Under Control

by Zoë Normandie

  “Yeah—I’m not going to lie to you, Moose. This guy has been playing silly buggers with you,” Delta grunted, looking around.

  “For once, you might actually be right.” Carrick shot his friend a sardonic look. “This isn’t what I signed up for.”

  “How did this guy find you?”

  “Said it was a recommendation from a happy customer, but he wouldn’t say who,” Carrick replied slowly, shaking his head in self-loathing. “Yup, Petrov cooked up some big fucking story, all right. His poor, estranged daughter is vulnerable and in danger. He can’t find her to warn her. Then he went on and on about this fucking shadowy evil that’s out to get her.”

  “You bought it.”

  “That’s right. I fucking bought it all.”

  The two men grunted together, seething that some Russian asshole had gotten the better of them.

  “That dark car chasing us from the rink was a goddamn ploy,” Delta said, flipping his cell phone rhythmically in his hand, “trying to turn up the tempo.”

  Carrick sucked his teeth, seething in anger. “Fucking right. I think it’s damn clear that no one is after Danica—no one, except for him.”

  The worst part spiraled in Carrick’s mind, something he was unwilling to admit.

  She’s scared of Petrov and I left her alone with him.

  Guilt crashed over him and he knew that was the final straw. It was time to make a move. He pushed off the SUV, Delta instantly calling after him in the background.

  “Don’t be a hero,” were the last words he heard from his old crewmate.

  That wasn’t what Carrick was planning on doing, but he couldn’t help but reach around to the rear waistband of his pants and grab the cold steel of his pistol’s grip. Wrapping his hands around it, he concealed it underneath his thick, black sweater, watching the two bouncers as he approached. Like a jaguar stalking his prey, his senses heightened, and every move they made echoed through his mind. He could take them both in the fucking blink of an eye. That wasn’t what he was worried about.

  One of the bouncers turned to him and held up his hand.

  “Hey, watch it, buddy.”

  “I’m not your fucking buddy,” Carrick growled, moving forward without a pause.

  He found his way to their position and was ready to push past them to get to the girl. He wasn’t going to waste another second without answers.

  But it didn’t come to that.

  Kosta Petrov, an American-Russian businessman, pushed open the front door to Danica’s apartment and came walking out, clutching a cane to help him walk. Tall, round and snarling, he stopped when he saw Carrick steps away from him. Petrov’s gaze floated from man to man, and it was clear he knew what was happening—for the most part.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he wheezed at Carrick, a lock of his gray hair falling out of place onto his forehead.

  Carrick narrowed his eyes but played it cool. “We need to talk.”

  Petrov grunted, smoothing his hair back, then continued moving forward down the sidewalk, nodding to the bouncers to bring around the car. That left Carrick alone with him. It was a good thing Carrick was taller—by a few inches at least. And for maybe the first time in the businessman’s life, Petrov was looking up at someone.

  Carrick held back, though—trained to be slick and smooth. He knew how to make things happen, how to talk to people. And chest-pointing or dick-measuring wasn’t going to help.

  “Your payment.” Petrov nodded at the car that was pulling up. “In cash.”

  “I said check or wire transfer,” Carrick replied, emotionless, matching the confidence and intensity of the drilling mogul. “We do things by the book.”

  “Is my money not good enough for you?” Petrov demanded, his dark eyes framed by gray eyebrows, which were narrowing as he challenged Carrick.

  “I don’t take cash,” Carrick insisted, fully understanding what Petrov was after.

  Petrov made no noise or any movement.

  “You did a good job,” Petrov finally spoke, cutting the silence. “And your observations?”

  “She’s being watched. You got that for sure,” Carrick lied, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t know by who, but I know they aren’t amateurs. Do you have any enemies?”

  Petrov shot a yellowing smile, like he knew something Carrick didn’t and was pleased about it. It was poisonous, and Carrick knew what a slippery snake looked like. He was clearly not willing to provide any information.

