminal, and that ghost could have disappeared into any one of them.
Or I could have just been losing my fucking mind. More likely.
Because I exorcised that ghost a long time ago. I don’t need it to start haunting me again.
I snap back to the here and now as Grisham begins to lower himself into his chair. I ignore his question and lean forward. “Let’s grab a beer after we debrief.” I lift my brows, hoping he’ll accept the invitation. I’m still feeling the need to unwind, let loose a little after our op.
He stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Man, I’ve been away from my fiancée for almost a week. There’s no way in hell I’m going anywhere but home after we give Jacob the rundown.”
I feign a heavy sigh, but I knew his answer before he’d said it.
“Whipped,” I mutter.
“Damn right.” Grisham’s statement comes with a proud smile.
Jacob Owen strides into the room. “Let’s debrief, gentlemen.” His tone is wry as he sends me a pointed stare.
He leans over the low, rectangular table where, as a team, we use painstaking research to plan our missions. Clasping his hands together, he looks at Grisham and me in turn, holding our gazes as he assesses our reaction. His blue eyes, webbed with lines that are the only indicator of his middle age, stop on me.
“First black ops government contract. First time leading a Night Eagle mission. A lot of firsts for you in the last few weeks, and for the firm. Right, Brains?”
I nod my head and hold steady under his scrutiny. I’d give my left nut for Jacob Owen, pretty sure the whole team would. Adjusting to normal life again after Special Forces is difficult. For some of us, it’s impossible. But Jacob gets it. And when he brings one of us into the fold at Night Eagle Security, we thrive.
Finally, he speaks again, this time addressing both Grisham and me. “You did good, boys.”
Letting out a breath, I lean back in my seat and listen while Jacob fires questions at us about the intel we received that will bring down not just the Miami part of the arms ring, but the South American branch as well. He informs us that in a few months’ time, we’ll be leaving for Costa Rica on a second mission to first infiltrate, and then help the CIA eliminate, this nasty operation for good.
When our debriefing comes to an end, Jacob shakes both of our hands and glances at Grisham.
“Ghost,” he barks.
Grisham “Ghost” Abbot leans forward, his elbows connecting with his knees as he locks eyes with his future father-in-law. The ex-SEAL earned his nickname with his uncanny ability to sneak up on enemy forces in the field. Grisham Abbot is the strategist of our group. He’s a planner, an analyzer by nature, and that skill works to our advantage when it comes to nailing down the nitty-gritty details of a potential operation.
“Sir.”
“Get home to my daughter. She’s missed you.” Jacob’s lips twitch.
As we leave Jacob’s office, I want to pump my fist in the air. I want to shout “Hell Yeah” now that I know for a fact that we’re going black ops again.
I’ve been with NES for a little over a year. In that time, we’ve specialized in personal security for clients who can afford to pay the price for the best protection out there. In the past six months or so, Jacob has been in talks with some government agencies. His connections there have asked us multiple times to protect foreign dignitaries, their families, and other important international people who are working or vacationing close by, and we’ve excelled at every single one of those assignments.
This last mission, sending us to infiltrate the illegal arms organization in Miami, was not only the first time I’ve taken the lead on an op, but also the first time we’ve had an official “black ops” contract with Uncle Sam as a private contractor.
Deep cover, secret mission…everything that comes with it is my element. I fucking love it. The reason they call me Brains is because I have an obsession with techy gadgets for the field. I have a whole room dedicated to storing all of the tools and equipment we may need for a mission or an assignment, and I love stocking it up and keeping it up-to-date with everything current in the world of tech and gear. This job is in my blood, and I could never imagine doing anything different.
My adrenaline is still pumping from everything we accomplished, and I know when I get back to my house, the first thing I’ll need to do is run.
Grisham and I file out the metal sliding door into the lobby.
Ronin “Swagger” Shaw claps me on the back as soon as the office door is closed. “Nice, guys. Heard you kicked some ass.” I accept congratulations from the man who’s been my teammate and best friend for years. First the army, then the police academy, then NES after we met Jacob while working on a kidnapping case.
Dare “Wheels” Conners, our other teammate and the man who can drive anything out there like a goddamn stuntman, follows suit with a fist bump.
When I’m in this office, in my city, with my people, I’m home. There’re no surprises, no unexpected bullshit the way there is when I’m on a mission. It’s how I like it.
