by LaQuette
Table of Contents
Sneak Peek
Under His Protection
Dedication | Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
About the Author
Coming in May 2019
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Copyright
But the way Elijah’s blood simmered as he stood this close to Camden, breathing in the acrid scent of medicinal soap wafting off his skin, Elijah didn’t think safe was the right word to describe their current status. Slightly intoxicated by the desire Elijah knew he shouldn’t have for a man he shouldn’t want, Elijah paused a second to let his gaze slide up and down Camden’s lean body. A moment was all it took to remember how glorious Camden was in nothing but his bare skin, and for Elijah to recognize the real threat Camden was. They might have been safe from Camden’s enemies, but being safe from each other was another matter altogether.
Under His Protection
By LaQuette
They can escape their enemies, but not the desire between them.
Prosecutor Camden Warren is on the fast track to professional nirvana. With his charm, his sharp legal mind, and his father as chief judge in the highest court in New York, he can’t fail. Nothing can derail his rise to the top… until an attempt on his life forces him to accept the help of a man he walked out on five years ago.
Wounded in the line of duty, Lieutenant Elijah Stephenson wants to ride his new desk job until retirement—not take a glorified babysitting gig with more risk than it’s worth… especially not protecting the entitled lawyer who disappeared after the best sex of their lives.
The threat against Camden’s life is real, but their passion for each other might prove the greatest danger they’ve yet to face.
To Tere, Kate, and Damon (of the Suede persuasion). Thank you. I see everything that you do.
Acknowledgments
TO God, from whom all blessings flow, thank you for the gift, the desire, the support, and the opportunity. To Damon (my hubbykins), this does not happen without you. Love you forever. To Sterling and Semaj, my heartbeats, the best parts of me. To my family and friends, thank you for putting up with my craziness. To Elizabeth and Lynn, thank you for getting it without needing anyone to explain it to you. To Sue, thank you for making my crazy sound amazing. To Amy, B.A., Heidi, Rayna, Alexis, Harper, and Adriana, thank you for all of your help and insight. To Lexie Craig, thank you for supplying me with my new motto, “Hustle until you don’t have to introduce yourself” (unknown). To all of my JMC and LIJ people, your love strengthens me. To Nelson, thank you for helping me keep it honest. To the readers, you will never know how much I appreciate your support. Thank you for taking this journey with me.
Thank you for embracing my crazy,
LaQuette
Chapter One
“TRAFFIC detected ahead in 1.5 miles. Take suggested alternate route instead.”
Camden Warren cringed at the automated voice coming from his GPS. “God,” he groaned. “Even the disembodied robotic voice in my navigator thinks I need to be directed everywhere.”
He begrudgingly made the necessary adjustments to his route, hoping nothing else deterred his journey home.
One hand on the steering wheel, the other rubbing the tension from his neck, Camden replayed the conversation—or more aptly termed, the civil disagreement—he and his father had engaged in. Two hours spent at his parents’ “Downstate” home in Kings Point, Long Island, playing verbal tennis all to answer one question.
“When are you going to choose a suitable man to settle down with whose pedigree will be an asset to you on the campaign trail? I’ve presented you several suitable candidates over the last five years, Camden. You’ve tossed them all away. You will not ignore this opportunity I’ve cultivated with the senator’s son.”
Michael Warren, chief judge of the New York Court of Appeals, had one goal in mind: for his son, Camden, to blaze across the political arena. It wasn’t a bad dream to have. If Camden were to be honest, the idea of holding office, and having the ability to change the government, was intoxicating. Enticing enough he’d followed every letter of his father’s master plan to political nirvana. Everything except the need for a pretty spouse to smile nicely for the cameras.
“A 97 percent conviction rate. Executive assistant district attorney in less than ten years on the job. All of that, and I’m still not good enough to win an election if I don’t have the right man by my side?”
Halfway through his trip, a blinking light on his dashboard illuminated the car. It was one of those safety features that screamed at you to take care of your vehicle when you’d otherwise ignore it.
A quick glance at the dash showed him it was the low-fuel alarm. His car was doubtful Camden could make it home at his current speed with only a quarter tank of gas in the car.
Camden slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “Apparently, everyone is questioning my judgment tonight.”
He glanced down Conduit Avenue until he saw the familiar sign of a franchise gas station shining in the night. After turning the indicator on, he drove into the station and pulled up to a pump.
He leaned down, trying to spot any attendants who might be around, and prickled in annoyance when he saw the self-service sign. Not that he’d never pumped his own gas before, but after going ten rounds with his dad about settling down with a suitable husband, Camden just wanted to be done with this task as soon as possible.
Taking a deep breath to pull himself together, he turned the car off, exited, and walked to the pump controls. Pulling his credit card out of his wallet, he was about to swipe it when he saw the “Credit cards pay inside” message scrolling across the small screen.