  “And who’s going to keep her safe now?” Carrick followed up, probing.

  “You will protect Dansa.” The Russian accent came through harder when the businessman spoke his daughter’s name.

  There it was. Petrov wanted him to become the girl’s bodyguard—or prison guard. Carrick’s stare never left the man’s face, confirming to Carrick that there were layers and layers of secrets to the story. There was something going on—something serious.

  “Protect her?” Carrick demanded.

  “I need someone to make sure she stays safe,” Petrov smirked and took out a check, signing it. “Write your price on here and cash it tomorrow.”

  Carrick flexed his muscles and stretched, not answering immediately to give the conversation some air. He didn’t like this. The undertone was clear. It wasn’t about keeping her safe. It was about keeping her under control.

  Before Carrick could respond, Petrov broke out into a coughing fit, unable to catch his breath. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out an inhaler, taking a deep breath from the mouthpiece. It was then that Carrick came to fully appreciate that the man was obviously not in good health.

  “What do you want me to do with her?” Carrick asked.

  “Let’s start with you escorting her to LA tomorrow.” Petrov continued wheezing. “Her cousin is getting married, and she needs to be there.”

  “Then what?” Carrick pressed.

  Petrov continued, smirking. “I’ll give you further instructions after the wedding.”

  Petrov reached out his shaking hand, the check between his fingers, holding it out to Carrick. He squinted through the shadowy night while Carrick let the cold night’s air fill his lungs, unmoving. Petrov shifted in surprise at his lack of response, almost drawing back. Carrick shot his hand out to accept the check, relaxing the arm gripping the pistol in his sweater.

  Seemingly relieved, Petrov nodded with a tone of finality and staggered away toward the idling black luxury car sitting on the road.

  Carrick watched the car pull away, and he settled into deep focus.

  Now I am in charge.

  He looked back up at the brownstone apartment building. In the window on the second floor, he saw Dani’s familiar face peeking through the curtain, but she quickly shut it upon realizing she’d been seen.

  Delta sauntered toward him from the direction of the SUV. He took a position near Carrick, and they scanned the neighborhood—watching for anything and everything. The night was young, and something told Carrick it wasn’t over yet.

  “What the fuck was that all about?” Delta asked, keeping his voice down so that no one else could hear.

  “Petrov extended my contract,” Carrick replied though a clenched jaw. “Punishment for a job well done.”

  Delta snorted, “No—just fucking no. What does he want now?”

  Carrick replied cautiously, knowing it wasn’t going to land well. “He wants me to be her prison guard. He wants me to drag her by the hair to LA for a fucking wedding tomorrow.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Delta spat, calling a spade a spade. “I don’t like this guy. Wash your hands of this.”

  Carrick let out a pinched breath. “Believe me, I fucking know. But what the hell am I supposed to do?”

  “Drop it. It’s not your problem,” Delta pushed.

  And that is the truth.

  “I can’t,” Carrick replied, knowing his own limitations. “You’ve still got the SEALs, but this is all I’ve got now.”

  Del
ta took a step forward then turned to stare his friend down with visible seriousness. It was clear that Delta saw through Carrick’s implication and recognized how unfounded it was, because Delta had been there every step of the last two years—every time Carrick had hit the bottom of another bottle, every time Carrick had whipped something breakable against the wall, every time Carrick had become swamped with feelings and had started missing her.

  “Look… I know this is a difficult day for you,” Delta levelled with him.

  “No,” Carrick grunted, warning his crewmate to stop. “That has nothing to do with it.”

  “Man, you can’t spend your whole life trying to save every girl,” Delta said, concern in his voice. “It wasn’t your fault what happened with Lauren. There was nothing you could have done.”

  Her name hit Carrick like a bag of fucking bricks, and he immediately felt winded…absolutely. He didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about Lauren anymore, about what had happened—and how his life had taken a nosedive after she was gone.