And it feels good to be home again.
But as I’m back in North Carolina, weaving through the Wilmington streets on my drive home, my brain drifts back to long, black hair, flawless, olive skin, and the endless sea of blue eyes I once almost drowned in.
It couldn’t have been her.
2
The cab pulls up to a cute Colonial-style home with a manicured yard. Bright flowers dot the mulch-hugged beds, and the house is a crisp white, gleaming against the backdrop of the afternoon sun. Black shutters and a red front door complete the picture-perfect look. It’s my first time seeing the place, but the perfection is less than shocking. My sister’s home is right out of a magazine. I wouldn’t expect anything less.
It’s a far cry from my tiny little Mediterranean I’d been renting in Phoenix. The scrubby landscape there meant no flowers or bright green grass, even though my tastes are a lot more eclectic than my sister’s.
The Uber driver drops us off in the driveway and gives us a wave before heading back down the street.
My son, Decker, and I stare up at the house. There’s resignation on my face, while his holds nothing but eight-year-old curiosity.
“So this is where Aunt Olive lives?”
I nod, rolling my lips between my teeth. “Yup.”
Neither of us moves toward the house.
“Did you live here when you were little, Mom?” Decker is staring at the house like it’s a possibility Captain America lives inside.
Shaking my head, I put my arm around him and squeeze. “No, sweetie. Mommy and Aunt Olive lived at a different house in Wilmington when we were growing up.”
The house where I lived with your grandparents, who I haven’t spoken to since I got pregnant with you.
“And,” I remind him, “your aunt is in Europe for a few more months for work. She said we could stay here as long as we want.”
He glances at me, and I melt the way I do every single time I look at him. The kid is beautiful. An olive complexion that matches mine, but with hair a shade lighter. He keeps it long, the ends touching his collar, and his locks are thick and lustrous. His deep-set eyes are the most beautiful shade of jade green. Like his father’s. When I stare into them, it takes me back to the best and worst time in my life. His thick, long lashes brush his cheeks as he glances down.
“I’m gonna miss my friends.”
Getting down on my knees on the cement so that I can face him at eye level, I offer him a soft smile. “I know, baby. And I’m sorry about that. You’re going to make new friends here, I promise. And you’re gonna love the beach.”
His expression brightens. “Yeah? Can I learn how to surf?”
Closing my eyes briefly, I mutter a curse.
“Mom…you said a bad word. You gotta put a quarter in the jar.”
Standing, I circle an arm around his shoulders and pull him toward the house. “See baby? The more things change, the more they stay the same.”
Putting in the automatic door code, I let Decker and I into the garage and then the house.
The house is pristine. I don’t see a speck of dirt or dust anywhere, and I know for a fact I won’t be able to keep up the standard of living Olive does. We’ve always been so different. It’s glaringly obvious when I’m in her house.
“Whoa,” whispers Decker, his eyes wide. “Mom? I think we’re gonna get it dirty in here.”
Patting his back, I nod. “Yeah, Deck. I’m pretty sure you’re right.”
A couple hours later finds us settled in, Decker in a guest room upstairs and me in my sister’s master bedroom. The sitter brought Decker a few things from home but I left with nothing, so I borrow some of Olive’s clothes. Evening has fallen, and as there’s no food in the house with Olive being out of the country, I decide to delay grocery shopping for a day and take Decker out for pizza.
Using Olive’s car, I drive us the short distance into downtown Wilmington. It’s a straight shot into downtown from Olive’s suburban neighborhood, and Decker’s face is glued to the passenger-side window the entire time. The surroundings are familiar to me, but I realize he’s never even left Phoenix. All the green, the salty-sea smell, the beachy vibe…it must feel to him like we’re in a foreign country.
“What do you think?” I ask him as we idle at a red light.
He turns to me, dimples showing up deep in his cheeks as he grins. “Awesome!”
Smiling, I ruffle his hair. High praise from an eight-year-old.
For the first time since I arrived at the airport back in Phoenix, I take a deep breath and don’t feel like my world is caving in. Putting half a country between me and Wagner Horton gives me a sense of security that I crave. But deep down inside, I know the illusion of safety is just that—an illusion. Wagner, despite the lapse in technological creativity he’s been experiencing of late, is a genius.