“Shit! Can this get any worse?”
Camden shoved his card back in his pocket and made the trek across all eight pumps before he reached the little market he assumed the “inside” part of the message referred to.
He stepped inside, seeing an empty cashier’s booth in the front of the store. He stood there, tapping his finger against the reinforced plastic cube where someone should’ve been sitting so he could get his gas and get the hell on the road.
When a young man with stringy brown hair came through a door marked Employees Only, he almost threw his credit card at the kid to get his attention.
“Fill it up on pump eight. Premium please.”
“You got ID?”
Camden’s jaw ticked with frustration. The kid was lucky that cube protected him from Camden’s need to wring his scrawny little neck. He pulled his driver’s license from his wallet and threw it into the drawer the boy had pushed open.
“You need a receipt?”
“No,” he growled. “I need you to turn the pump on, so I can get my gas and go home.”
Camden pinched the bridge of his nose and
shook his head as he mentally chastised himself. He was being an asshole to this kid when his frustration lay solely at his father’s feet, and that was unacceptable. Remorseful, and with a minor attitude adjustment, Camden dropped his hand to his side and stared at the attendant. “I’m sorry. It’s been a rough night.”
The kid shrugged his shoulders, not seeming at all concerned with Camden’s impatience or his apology, and went about the business of scanning the card, having Camden sign for the purchase, and sliding the card back through the push-pull drawer for him to collect.
His card in his wallet, and hopefully a working gas pump waiting for him, Camden left the mini-mart and headed toward his car. He was halfway there when he realized the adolescent behind the window hadn’t given him back his driver’s license.
Camden turned on his heel and headed back. When his hand reached the door, he heard a loud sound that resembled a large vehicle backfiring. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed a strange spark near his muffler.
“What the fuck is that?”
He made one step toward the car as the spark happened again, and a loud boom filled the air. Camden stood disoriented and uncertain of what was occurring, when an unseen force pushed him through the air and back into the swinging doors of the mini-mart.
His surroundings were suddenly quiet and dark. Strangely, it was the silence that panicked him most. Why couldn’t he hear anything? What was that loud boom before everything went so quiet? Since when was he able to fly?
There were a million questions in his mind he wanted to ask. But suddenly, the most pertinent impulse seemed to be his need to close his eyes and succumb to the darkness.
Chapter Two
ELIJAH Stephenson stood outside of the metal double doors of the seventy-fourth precinct. Half of him was ready to walk away while the other half nudged Elijah to open the doors and step inside.
Fourteen years of running in and out of this place and he’d never hesitated to enter its walls. This was Elijah’s house, his home, and his brothers and sisters in blue lived inside. Yet standing there on the outside, disconnected like a severed limb, phantom memories of a career path lost to him haunted Elijah’s soul.
Six months had passed since he’d last entered this building. Then, he was Sergeant Elijah Stephenson, badass vice detective who stared down the bottom feeders determined to bleed his Brooklyn community dry. He stomped on the pimps, drug dealers, and gun runners in East New York, and he’d taken pleasure in doing it. He was on a professional high until he was shot, beaten, and left for dead in an ambush.
Elijah took another breath, trying to squash the memories that threatened to creep through his subconscious and make it to the forefront of his mind.
He’d survived. That was the mantra he kept repeating whenever flashes of the attack returned. It was something his department therapist had taught him. No matter what happened in the past, he was still here in the present. He was still alive.
He was still alive, and things had changed.
He’d taken the lieutenant’s exam before he was injured. His receipt of his passing test scores and a letter of intent regarding his promotion had helped pull him out of his slump and given him motivation to work on his injuries, both inside and out. Now, he stood in front of these doors, Lieutenant Stephenson, and as soon as he built up the nerve to open them, there would be a new, safer command waiting for him.
This new command was so much more than a new duty assignment. It represented a new life for Elijah. He’d work from an office. He’d work normal hours and have weekends off. He’d be able to sleep in his bed at night, even go out, and do something as routine as go on a date.
Damn, when was the last time you had a date, man?
He stood there trying to recall his last real date. He’d had hookups, but hooking up for a night wasn’t the same thing as dating. He spent just enough time with those men to get his rocks off and move on to the next man, the next case, that came afterward. But the last date he remembered was with that asshole his friend Lindsey had set him up with five years ago.
Cocky and stuck on himself, the man was sexy as hell. He was clean-shaven and too pretty for Elijah to ignore, and against his better judgment, he’d let the date progress until they were back at Elijah’s place, sweating up his damn sheets. The guy’s arrogance notwithstanding, Elijah had never forgotten his touch or his taste. A fact that still pissed him off after all this time.
