Etienne huffed out a laugh. “I get ya. Okay, boss man, what did Stefan find?”
“Approximately four weeks of phone calls, coming in from three different numbers. All burner phones. The first few calls were answered by Gabi, each lasting no longer than fifteen to twenty seconds. After that, all calls rejected.”
“Wrong numbers?” Nate asked.
“Doubtful. None of the calls originated locally. New York, Washington, and Miami. The phones all purchased with cash. Stefan pulled security footage on two of the stores where the phones were purchased. Whoever bought them knew exactly where the cameras were, all males, all wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses. Deliberately stayed turned away from the cameras. Black males, five foot nine to five eleven, roughly one hundred and sixty-ish pounds. One man clean shaven, one with a mustache. No visible tattoos.”
Ranger tapped the paper he held in one hand. “There’s more. I let Gabi use my extra parking space, since there’s no close parking near her apartment over the store. She pretty much walks everywhere anyway, so it made sense to park her car there. Last week I came home and her car had been trashed. All four tires slashed. Doors and hood keyed. Huge slashes in the convertible top.”
The sudden stillness on the deck didn’t surprise Dylan. The calls, the car—mounting evidence one of their own was in trouble couldn’t be denied. The camaraderie and loyalty between these men, some connected by blood, and some by choice, couldn’t be denied. And he was beginning to have a sneaking suspension of why Carpenter had called him.
“Son of a—” Etienne glared at his brother. “You knew about this and didn’t tell me…us.”
“Don’t be an ass. You were working a case in Florida. There wasn’t a hell of a lot you could’ve done from there, and there wasn’t a reason for you to head home until the job was finished. Gabi doesn’t know about her car. I had it towed, fingerprinted, and checked from stem to stern. It’s being repaired and repainted. I hope I can get it back to the garage before she even knows it’s gone.”
“People, let’s get back on track, please.” Carpenter glanced at Dylan, and he nodded, letting him know he was in. Hell, he’d have been in even if he didn’t owe the man. It didn’t matter he’d never met Gabi Boudreau in his life. He knew her family, which was more than enough.
“Gabi’s getting our help, whether she wants it or not. But for now, we’re gonna keep this on the down low. Which is why Dylan’s here. He’s gonna be Gabi’s bodyguard. Her shadow. Anybody comes close to our girl, he’ll be there.”
Dylan felt the weight of every eye, their laser focus drilling into him, studying him, weighing his worth. After long moments, the tension eased.
Guess I passed the test.
Carpenter clapped his hands once, the sharp sound drawing attention back to him.
“Okay, here’s the plan.”
2
Gabi Boudreau strode out the door of the mailbox drop-off store, a stack of mail clasped in one hand, as she slid her sunglasses from the top of her head to shade her eyes with the other. The glare from the brilliant sunlight seemed especially strong after the dimness of the shop’s interior. Time for a quick break, maybe grab a bite before heading back to the office. I’m definitely ready for a caramel latte with extra whipped cream and chocolate drizzle. I’ve earned it.
She’d been working at Lamoreaux Investigations for the past few months, ever since returning from Italy. In the beginning, she’d walked through their front door with an impossible, and as she quickly came to realize, unrealistic idea about the exciting world of private investigators. Too bad the reality didn’t come close to living up to her vivid imagination. She chalked it up to growing up with four older brothers, all ex-military, who now worked for Carpenter Security. Add in the fact her father was Gator Boudreau, well known throughout New Orleans as being Mr. Fix-It, the man who could take care of anybody’s difficulties…well, nothing else needed to be said.
Everybody at the PI office, meaning Max and Theresa Lamoreaux, treated her great, but if she was honest, she had bigger goals, and answering a phone and filing stacks of papers wasn’t what she wanted to do with her life. At least not long-term anyway. It didn’t offer her the—excitement—she craved.