Maybe everything will be okay. Maybe Decker and I can be safe here. Wagner has no idea that I’m from Wilmington; he doesn’t know where I’d run. I can change my name back. I can disappear, as far as he’s concerned. I’ll stick to the plan. No credit cards until my new last name is official. New phone, already purchased at the airport. And just in case I have to run again? I have my emergency stash of cash.
I shiver. I don’t want him to find me.
I can’t even fathom what it all means, what he’ll do to keep his secret buried.
“Let’s eat there!”
Decker’s shout alerts me, and as I pull into the parking lot I eye the vibrant sign of my favorite restaurant as a teenager. There were a lot of memories made at Vinny’s…especially memories with Jeremy. Of course this is where Deck would choose to have dinner.
“Come on,” I say with a smile, pulling him with me into the restaurant.
Fragrant, spicy air meets us, and immediately my mouth waters. Decker and I haven’t eaten since lunch during our layover in New Orleans, and I know his little tummy must be grumbling same as mine.
The hostess seats us and I peruse the menu while Decker stares around us with curious eyes. Leaning over toward him, I poke his belly.
“Pizza is the same here as it is in Arizona, baby.”
He grins. “Good. Can’t mess up pizza.”
“Nope.”
After we order, Decker points to the small section of arcade games the restaurant houses in a corner. He opens his mouth, but I wave him on with a smile before he asks.
“Go. I’ll come get you when the pizza gets here.”
The smile stays on my face as I watch him race over. He immediately jumps into a pinball game with another little boy who looks about his age, only that little boy is at Vinny’s with his mother and his father.
Pain stings my chest as I watch the happy couple with their baby daughter and allow myself to wish, just for a second, that I could have given that kind of life to Decker.
Pulling out my phone, I reread Olive’s text:
I told my friend Berkeley to expect a call from you. She works with me at the design firm. Her husband might have a job lead for you.
Lord knows I need a job lead. My meager savings, excluding my emergency stash, won’t hold Decker and me for long.
I’m starting a new life here in Wilmington, trying to erase the old, painful memories this town still holds for me. Eating pizza at my favorite restaurant with my son and finding a new job is a really good start.
Maybe I can make this work.
God, I hope so.
My phone vibrates in my hands, and I glance down at it to see a Phoenix area code.
My hopeful smile disappears. The blood rushes downward, leaving my face and pooling somewhere by my feet. I don’t recognize the number as Wagner’s, but I know…I just know before I open the text.
When I do, I drop the phone, both hands clapping over my mouth.
I will find you bitch. You fucked with the wrong guy.
The tenuous feeling of security from just a moment ago vanishes, leaving me cold and scared and lonely.
What the hell am I going to do?
The unexpected knock on the door on Saturday afternoon practically gives me an ever-loving heart attack. The riotous thump-thump-thump in my chest causes me to rest a hand there while I stare toward the entryway. From my spot at the kitchen sink, washing up the dishes from breakfast and lunch, I have a clear view to the front hall.
Before I can decide what to do, Decker comes skidding down the hardwood hallway from his room. He glances at me and then at the door.
“I’ll get it!” he yells.
“No, Deck! Stop!”
The frantic panic in my voice halts him. He pivots, a slow and wary movement and look s at me expectantly. “Mom?”
Wiping my hands on a towel, I hurry forward. Very aware that I’m in a pair of Olive’s workout pants and a faded tank top, my hair in a messy bun on top of my head, I grab his shoulders and lean down so we’re at eye level.
“Sorry, sweetie. I just…we don’t know anyone here yet, and I’d rather you not answer the door by yourself. Okay?”
I plaster a bright smile on my face and hope my too-smart kid falls for it.
He eyes me, a shadow of doubt in his eyes. “Okay.”
Who would be knocking on the door? I don’t know anyone here. Not anymore.
I take a deep breath and pull the front door open, Decker hovering beside me.
A tall, gorgeous woman with dark brown skin and oodles of braided hair cascading down around her shoulders stands on the front porch with a sunny smile. She’s holding a basket in her hands, and there’s a little boy who looks to be about Decker’s age standing beside her. She looks perfect and trendy in light-blue, ripped-up jeans, heeled sandals, and a flowing white top.
