Counterfeit Relations, book 2 in the Alaskan Security-Team Rogue series.
Copyright 2020 by Jemma Westbrook.
www.jemmawestbrook.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owner except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
First printing, 2020
Cover design by Robin Harper at Wicked by Design.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 1
“YOU’RE KIDDING.” BROCK stared down at the file in his hand. “They’ve only been gone twenty minutes.” He shoved the docs back at Shawn. “I’m not interested.”
Shawn made no move to take it back. “Wasn’t really asking.” He sauntered toward the fridge in the small kitchen and opened the door, scanning the handful of contents before turning back Brock’s way. “Looks like it won’t take you long to clean the place up before you go either.”
Bess had spent the whole previous day cleaning up the small cabin he’d been sharing with her, Wade, and Parker for the past two months while she recovered from the gunshot that messed up more lives than just hers. “Bess thought I wouldn’t clean out the fridge.”
“Doesn’t know you very well, does she?”
Brock shrugged. “As well as anybody.”
“You mean any woman.” Shawn snagged the single remaining bottle of water before letting the stainless steel door swing shut. “You need something to occupy your time while they’re gone or you’ll go crazy.”
“I have plenty to occupy my time.” It was a lie, but the last thing Brock wanted to do was whatever was in that file.
Shawn leaned against the counter. “Such as?”
It would figure the bastard would call his bluff.
“I have work to do on my place.” Brock dropped the file to the counter, wanting it as far away from him as possible.
Shawn snorted. “That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.” The coordinator for Team Rogue straightened. “That cabin is pristine.” He tipped the capped top of the bottle Brock’s way. “And I’m a little pissed you haven’t invited me over in a while. You’re not the only one who needs to get away from all this bullshit sometimes.”
“I don’t want that job.” Brock eyed the file. He hadn’t worked without Wade in years and wasn’t interested in starting now, especially not on one like this. “Give it to Nate.”
Shawn shook his head. “This is a one-man show, and you’re the only one without a partner.”
Brock tossed the file to the counter. “Come on. There’s got to be somebody itching to play house. What about Tyson? He would love that shit.”
“Tyson and Reed are already on a different project.” Shawn pressed his palm flat on the top of the file and shoved it Brock’s way. “This job is yours whether you want it or not.” He checked his watch. “You better get going or you’ll be late picking Ms. Tatum up from the airport, and I’m guessing she won’t be thrilled when her fiancé isn’t there.”
Thirty years he’d managed to go without ever having that word thrown his way. “I’m not her fucking fiancé.”
“You are for now.” Shawn gave him a wink as he patted the file. “Ring’s in here and everything.” Shawn started to walk toward the door. “I can’t imagine she’s expecting a grand gesture when you propose.”
Brock flipped the front cover of the file and sure enough, stapled to the top sheet was a tiny plastic bag containing a ring. He snatched the plastic, tearing it free of the staple’s metal grip. “This isn’t real, is it?”
“What do you think?” Shawn didn’t stop walking until his hand was on the knob to the door. He turned Brock’s way. “The cleaning crew will be here in an hour and if you’re still here we’re going to have a problem.”
Brock stared down at the stack of papers.
When he and the rest of the team voted to take Rogue on a different, more solidly moral path, he was expecting they would be doing more domestic jobs. Like the one that brought Bess and Parker to them.
He never imagined any of those jobs would involve pretending to be a strange woman’s long-distance paramour.
“I’m not sure this is in my wheelhouse, man.” Brock scanned the top page, looking at the information on Eva Tatum. “I’m not exactly boyfriend material.”
He’d made damn sure of it, actually. Worked hard to ensure no woman ever wanted him to stick around for more than a little fun.
Not that he would have.
“I bet you surprise yourself.”
“I bet I surprise her.” Brock flipped the file closed. “What happens if Ms. Tatum is unsatisfied with your selection and wants a do-over?”
Shawn’s expression cooled. “Then her safety is compromised.” He pointed at Brock. “And it will be your fault.”
Brock wiped one hand down his face. Shawn knew him too well. “You’re a dick, you know that?”
“Harlow reminded me of it first thing this morning.” Shawn shot him a grin that said he wasn’t even a little upset at their new hacker’s assessment of his personality. “Pack your shit up and take the red Rover.”
“Red?”
“Half the point of this is being visible. Show the world, and anyone watching a little closer than they should, that Ms. Tatum is happily taken.”
“Hopefully she’s a good actress.” Brock grabbed the file and shoved it in his bag.
“I guess we’ll find out.” Shawn pulled the door open. “Want me to leave the SUV running?”
“You worried I’m not going to show?” Brock grabbed the coffee he was half through when Shawn showed up to ruin his day and swallowed down the lukewarm liquid.