Every single person in her immediate family lived lives overflowing with excitement. Her brothers were all adrenaline junkies. Heck, even her dad did work on the side for Samuel. All the Boudreau men worked for a billionaire who owned his own exclusive private security company, a man who oozed charisma with a seductive dash of danger, though she’d never admit that out loud, especially around his fiancée, Andrea. She shook her head, a tiny smile curling the corners of her lips. Andrea Kirkland was a pussycat, but could easily turn on a dime, and Gabi definitely didn’t want to be on the receiving end of the other woman’s infamous temper. Besides, she thought of Samuel as one of her brothers, since he’d practically lived at her house when she’d been growing up.
All-in-all, things in her life weren’t really bad. Just boring as hell.
After college, she’d taken time off and traveled, mostly through Europe, trekking around England, Scotland, and France for several months. She’d taken part-time jobs in Italy and Switzerland, waiting tables or doing odd jobs. On coming back to the States, she’d visited her Uncle Doug and Aunt Patti in Texas. Her father had four younger brothers, each one as overtly alpha as her dad, which meant there was a bushelful of Boudreau cousins, most of them either current military, recently out, or else they were law enforcement types, and she’d found herself engulfed by enough testosterone to think she was back at home with her four older brothers.
Finally ready to move on with her life, she’d headed home, ready to pursue her academic life. Four years at Tulane gave her a diploma, but no viable job opportunities in sight. Journalism, it turned out, was a tough nut to crack. Hundreds of people with a degree equal to or better than the one she’d earned, along with more practical experience, all vied for the same handful of available positions. Those odds weren’t in her favor.
She wasn’t about to give up, though. She’d inherited a stubborn streak a mile wide and canyon deep. Daddy always teased her she’d inherited it from her mother, though she knew better. Once the man latched onto something, he held on as tightly as his namesake. There’d be no turning it loose until he accomplished what needed to be done—come hell or high water.
Fingers crossed, her tenacity gained her what she wanted too, because she’d worked damned hard to get her degree. Journalism called to her. She loved writing, always had. Reading too, as her e-reader tablet would attest.
A cool breeze tickled against her cheeks, and she stopped, lifting her face toward the sky. Was there any place better than New Orleans in spring? Last month the city overflowed with tourists, partygoers, and revelers, binging on the spirit, the very essence of the French Quarter. Parades, celebrations, and a plentitude of food, music, and parties available at the drop of a hat, or in the case of the Big Easy, strands of Mardi Gras beads.
A rough push from behind broke her from her thoughts, as two women bustled past her without a backward glance.
Too bad their mommas didn’t teach them any better manners, bless their hearts.
She paused at the corner, taking a sip of her latte, and waited for the light to change. Without warning, a sharp shove in the center of her back caused her to hurtle forward—straight into oncoming traffic. The cup in her hand went flying as she struggled to keep from face-planting against the asphalt. Tires screeched, and a loud female scream permeated the air.
Before she could manage another breath or cry out, strong arms wrapped around her middle, yanking her back against a solid wall of muscle. The sound of crunching metal echoed in her ears, along with the tune of her panting breaths.
“Are you okay?”
It was probably a good thing whoever behind her still had his arms wrapped around her midsection, because her knees decided now was the perfect time to buckle. The rock solid bands tightened their hold,
and she gave in to her instinct to lean back against the wall of strength keeping her erect. Something about his hold made her feel secure, safe even, in the midst of the chaos escalating around her.
“I think so.” She felt a twinge of regret when those arms loosened their grip, and she slowly turned to look at her savior. A wide expanse of chest was the first thing she spotted, her eyes appreciating the wall of muscle displayed by the dark T-shirt covering his torso. She allowed her gaze to move upward, taking in the strong jawline. A small scar decorated his chin, and she couldn’t help noticing his full lips, currently pulled downward in a frown, before moving upward. His face looked like it was hewn from granite, all sharp angles and jagged edges. Another small scar bisected his eyebrow above dark brown eyes, the color so rich it reminded her of the expresso she loved at Café Du Monde.