I try really, really hard not to feel like a hot mess, but let’s just be honest, shall we?
“Hey, there.” Her smile is contagious. “I’m Macy, and I live next door. Olive called me this morning, asking me to stop in and check on you.”
All the tension leaves me with a relieved sigh, and I step back from the door to let them both inside.
“Oh, my gosh! It’s so nice to meet you, Macy. I’m Rayne Alexander, and this is my son, Decker.”
Macy smiles at Decker. “Decker, your aunt told me all about you. This is my little man, Julius.”
Julius shoots his mom an annoyed glance, probably due to the “little man” comment, and he eyes Decker. “I go by Jay.” Another pointed glance for Macy. “I got a hoop. You ball?”
Decker looks at me, pleading in his eyes. I nod, smiling. Glancing at Macy, I ask. “Just out front?”
With a wide smile, she assures me. “Right in our driveway.”
“Go ahead.” I land a pat on Decker’s back before he runs out the front door with Julius.
Ushering Macy down the hall and into the great room off the kitc. . .
My heels click on the polished marble floors as I hurry from the inner office back to my desk in the outer suite. The air, chilly in the late evening hour, feels extra frosty as it filters through my silk sleeveless blouse. I throw a glance back over my shoulder, my eyes scanning the empty hallway behind me for any sign of him.
Just because I don’t see him doesn’t mean he isn’t close. And getting closer.
A sound echoes somewhere in the giant building, close enough that it ricochets through my body like a gunshot. I jump, my heart leaping into my throat as my pulse skyrockets.
I go still, listening.
The sound of insistent footsteps pounding on the same marble I just traversed spurs me into moving again. I skid to a stop at the end of the hallway, looking down the intersecting hall in both directions.
Which way? Which way?
Going for the exit would be the long way. The elevator is two halls away, and my movements can be tracked on any security camera. Especially when my boss, who started this multi-million-dollar tech corporation, is the man I’m running from now.
Oh, my God. I need to get home. I need to get to Decker.
Thinking of my sweet boy triggers a new surge of adrenaline inside me, and I leap forward, choosing to head right, toward the stairs. At least if I’m in the stairwell, I can hear anything coming above me or below me. All I’ll have to do is get down fourteen floors to the lobby, and then I’m free.
Free. Free. Free.
Kicking off my shoes, I grasp them in one hand and break into a run. Crossing the short distance to the large double doors marked STAIRS, I push through them and allow them to latch silently behind me. Sucking in a deep breath, I start down the steps.
One flight at a time, Rayne. You can do this. You have to do this.
If Wagner Horton takes time to scan the security footage, that’s even better for me. That gives me time to get out of this damn building, and get to my kid. The heel of my palm pounds against my head as I hurry downward. Over and over again. As if I could thump away the memory of the sight that got me into this mess in the first place.
Just work, the same work I’ve done every day for the past eight months. Only this time, being Wagner Horton’s executive assistant gave me access to information I never wanted and wasn’t supposed to see.
A sound from somewhere above me jars me back into awareness, back to the here and now. Step by step, I rush down the stairs. When I’m crossing the threshold to the seventh floor, the stairwell door below me opens and closes.
I freeze, holding my breath.
“Rayne? I know you’re here.”
Wagner’s voice has never, ever scared me.
Until now.
I mean, he’s a tech geek turned billionaire. I never considered him to be dangerous. But the look in his eyes tonight when he discovered me in the building after hours, working late…I shudder, remembering.
I close my eyes, willing him to just go away.
Silence from one floor below me.
Brrrrrrrrrrng.
In my pocket, my cell phone rings.
Wagner’s laugh floats toward me. “There you are.”
The sound of his feet pounding up the stairs mingles with the quiet thump of my bare feet turning and heading up one more floor. Moving faster than I’ve moved ever, I throw myself through the eighth-floor stairwell door and into the hallway.
The only option I have now is to hide, or to get to the elevator before he gets to me.
I choose the elevator. Sprinting around the corner and into the hall where those heavenly golden doors lay waiting for me.
“Come, on, come on, dammit!” Stabbing at the button repeatedly, I glance over my shoulder again and again.
The elevator doors slide open as Wagner rounds the corner all the way down the hall.
“Rayne!” he screams.
The desperate sound reaches into my chest and squeezes my heart, stuttering the beats.