With not so much as a “See you later. Come lock your door,” his date absconded while Elijah slept and had never contacted Elijah again.
He was pissed about it. In part because Elijah had always been that guy who snuck away, but also because the man had left his door unlocked. As a cop who knew what lurked outside in the streets, sleeping with an unlocked door was a game he didn’t play.
Elijah carried the sting of that brush-off for as long as he took to realize the brunet cutie had done him a favor. The lifestyle he led as a vice cop would have allowed nothing more than a few sessions in his bed.
But it was over now. Elijah had paid his dues and sacrificed more than enough to the job. This new appointment meant Elijah was getting his life back. All he had to do was walk inside and claim it.
“You can do this, Stephenson. Just man up.”
He pulled one door open and entered the concrete walls of the seventy-fourth. The familiar smell of industrial cleaner was the first thing to grab his attention. He coughed as the potent chemicals made the back of his throat tickle.
He shook his head. In the fourteen years he’d spent in and out of this building, Elijah never noticed how caustic the stench of that cleaner was.
Maybe it’s not the cleaner. Maybe you’re not up to this anymore.
Somewhat shaken by the thoughts zipping across his mind, he closed his eyes and reminded himself of what awaited him. Vice was behind him. He’d given his all and then some to the streets. Now, it was time for a different life. A more fulfilling one that didn’t involve him getting shot at as a normal job occurrence.
When he made his way into the squadron, the bustling sounds customary to a busy police station stopped, and the open space filled with quiet. Elijah looked around the room and watched as his fellow officers focused their eyes on him.
The awkward pause made his heartbeat speed up and his brow dampen with a thin mist of sweat. The silence seemed endless until Elijah heard the distant sound of flesh slapping together in the distance. The sound grew, one officer after another joining in the applause until the sound of hand-clapping filled the room.
Elijah nodded, keeping his eyes focused on Captain Searlington’s office, trying his best not to make eye contact with any of his fellow officers. He didn’t want their praise. Didn’t deserve it. Not when he’d lost the best part of himself in those streets during his attack. A cop with no nerve, was there anything more useless?
He plowed through the throng of officers, accepting their welcome-backs and cheerful slaps on the back as he kept moving toward his destination. As he reached the metal door with the acrylic window that read Captain Searlington on it, he tapped against the glass, then waited for the customary “Come in” before he entered.
When he opened the door, a tall woman with deep brown skin, an athletic build, and her dark brown hair pulled into a tight ponytail, stood up from her desk and walked around to greet him with her hand extended.
“Glad to have you back, Stephenson,” she stated as she offered him her hand. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.” He gave her a brief smile as he answered and took the seat she offered him in front of her desk.
“I know what it’s like getting injured in the field. I wouldn’t blame you if you needed more time off. Lord knows you’ve got it banked.”
She wasn’t lying. Elijah had more sick time than he knew what to do with. So much so, he’d never had a lapse in paychecks while waiting for the city to take their slow-ass time to get his disability benefits together. His stockpile of sick and vacat
ion time was just proof of how obsessed he was with his work.
Back then, he’d believed only bored people needed time off. Why would he need to get away from something he loved so much? Except for a mandatory week the department forced on him here or there, Elijah had never wanted to be away from his work for longer than it took for him to sleep, work out, and come back.
“So, you sure you’re ready to get back to duty?”
There were slight lines pulling at Captain Searlington’s brow as she waited for his answer. She was worried about him.
He dropped his gaze for just a moment, closing his eyes to gather his thoughts. According to his head and body docs, he was fit for duty. His captain no doubt had copies of those reports. She knew he was cleared to return, but looking into the warm brown eyes staring at him from across the desk, he understood what she was truly asking.
Are you sure you’re ready for me to put a gun and a badge in your hand again?
“Captain. I’m good. Besides, it’s either return to work or die from being smothered by my family.”
“Ms. Evelyn’s just concerned about her son. There’s nothing wrong with that,” she countered. “But if you’re ready to get back, I’m glad to give you these.”
She reached into a desk drawer and pulled out his Glock, its magazine, and his credentials. “Welcome back, Lieutenant Stephenson.”
He took the weapon, inspected it, and then slid the magazine inside the well. He took a moment to secure it at his hip, and then he grabbed for his new badge and smiled.
Before the shooting, he hadn’t cared about climbing up the ladder. Making detective allowed him to work in Vice, and earning his sergeant’s rank meant he got to lead his teams and operations the way he chose in the field. The only reason he’d taken the test was to appease his father, a retired NYPD officer who wanted bragging rights about his first-born becoming a white shirt.
As always, his father was right. This new shield and rank were the only reason he still had a place in this building. After everything he’d been through, he wasn’t sure he could handle being on the streets any longer.