Her head craned farther back to take in the whole package, because he was tall, well over six feet and two hundred plus pounds. Having grown up around military men, she could tell there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. Of course, she could tell from the feel of all those muscles when she’d been held tight against him.
The edges of his dark brown hair brushed against his collar, and looked like it might have a tendency to curl if it got much longer.
Before she could stop herself, she blurted out the first thing thought which popped into her head. “You’re military, right?”
His only reaction was a quick blink, before even that telltale giveaway was quashed. The right corner of his mouth kicked up. “You sure you’re not hurt?”
“I’m fine. Thanks for the assist, by the way.”
“I’m glad I reached you. There was no way the car could have stopped in time.”
Yeah, she’d already had the same realization, which was why her hands still shook. The mail she’d just picked up was still clutched tightly in one hand, she realized. A gust of wind blew past, and she brushed back the hair flying in her face with her other hand.
“Did you see who pushed me?” She hated the shaky, breathless sound of her voice, barely above a whisper.
“You were pushed?” He shook his head. “I only saw you jerk forward, like you’d stumbled on the curb.”
“I don’t know—it felt like somebody shoved me. I guess I’m mistaken. It’s busy out, maybe I was jostled by the crowd.” She smiled at him. “Lucky for me, you were there. My personal knight in shining armor.”
He snorted. “Sweetheart, I’m nobody’s hero. Just glad I was in the right place at the right time.”
“Well, whatever you want to call yourself, thank you.” She thrust out her hand. “I’m Gabi—Gabi Boudreau.”
His fingers wrapped around her hand, and she felt a sizzle zing through her. “Dylan Roberts.” Though she listened intently, she couldn’t detect any hint of an accent. She did love the sound of his voice. Deep and sure, with a husky timbre, she could listen to him talk for hours.
“Where were you headed, before your near miss?”
“Back to the office. I’d grabbed the mail and decided to reward myself with a coffee, which is now decorating the sidewalk of Canal Street.” She gave a sheepish grin. “Not sure my hips need the calories anyway.”
Oh, man, had she really just said that out loud?
A slow grin spread across his lips, and he looked her up and down slowly, appreciation lighting his gaze. “I don’t think your hips have anything to worry about.”
“Well, anyway, thanks again. I’m a little shaky, so I think I’m going to head home instead of back to the office.”
“Do you live close by? I can give you a ride if you need one.”
“I don’t live too far away. I walk to work every day.” Oops, maybe she was oversharing a bit. He might be cute, but still a total stranger. A cute stranger, but—
“Can I buy you another cup of coffee before you head home?”
She hesitated for a second before throwing caution to the winds. “How about I make you a cup of coffee instead? If you don’t mind walking me home. Honestly, I’d feel a little better not being alone right now…if you don’t mind?”
“I’d love to walk you home.”
Clutching the mail to her chest, and hoping she wasn’t making a huge mistake, she headed for her apartment with the intriguing stranger she’d just met. What could go wrong?
3
She slid the key into the door at the rear entrance of the French Quarter shop. Dylan wanted to ask about the place but refrained. From the lettering on the glass window at the front, it was some kind of New Age place. He didn’t believe in any sort of mumbo-jumbo stuff, but he found it interesting she lived here. She seemed too grounded in reality, from what he’d gleaned from her, to believe in hocus-pocus, but he’d been wrong before. Maybe she got a good deal on the rent, since it was located in the French Quarter, where properties garnered prime real estate prices. Even living out of the country, he’d heard about the shortage of available rental spots, especially in the middle of tourist season.
Gabi swung the door inward, and flipped on the light switch, bathing the space in a golden glow. He walked in behind her, straight into a kitchen. Tossing her purse on the countertop, she spun around with a smile. “Sorry for the mess.” Gabi swung the door inward, and flipped on the light switch, bathing the space in a golden glow. He walked in behind her, straight into a kitchen. Tossing her purse on the countertop, she spun around with a smile. “I usually clean on the weekends, but…
“Not a problem. I tend to be a bit messy myself.” Not exactly the truth, though his rigid ingrained SEAL training had relaxed a bit since he’d walked away from the military. Living alone had mellowed his deeply ingrained military tendency for excessive neatness, and the jungle kept things from being too formal.