Frantic, I push the CLOSE button over and over again, jabbing it with such violence I’m sure to feel the pain later.
OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod.
Please…close! Close!
My voice is silent as I yell at the elevator doors. They begin to slide shut and I sag against the back wall of the box, letting out the breath I’d been holding
And then Wagner appears, looming right there.
With a yelp, I press against the back wall of the elevator.
His face is a mask of hatred and fury. He goes to stick a hand between the doors, but it’s too late. The doors slide shut.
With my heart in my throat, I ride the eight floors down to the parking garage. I know for a fact that, since only one elevator goes up to our offices, Wagner would have had to take the stairs. I have a decent head start, but I run anyway as soon as the elevator opens.
Straight to my car.
Police. I need to go to the police.
But the memory of a photo I saw on the wall in Wagner’s office every day for eight months flashes in my brain. It’s a picture of him and the chief of the Phoenix police department, smiling and shaking hands for the camera after Wagner’s money built the department a brand-new, state-of-the-art headquarters.
I’ve never thought that having a chief of police in your pocket was a real thing, but that picture sends me reeling. There’s no way I’m going there. Not until I know who I can trust.
Yanking the door open and thanking the heavens for key fobs, I start the thing and peel out of my spot. Pressing the car’s Bluetooth button, I order the vehicle to call my babysitter.
“Payton? Yeah, I’m leaving work now. I don’t have time to explain, but I need you to grab Decker, get in your car, and drive to the airport. Don’t hesitate, Payton. Do it now.”
I’ll mourn the loss of my belongings later. Maybe I can send for them.
But right now? I have to get out of Phoenix. Maybe forever. I know now that what I saw was important.
Maybe important enough for him to kill me.
I’m going to have to do the one thing I never wanted to do.
For the first time in nearly nine years, it’s time for my son and me to go home.
1
When my fellow team member Grisham Abbot strolls into the Night Eagle Security conference room a few minutes after I do, I lean back in my big, leather chair.
The seriousness and tension of the undercover mission I just led siphons off me, being replaced by the relaxed comfort of being home.
It’s like I’m two different Jeremy Teagues: the one who kicks ass during a security or black ops mission or the laid-back jokester I tend to be when I’m not working. Sometimes they get in each other’s way.
Sometimes they fight for supremacy.
Grisham eyes me, one hand shoving through his short blond hair as he comes to a stop across the table beside his usual seat. “You recover from whatever it is you think you saw at the airport this morning?”
Inhaling, I try not to flip back to that moment in the airport. But the memory creeps in anyway, regardless of how hard I try to fight it…
We’re just passing under the decorative model of a single-engine plane hanging overhead into the baggage claim area when a mane of long, raven hair catches my eye. My stomach flips, my muscles tighten, and my back teeth grind together.
Fucking hell. That hair.
She turns, her profile facing me, and everything inside me stills.
My steps stutter to a stop, and I’m pretty sure the air in my lungs does, too. Everything around me, the airport crowd, the noise, fades away, and it’s like I’m staring through a tunnel of mist and fog and the only thing I can see at the end of it is her.
Because, swear on my dog, it’s her.
I’d scoured the airport after that, my head swiveling left and right, my eyes roving. Searching.
There’d been rows of taxis lined up in front of the terminal, and that ghost could have disappeared into any one of them.
Or I could have just been losing my fucking mind. More likely.
Because I exorcised that ghost a long time ago. I don’t need it to start haunting me again.
I snap back to the here and now as Grisham begins to lower himself into his chair. I ignore his question and lean forward. “Let’s grab a beer after we debrief.” I lift my brows, hoping he’ll accept the invitation. I’m still feeling the need to unwind, let loose a little after our op.
He stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Man, I’ve been away from my fiancée for almost a week. There’s no way in hell I’m going anywhere but home after we give Jacob the rundown.”
I feign a heavy sigh, but I knew his answer before he’d said it.
“Whipped,” I mutter.
“Damn right.” Grisham’s statement comes with a proud smile.
Jacob Owen strides into the room. “Let’s debrief, gentlemen.” His tone is wry as he sends me a pointed stare.
He leans over the low, rectangular table where, as a team, we use painstaking research to plan our missions. Clasping his hands together, he looks at Grisham and me in turn, holding our gazes as he assesses our reaction. His blue eyes, webbed with lines that are the only indicator of his middle age, stop on me.