  His throat became tight, and something started hurting in his head.

  “Look… Let’s just fucking get the girl to LA and be done with it,” Carrick commanded, and Delta relented.

  It was a promise Carrick wouldn’t keep—and Delta likely knew it.

  Chapter Six

  Carrick

  Carrick reclined the seat slightly in his rented pickup truck as he kept his eye on the street down the hill. In the distance, he could see Danica’s apartment—dark and quiet—as it should be, considering it was the middle of the night. She was supposed to be sleeping.

  As for him, it was going to be a long night—keeping his eyes locked on her place, making sure no one went in or came out. He still hadn’t figured out how he was going to play it.

  Hours ago, he’d ordered Delta to grab him a rental and take the armored SUV back to LA. Carrick hadn’t expected to be working Danica’s contract for an extended period of time, and he needed Delta to manage the office until he could get back. Thank God Delta was in between rotations and had a little time on his hands before his next deployment. Carrick didn’t want to take any chances leaving the office cold.

  It had turned out that weekends were even busier in the private security industry than weekdays—especially so in greater LA. If Carrick had been looking for a normal pace of life after retiring from the SEALs, he hadn’t yet achieved it. Maybe he’d just lied to himself when he’d said he wanted to get his life together—when he’d woken up in a pool of booze and blood, unsure where he’d been or what he’d done. Those had been dark, dark days—and he still kept the memory of them close to his chest as a reminder.

  A painful reminder of what had happened when he’d let himself love someone.

  Suddenly, Carrick noticed movement. It wasn’t at the front door of her apartment. It was a shadow cast on the brick wall on the side of her building. He sprang forward in the seat, knowing he had to make a move. Pistol safely stowed in his pants, hand on the truck’s door, he was ready to stalk. But he didn’t have to. A familiar, lithe figure with a hood up crouched in the bushes at the front of the house.

  He knew it was her. He just knew.

  He had to give it to her. No one would have seen her—no one, of course, except for a former SEAL who was trained in urban warfare and black ops, a warrior with precise eyes, naturally adept at night vision, someone who knew what he was looking for.

  Slouching down farther into the seat of the dark, parked truck, he watched her slink through the front lawns, keeping herself hidden behind fences and shrubs. Eventually, she made her way to the end of the street, toward the main drag running through the neighborhood. Up ahead, he heard the distinct sounds of a big bus approaching and saw her move to the stop. She was catching a ride.

  It was clear that she was making a break for it. With a heavy black bag on her back, she looked like she’d packed for more than just a night away.

  After the bus stopped and took off again, he turned on the engine of the rental truck and followed. She would have no idea he was driving it, but he’d keep his distance anyway. Whatever she was doing only served to confirm what he’d thought. She was afraid. She was afraid of her father—and she had good enough reason to fucking split.

  Grinding his teeth together, he drove behind the San Francisco city bus, keeping his distance. The roadways weren’t packed, but they weren’t dead either—just busy enough to cover him. Quickly, he found that the bus was taking them toward the edge of the city, toward the long-haul coach depot.

  “She’s getting out of Dodge,” he grumbled to himself, slowing his speed.

  He caught a red light but was able to watch her offload from the bus parked in the distance. She went into the coach bus depot, which obviously was open at all hours. Maybe she really was a wayward runaway.

  “Shit,” he grunted, as the light took too long.

  A minute or two went by, and he realized that if he didn’t move fast, he was going to lose her. When the light went green, he hit the gas and found his way toward the depot, but he didn’t have time to turn into the drive. A charter bus exited the rear parking lot, and an LED display above the front window indicated that it was heading toward Fresno, California.

  Is she on that bus?

  Carrick slowed his speed yet again, allowing a car that was faster to merge in front of him as he tried to make a decision—turn into the depot or follow that bus? One choice was right, and the other was wrong. He had no idea which was which, but he had a fucking guess.