“Coffee. I promised you coffee…unless you’d like something else? I’ve got tea, juice, or wine.”
“It’s a little early for wine, don’t you think? Coffee will be fine.”
“Right, sorry. I’m just—I guess I’m a little spooked about my near miss. I still hear the squealing brakes. Crunching metal.” She drew in a deep breath, and he could practically see her pulling a protective shield around herself. “Listen to me, babbling like an idiot. Please, sit. I’ll get the coffee started.”
He pulled a wooden ladder-back chair out and slipped onto the seat.
Be charming, Roberts. Put her at ease. Do the job you’ve been hired to do, which is keep an eye on Gabi and keep her safe.
“Nice place.”
“Thanks. It belongs to a friend. She’s letting me roost here until I get on my feet.” She chuckled. “Wow, saying it out loud makes it sound like I’ve been sick or at death’s door or something. Instead, the sad truth is I’m having difficulty finding a job I really want.”
“And what’s that, Gabi?”
“Journalism. Specifically, investigative journalism. I’ve always loved reading and writing. Digging in to something to get to the nitty-gritty of a story. Add in I’m a naturally nosy person, and it seemed like a match made in heaven. Instead, everybody and their great aunt have degrees in journalism, and more experience.”
He loved the enthusiastic way she talked about her passion, the light illuminating the intelligence shining in her eyes. The animated way she waved her hands, punctuating her words. Had he ever been excited about anything in his life? Not lately, he realized. The most excitement he’d seen in ages had been when he’d helped the Boudreau brothers rescue the women being held hostage by Gareth Prescott. Which partially explained what he was doing now, seated at Gabi’s table.
A momentary twinge of guilt speared him before he managed to quash the traitorous feeling. He hated keeping his real reason for meeting her secret. But Carpenter insisted he not tell her he’d been assigned as her bodyguard. And he hated even more she needed one in the first place. Who would want to harm her? From everything he’d seen, she appeared too sweet and innocent to have made many enemies.
But looks could be deceiving, a lesson he’d lea
rned the hard way.
She filled two cups and brought them to the table, then grabbed the container of cream from the fridge. A covered bowl in the center of the table contained individual packets of sugar. He ignored both to sip at his black coffee. Hot and strong, the way he liked it.
“Tell me about you, Dylan. What brings you to New Orleans?”
“I’m here doing a favor for a friend. Friends, actually. They called, and here I am.”
“Well, I’ve got to say, I’m glad you were in the right place at the right time today, or I might have been playing the role of the bug on somebody’s windshield. Did I remember to say thank you?”
He laughed. “Several times. Again, you’re welcome.”
“Okay, I don’t want to sound like a dork or anything, but here goes…would you like to maybe go out…you know, to dinner with me?”
He found himself smiling at her. He couldn’t help himself. “I was going to ask you. But since you beat me to the punch, yes, I’d love to have dinner with you. You know this town better than me. What would you suggest?”
“Honestly, you can’t go wrong with any place in the French Quarter. Depends on how fancy you want to get. There’s so much to choose from here. You name it, we’ve got it.” The love and pride in her voice for her hometown made him wistful. He hadn’t felt like that about any place, not even his new home in Costa Rica. Being an Army brat, he’d moved around from base to base, following his father, never staying long enough in any one place to make close friends. His choice to go into the SEAL program had caused a rift between him and his dad persisted for years. They’d finally started mending fences in the last couple of years, but there was still a long way to go.
“Why don’t you choose? I trust your judgment.” He stood and set down his cup. “I’ll pick you up around seven.” Pulling out his phone, he handed it to her. “Mind giving me your number? I’ll give you a call later.” He watched her punch in a series of numbers and hand back his phone. Quickly dialing the number, he heard hers ring, and hung up. “Now you have mine.”
Guarding Gabi - Kathy Ivan Page 2