“First black ops government contract. First time leading a Night Eagle mission. A lot of firsts for you in the last few weeks, and for the firm. Right, Brains?”
I nod my head and hold steady under his scrutiny. I’d give my left nut for Jacob Owen, pretty sure the whole team would. Adjusting to normal life again after Special Forces is difficult. For some of us, it’s impossible. But Jacob gets it. And when he brings one of us into the fold at Night Eagle Security, we thrive.
Finally, he speaks again, this time addressing both Grisham and me. “You did good, boys.”
Letting out a breath, I lean back in my seat and listen while Jacob fires questions at us about the intel we received that will bring down not just the Miami part of the arms ring, but the South American branch as well. He informs us that in a few months’ time, we’ll be leaving for Costa Rica on a second mission to first infiltrate, and then help the CIA eliminate, this nasty operation for good.
When our debriefing comes to an end, Jacob shakes both of our hands and glances at Grisham.
“Ghost,” he barks.
Grisham “Ghost” Abbot leans forward, his elbows connecting with his knees as he locks eyes with his future father-in-law. The ex-SEAL earned his nickname with his uncanny ability to sneak up on enemy forces in the field. Grisham Abbot is the strategist of our group. He’s a planner, an analyzer by nature, and that skill works to our advantage when it comes to nailing down the nitty-gritty details of a potential operation.
“Sir.”
“Get home to my daughter. She’s missed you.” Jacob’s lips twitch.
As we leave Jacob’s office, I want to pump my fist in the air. I want to shout “Hell Yeah” now that I know for a fact that we’re going black ops again.
I’ve been with NES for a little over a year. In that time, we’ve specialized in personal security for clients who can afford to pay the price for the best protection out there. In the past six months or so, Jacob has been in talks with some government agencies. His connections there have asked us multiple times to protect foreign dignitaries, their families, and other important international people who are working or vacationing close by, and we’ve excelled at every single one of those assignments.
This last mission, sending us to infiltrate the illegal arms organization in Miami, was not only the first time I’ve taken the lead on an op, but also the first time we’ve had an official “black ops” contract with Uncle Sam as a private contractor.
Deep cover, secret mission…everything that comes with it is my element. I fucking love it. The reason they call me Brains is because I have an obsession with techy gadgets for the field. I have a whole room dedicated to storing all of the tools and equipment we may need for a mission or an assignment, and I love stocking it up and keeping it up-to-date with everything current in the world of tech and gear. This job is in my blood, and I could never imagine doing anything different.
My adrenaline is still pumping from everything we accomplished, and I know when I get back to my house, the first thing I’ll need to do is run.
Grisham and I file out the metal sliding door into the lobby.
Ronin “Swagger” Shaw claps me on the back as soon as the office door is closed. “Nice, guys. Heard you kicked some ass.” I accept congratulations from the man who’s been my teammate and best friend for years. First the army, then the police academy, then NES after we met Jacob while working on a kidnapping case.
Dare “Wheels” Conners, our other teammate and the man who can drive anything out there like a goddamn stuntman, follows suit with a fist bump.
When I’m in this office, in my city, with my people, I’m home. There’re no surprises, no unexpected bullshit the way there is when I’m on a mission. It’s how I like it.
And it feels good to be home again.
But as I’m back in North Carolina, weaving through the Wilmington streets on my drive home, my brain drifts back to long, black hair, flawless, olive skin, and the endless sea of blue eyes I once almost drowned in.
It couldn’t have been her.
2
The cab pulls up to a cute Colonial-style home with a manicured yard. Bright flowers dot the mulch-hugged beds, and the house is a crisp white, gleaming against the backdrop of the afternoon sun. Black shutters and a red front door complete the picture-perfect look. It’s my first time seeing the place, but the perfection is less than shocking. My sister’s home is right out of a magazine. I wouldn’t expect anything less.
It’s a far cry from my tiny little Mediterranean I’d been renting in Phoenix. The scrubby landscape there meant no flowers or bright green grass, even though my tastes are a lot more eclectic than my sister’s.
The Uber driver drops us off in the driveway and gives us a wave before heading back down the street.