“Nah. I know you won’t leave a defenseless woman stranded.” Shawn stepped onto the porch. “It’s not the kind of guy you are.”
Brock glared at the back of the door for a good thirty seconds after Shawn left.
This was not how he envisioned these next few weeks to go. While Wade and Bess were in Florida visiting with Wade’s mother he planned to head up to his cabin and bunk down.
Reassess.
Because the simple life he led was no longer the same.
“Fuck.”
He rushed through getting ready and packing up the clothes and personal items he’d brought to the cabin, shoving everything into the suitcase he frequently lived out of, before dumping the hard-side case into the back hatch of the cherry red SUV still running in the driveway. While the red paint screamed look at me, the heavy tinted windows made the act impossible.
“Stupid.”
Brock locked up the cabin, resisting the urge to look around the space that held more happy memories than he cared to admit.
He needed this time to decompress, distance himself from the woman and baby who’
d managed to creep under his skin without so much as a whisper of a warning.
And now he wasn’t getting it.
Worse, he was going to have to live out his worst nightmare. Pretend or not, domestication was not something Brock wanted to ever touch, let alone bathe in.
He crammed into the Rover, immediately shoving the seat back almost as far as it would go, before skidding down the driveway, taking a little of his frustration out on the 4-wheel drive.
An hour later he was at the airport, parked in the garage and making his way to the doors as he thumbed through the file on Eva Tatum.
Maybe this job wouldn’t be so bad after all. The woman sounded boring as hell. She served as CEO of a company called Investigative Resources in Cincinnati, Ohio which also sounded boring as hell.
Probably an accountant.
The amount of personal information Dutch was able to find on her was limited to a LinkedIn profile that only listed the bare minimum of information, along with a photo of her company’s logo instead of a headshot.
Which would explain the next paper in the file.
EVA TATUM
It was printed in big bold black letters across the cardstock.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Brock pulled out the paper.
“Shit. Damn. Hell. Sonofabitch.”
The feminine lilt of the string of cursing did nothing to soften the edge of aggravation it contained.
Brock looked up just as a container of airport sushi bounced off the toe of his boot and a full cup of soda imploded between his feet.
“Christ.” The woman who could line up a row of expletives better than most people he knew glared at him. “You made me drop my lunch.”
“I did?” Brock turned his head from side to side, positive she was talking to someone else. “I’m just standing here.”
The woman’s brown eyes narrowed. “That’s what they all say.” She dropped down to pick up the plastic pack of rice and fish, turning it from one side to the other. “It looks like it survived.” Her attention turned to the puddle of red liquid pooling between them. “More than I can say for my punch.”
“You drink punch?” Brock leaned down to pick up the mostly-empty cup. He didn’t know anyone over the age of ten that drank punch.
Definitely no curvaceous brunettes in—
Was that a New Kids on the Block t-shirt?
She snatched it from his hand. “Are you the fun police? You think women only drink iced tea and bottled water?”
“The fun pol—”
Her head bobbed on an animated nod that made the wad of hair banded at the top of her head bounce around as her gaze moved down his front. “The fun police. You look about as fun as—” her eyes drifted toward the long line of windows, “Alaska.”
“You don’t like Alaska?” Why was he still talking to her? He had an uptight businesswoman to find and babysit.
A woman who would be nowhere near as interesting as this one was proving to be in her 1980’s t-shirt and hot-pink leggings.
“I’m greatly doubting it.” The woman dropped a stack of napkins onto the splashed remains of her drink and used the sole of one silver sneaker to push them around as she tugged on an oversized sweatshirt.
“Can I ask why you are in Alaska then?” Brock scanned the people milling around the baggage area, checking for an early thirties woman who looked in need of saving.
“Business.” She snorted out a scoff. “A forced work trip.”
He should wish her well and go find Ms. Tatum. Leave this unique woman to her unwanted Alaskan adventure.
But there were no lone women wandering the lobby. No one who fit the profile of his next job.
“Ugh.” The napkins made a hollow splatting sound as the woman dropped them into the cup. “They’re probably going to have to mop.” She stood and scanned the area.
“I’m sure they’ll get it.”
Her eyes found him.
He thought they were brown at first, but it must have been the bad airport lighting that threw him off.
Because these eyes were most definitely not brown.
Not completely anyway.
Rings of grey, green, amber, and finally brown circled her iris like a bullseye.
“Is that how you usually handle the messes you make? Just walk away and let them figure themselves out?” Her full lips pressed into a frown.
And for some reason that frown bothered the shit out of him.
Maybe because for the first time in years he was a one man show.
Maybe because for the first time ever he was dangerously close to doing something he swore never to do.
Or maybe it was because this woman was so fucking far off base it would be laughable if he was in the mood to laugh.