  Call it instinct.

  He hit the gas again, moving the heavy pickup truck into a faster lane, and found a safe distance behind the charter bus that was heading to Fresno.

  “Committed now,” Carrick said, flipping on the tunes in the truck, settling in for a long drive. Fresno was hours away.

  As he followed, his mind spun with questions about whether or not he’d made the right choice, but the way he saw it, he only had one chance. If he’d gone into the depot and she wasn’t there, he’d have missed her. The reality was that those charter buses had many, many stops on the way to their final destination, and he needed to keep his eye on it to make sure she didn’t bail early.

  Something in his gut told him he’d made the right choice, and he wasn’t usually wrong.

  As hours passed while he trailed the bus, thoughts of Petrov, the contract and the weird fucking situation danced around in his brain. What the fuck was it all about? And what the fuck was he going to do about it?

  I have to protect her.

  The coach eventually slowed down in an isolated town, partway to Fresno, in the interior of Northern California. They were far, far away from the city stretches of San Fran or LA. In fact, if he threw the sunroof back, he knew he’d see the stars on the clear night. This was his type of place.

  Up ahead, the bus pulled over and let out a few people. Carrick slowed his truck and lowered the brim of his baseball hat as he drove by the travelers, milling about on the side of the road. As the bus took off again, he noticed a familiar girlish form with her hood up, wearing a heavy black bag.

  He hadn’t been wrong.

  She was on the bus.

  He immediately pulled the truck onto the side of the road—a small patch of concrete lit up by a single streetlight in the one-shop town. The other travelers dispersed quickly, heading wherever they needed or wanted to go.

  Carrick jumped out of the truck, breathing in the cold air of the dry night. As soon as he let the driver’s door shut, Danica whipped her head around, flashing her eyes at him. She realized who it was and she gasped. With what he assumed was instinct birthed by a habit, she bolted.

  Running as fast as she could—far, far away from him.

  “Well, this is fucking going well,” he cracked, and instantly sprinted after her.

  He easily closed the distance between them.

  “Dani!” he bellowed. “Fucking slow down.”

  Finally close enough, he lunged and grabbed
her arm, pulling her into him. She fought back, slapping and punching at his chest. She was damn strong—much stronger than she appeared. He quickly released her when he heard her breathing sharpen and her sobs start. It was easy to understand that was she desperate as hell.

  She was terrified.

  “Hey, it’s okay,” he assured her, making a mental note to give her real fighting lessons someday. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Danica cried out harder, tears streaming down her cheeks. “That’s what he always said. That’s always what he wanted me to hear.”

  Carrick sucked back whatever lump was in his throat, his eyes widening.

  “Dani, talk to me.” He took a stronger tone, feeling every muscle flex protectively as he yanked her into him. “Who said that? Your father?”

  “He’s not my father!” she pushed Carrick hard against his chest, her voice cracking in pain. She was beginning to hyperventilate, and he saw anger and deep hurt.

  Suddenly, something Carrick had felt deep inside started making sense.

  Kosta Petrov isn’t her father?

  She winced and twisted as she sputtered out tears, struggling to breathe. He felt that pain. Someone had really done a number on her. As she pushed harder and harder against his chest, shrieking as she cried, Carrick did the only thing he knew.

  He wrapped his big, muscled arms around her small frame and hugged her tight against him. It was a bear hug she’d never be able to get out of. He sucked in air slowly and rhythmically, making sure to release his hot breath onto her soft hair as he gently smoothed the stray locks. He wasn’t sure if it was going to work at first, but in a minute, her crying abated and she buried her face into his chest, breathing with him.

  Finally, he pulled her back slightly so that he could see her face.

  “Hey.” He exhaled down on her, assessing where she was at. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  Under that one streetlight, he could see red eyes and a redder nose. Her heart-shaped face, dusted with a golden tan, was wet from tears and wincing in pain.