My son, Decker, and I stare up at the house. There’s resignation on my face, while his holds nothing but eight-year-old curiosity.
“So this is where Aunt Olive lives?”
I nod, rolling my lips between my teeth. “Yup.”
Neither of us moves toward the house.
“Did you live here when you were little, Mom?” Decker is staring at the house like it’s a possibility Captain America lives inside.
Shaking my head, I put my arm around him and squeeze. “No, sweetie. Mommy and Aunt Olive lived at a different house in Wilmington when we were growing up.”
The house where I lived with your grandparents, who I haven’t spoken to since I got pregnant with you.
“And,” I remind him, “your aunt is in Europe for a few more months for work. She said we could stay here as long as we want.”
He glances at me, and I melt the way I do every single time I look at him. The kid is beautiful. An olive complexion that matches mine, but with hair a shade lighter. He keeps it long, the ends touching his collar, and his locks are thick and lustrous. His deep-set eyes are the most beautiful shade of jade green. Like his father’s. When I stare into them, it takes me back to the best and worst time in my life. His thick, long lashes brush his cheeks as he glances down.
“I’m gonna miss my friends.”
Getting down on my knees on the cement so that I can face him at eye level, I offer him a soft smile. “I know, baby. And I’m sorry about that. You’re going to make new friends here, I promise. And you’re gonna love the beach.”
His expression brightens. “Yeah? Can I learn how to surf?”
Closing my eyes briefly, I mutter a curse.
“Mom…you said a bad word. You gotta put a quarter in the jar.”
Standing, I circle an arm around his shoulders and pull him toward the house. “See baby? The more things change, the more they stay the same.”
Putting in the automatic door code, I let Decker and I into the garage and then the house.
The house is pristine. I don’t see a speck of dirt or dust anywhere, and I know for a fact I won’t be able to keep up the standard of living Olive does. We’ve always been so different. It’s glaringly obvious when I’m in her house.
“Whoa,” whispers Decker, his eyes wide. “Mom? I think we’re gonna get it dirty in here.”
Patting his back, I nod. “Yeah, Deck. I’m pretty sure you’re right.”
A couple hours later finds us settled in, Decker in a guest room upstairs and me in my sister’s master bedroom. The sitter brought Decker a few things from home but I left with nothing, so I borrow some of Olive’s clothes. Evening has fallen, and as there’s no food in the house with Olive being out of the country, I decide to delay grocery shopping for a day and take Decker out for pizza.
Using Olive’s car, I drive us the short distance into downtown Wilmington. It’s a straight shot into downtown from Olive’s suburban neighborhood, and Decker’s face is glued to the passenger-side window the entire time. The surroundings are familiar to me, but I realize he’s never even left Phoenix. All the green, the salty-sea smell, the beachy vibe…it must feel to him like we’re in a foreign country.
“What do you think?” I ask him as we idle at a red light.
He turns to me, dimples showing up deep in his cheeks as he grins. “Awesome!”
Smiling, I ruffle his hair. High praise from an eight-year-old.
For the first time since I arrived at the airport back in Phoenix, I take a deep breath and don’t feel like my world is caving in. Putting half a country between me and Wagner Horton gives me a sense of security that I crave. But deep down inside, I know the illusion of safety is just that—an illusion. Wagner, despite the lapse in technological creativity he’s been experiencing of late, is a genius.
Maybe everything will be okay. Maybe Decker and I can be safe here. Wagner has no idea that I’m from Wilmington; he doesn’t know where I’d run. I can change my name back. I can disappear, as far as he’s concerned. I’ll stick to the plan. No credit cards until my new last name is official. New phone, already purchased at the airport. And just in case I have to run again? I have my emergency stash of cash.
I shiver. I don’t want him to find me.
I can’t even fathom what it all means, what he’ll do to keep his secret buried.
“Let’s eat there!”
Decker’s shout alerts me, and as I pull into the parking lot I eye the vibrant sign of my favorite restaurant as a teenager. There were a lot of memories made at Vinny’s…especially memories with Jeremy. Of course this is where Deck would choose to have dinner.
“Come on,” I say with a smile, pulling him with me into the restaurant.
Fragrant, spicy air meets us, and immediately my mouth waters. Decker and I haven’t eaten since lunch during our layover in New Orleans, and I know his little tummy must be grumbling same as mine.