“I’m the one who cleans other people’s messes up.”
Her brows lifted. “Interesting.”
“Is it?”
She nodded. “Very.”
“And why is that?”
She tugged at the band holding her knot of hair in place, wincing as it pulled free. “I never get to see that part.”
“What part?” He was having a hard time following their conversation as her fingers raked through the waves of dark hair falling wild around her face.
It was probably soft. Smooth.
“The part where the mess gets cleaned up.” She shook her head a little and the hair he was struggling not to imagine touching tumbled past her shoulders. “I only uncover the mess.” One of those shoulders lifted and dropped. “Then I pass it down the line.”
“Down the line?” A faint scent tickled his nose.
Made Brock step closer so he could breathe it in as she continued to move the pile of dark strands around, kicking up the sweet smell of summer and sunshine.
Something he hadn’t had much of the past few years.
One long-fingered hand waved in the air. “Just down the line.” She looked down at the empty cup in her hand and sighed.
“I can get you another one.”
His offer seemed to surprise them both. Her ringed eyes jumped to his, mouth twisting to one side. “I got it on the other side of security.”
“Oh.”
Why was he disappointed? Continuing to talk to this woman was the last thing he should be doing.
For a number of reasons, the primary one being that he was supposed to be finding Eva Tatum and taking her to—
“Shit.” Brock flipped the file back open and scanned the pages to see where in the hell he was supposed to be taking his first fake girlfriend.
“What’s that?” The woman leaned in close, bringing her summertime scent with her. The brush of her hair against his hand was everything he imagined it would be.
Brock slapped the file closed and stepped away.
He never missed an opportunity to be close to a pretty woman. Never passed up the chance to charm his way into her evening plans.
But this woman wasn’t normal.
And that was a problem.
Especially right now.
He needed nice, uninteresting, normal Eva Tatum to show up and save him from this other, completely interesting, and definitely not normal one.
“I’ve gotta go.”
Her lips quirked. “That was sudden.”
He shrugged, trying to ignore the way her indescribable eyes were sizing him up.
Appraising him.
As if she was studying his every move. Every word. “Do I make you nervous?”
“No.”
Her head tipped back in a belly-deep laugh. Loud and long. “You are a funny man.” She wiped at the dark lashes framing her eyes. “Maybe I won’t hate Alaska as much as I thought.” She bent at the waist to dig into the leopard-print bag at her feet. One of the luggage claims started to buzz, catching her attention. She squinted down the row of carousels. “I believe that’s me.” She straightened and gave him a dazzling smile. “Good timing since you said it’s time for you to go too.” She pointed to the floor. “Don’t wo
rry. I’ll let them know about the mess.” She gave him a wink and turned, swinging her large bag onto one shoulder as she walked away.
And damned if he didn’t hate to see her go.
Which meant he should have walked away from her sooner.
Brock tucked the folder under one arm and lifted the paper printed with Eva Tatum’s name as a line of people started to file from the gates. He looked through the crowd as they passed. Unfortunately, his eyes immediately found a head of dark hair and a leopard-print bag. He watched as her head tipped back again in a long, full laugh. The old man she was with beamed at her as she took the bag he had looped over the bar of his walker and hooked it on her other shoulder.
Brock turned his back on the scene as another baggage claim buzzer started to wail. He squinted up at the flight list.
He needed to get Ms. Tatum and get the hell out of here. Far away from silver shoes with her sunshine scent and soul deep laugh.
He needed to get his head on straight. Get back to his normal self. The man who was always up for a good time.
And that’s it.
He skimmed the list of flights until he found the one he was hunting.
Eva Tatum’s flight had already arrived. Thirty minutes early.
“Shit.”
CHAPTER 2
“YOU DON’T HAVE to do that.”
Eva’s new friend Elmer shifted in his orthopedic loafers.
“I know I don’t have to do it.” She smiled, taking his arm so he wouldn’t waste anymore time arguing. “You sit down and relax and I’ll bring your bag over. What does it look like?”
The old man chuckled. “It’s neon orange. My granddaughter bought it for me so I would be able to find it.”
“She’s a smart girl.” Eva gave him a wink. “I’ll be back.”
The bags from her flight were already racked and circling the belt. Elmer’s was unmissable and she grabbed it as it came close, setting it at her side while she scanned the carousel for hers.
Luckily she and Elmer’s granddaughter had something in common, and a second later her bag was in sight.
Eva rolled Elmer’s bag along as she stepped in to grab her own suitcase, hefting it up and off.
“Over pack?”
It was almost freaking impossible not to react to the voice beside her. It took everything she had to act casual as she lifted her head. “There’s no such thing.”
Counterfeit Relations (Alaskan Security: Team Rogue Book 2) Page 1