The hostess seats us and I peruse the menu while Decker stares around us with curious eyes. Leaning over toward him, I poke his belly.
“Pizza is the same here as it is in Arizona, baby.”
He grins. “Good. Can’t mess up pizza.”
“Nope.”
After we order, Decker points to the small section of arcade games the restaurant houses in a corner. He opens his mouth, but I wave him on with a smile before he asks.
“Go. I’ll come get you when the pizza gets here.”
The smile stays on my face as I watch him race over. He immediately jumps into a pinball game with another little boy who looks about his age, only that little boy is at Vinny’s with his mother and his father.
Pain stings my chest as I watch the happy couple with their baby daughter and allow myself to wish, just for a second, that I could have given that kind of life to Decker.
Pulling out my phone, I reread Olive’s text:
I told my friend Berkeley to expect a call from you. She works with me at the design firm. Her husband might have a job lead for you.
Lord knows I need a job lead. My meager savings, excluding my emergency stash, won’t hold Decker and me for long.
I’m starting a new life here in Wilmington, trying to erase the old, painful memories this town still holds for me. Eating pizza at my favorite restaurant with my son and finding a new job is a really good start.
Maybe I can make this work.
God, I hope so.
My phone vibrates in my hands, and I glance down at it to see a Phoenix area code.
My hopeful smile disappears. The blood rushes downward, leaving my face and pooling somewhere by my feet. I don’t recognize the number as Wagner’s, but I know…I just know before I open the text.
When I do, I drop the phone, both hands clapping over my mouth.
I will find you bitch. You fucked with the wrong guy.
The tenuous feeling of security from just a moment ago vanishes, leaving me cold and scared and lonely.
What the hell am I going to do?
The unexpected knock on the door on Saturday afternoon practically gives me an ever-loving heart attack. The riotous thump-thump-thump in my chest causes me to rest a hand there while I stare toward the entryway. From my spot at the kitchen sink, washing up the dishes from breakfast and lunch, I have a clear view to the front hall.
Before I can decide what to do, Decker comes skidding down the hardwood hallway from his room. He glances at me and then at the door.
“I’ll get it!” he yells.
“No, Deck! Stop!”
The frantic panic in my voice halts him. He pivots, a slow and wary movement and look s at me expectantly. “Mom?”
Wiping my hands on a towel, I hurry forward. Very aware that I’m in a pair of Olive’s workout pants and a faded tank top, my hair in a messy bun on top of my head, I grab his shoulders and lean down so we’re at eye level.
“Sorry, sweetie. I just…we don’t know anyone here yet, and I’d rather you not answer the door by yourself. Okay?”
I plaster a bright smile on my face and hope my too-smart kid falls for it.
He eyes me, a shadow of doubt in his eyes. “Okay.”
Who would be knocking on the door? I don’t know anyone here. Not anymore.
I take a deep breath and pull the front door open, Decker hovering beside me.
A tall, gorgeous woman with dark brown skin and oodles of braided hair cascading down around her shoulders stands on the front porch with a sunny smile. She’s holding a basket in her hands, and there’s a little boy who looks to be about Decker’s age standing beside her. She looks perfect and trendy in light-blue, ripped-up jeans, heeled sandals, and a flowing white top.
I try really, really hard not to feel like a hot mess, but let’s just be honest, shall we?
“Hey, there.” Her smile is contagious. “I’m Macy, and I live next door. Olive called me this morning, asking me to stop in and check on you.”
All the tension leaves me with a relieved sigh, and I step back from the door to let them both inside.
“Oh, my gosh! It’s so nice to meet you, Macy. I’m Rayne Alexander, and this is my son, Decker.”
Macy smiles at Decker. “Decker, your aunt told me all about you. This is my little man, Julius.”
Julius shoots his mom an annoyed glance, probably due to the “little man” comment, and he eyes Decker. “I go by Jay.” Another pointed glance for Macy. “I got a hoop. You ball?”
Decker looks at me, pleading in his eyes. I nod, smiling. Glancing at Macy, I ask. “Just out front?”
With a wide smile, she assures me. “Right in our driveway.”
“Go ahead.” I land a pat on Decker’s back before he runs out the front door with Julius.
Ushering Macy down the hall and into the great room off the kitc. . .
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