Protector of Novah (Valor Knights Book 1)

by Rhonda Lee Carver

Peter laid his hands onto his desk, despising his wife’s lack of decorum. “It’s more difficult than that, ShyAnne. Have you spoken with Banner, Stark? He’s friends with Banks. Maybe he can sink some reasoning into this mess.”

  “I did speak to him. It’s not good I’m afraid. Banner said Egan is an upstanding man and he wouldn’t take all the money in the word to stay quiet.” Stark looked like he’d developed more wrinkles while standing there. “If word got out about the events that transpired your chances of becoming governor, or holding any public office in the future, will be squashed. Not just that but charges could be, and more than likely would be, brought against you.” He gave ShyAnne a sideways glance of blame.

  “Oh please! Every man could use a big payoff. And so can that twit of an assistant.” ShyAnne crossed her arms, bringing her large breasts almost out of the low-cut dress. “You know the one who you brought on board so you can watch her ass every time she walked by. Now look, your dick clouded your brain, again.”

  Stark took a step as if to bring the problem back on track. “Banner is adamant that Banks can’t be paid off and I believe him.”

  “Is Banner on our side?”

  Stark shrugged. “They’re good friends. You know how the buddy system works for soldiers, Mr. Langley.”

  “Then take care of the situation, but quietly. We don’t want any dead bodies.”

  ShyAnne laid her palms on her ample hips. “Oh my God! That’s it?”

  “Be quiet!” Peter reprimanded his wife. Although by her expression she didn’t like it much, she did remain quiet long enough for him to gather his thoughts.

  “There’s more to the story, sir.” Redness crept up into Stark’s cheeks.

  “Of course there would be!” Peter leaned back into the cushioned chair. He was tired. These days that was his usual feeling. “What more bright news do you have pray tell?”

  “Ms. Coffman is Egan Banks’ ex-wife.”

  The campaign manager’s words weren’t even completely out before ShyAnne’s sharp gasp echoed off the walls. “That assistant was married to Egan?”

  Peter tried to wrap his head around the information. “How was this missed?”

  “Inefficient vetting.”

  “This only gets messier.” Peter focused on his wife, wanting to wring her neck and yet wanting to fuck her all at the same time. Once upon a time he’d found great pleasure in bending her over his desk when he was angry and taking that sweet pussy long and hard. Even giving her a spanking when she deserved it.

  “Don’t look at me like that! It’s not my fault that you have incompetent staff.”

  Peter snapped his fingers, gaining Stark’s attention. “Listen, we’re in deep shit here. I don’t understand why they haven’t gone to the police yet or leaked the information to the news.”

  “Because the bitch wants something. She wants money. All women like her want money,” ShyAnne seethed. “We need to get to her. Convince her to disappear.”

  Peter could only imagine what she meant by “convince”. “You’re off the mark here—”

  “No, this is the first time I can agree with her,” Stark added. “I’ve looked into Lindsay’s past and I think there are some interesting things that we can possibly use to turn this situation around.”

  With ShyAnne’s gaze drilling down upon him, he felt the pressure of the situation. “You take care of things, Stark. Keep it undercover. The last thing we need is one of them to feel some loyalty toward the wrong person.”

  “I’ll set the ball rolling.” Stark seemed satisfied and left, but not before he snickered at ShyAnne.

  “For the life of me I can’t understand why you keep that Anxiety Smurf around,” Shyanne groaned. “It’s a good thing I do plan ahead. I might have some leverage of my own.” She strolled over, pressed the intercom button on the phone and said, “Miss Gaines, please bring in the envelope now.”

  “What’s going on?” Peter asked.

  “Don’t be impatient.”

  The door swept in and ShyAnne’s assistant handed over a manila envelope. “Thank you, Priscilla. You can go.”

  Once ShyAnne and Peter were alone again, she dropped the envelope onto the desk.

  “What is this?”

  “Call it an insurance policy.”

  He opened the flap and took out the stack of pictures. He scanned one after another, becoming more distraught. “Why do you have private pictures of Novah and me?” He pushed aside the incriminating material.

  “Oh, I believe it’s in a woman’s best interest to always have a cushion in case it becomes necessary. I know your type, and she is quite a temptation, isn’t she? I knew it was only a matter of time before you couldn’t control your dick around her. That’s how it happens.”

  “Nothing happened between us.”

  “Oh, but it looks like it, or rather we can make it look that way. And don’t fear, I have pictures of you and the other pregnant slut too in case we need them.”

  “You’ve been a busy woman, ShyAnne,” he said calmly. “I always thought you had a streak of voyeuristic tendencies.”

  “I do, but seeing you sweat like a pig over some twat doesn’t do it for me. I’m what you can call a smart entrepreneur. You did something that was quite different with Lindsay, unlike the other sluts. You started spending the night with her. I didn’t understand fully how the pictures could be used but now they will be greatly beneficial.” She twirled a piece of hair around her finger. “A woman like your assistant, an ex-teacher, wouldn’t want to have her name dragged through the mud. Wouldn’t that ruin any chance of working with kids again? We’d hate to see her lose any opportunity for another job in Wyoming, or anywhere in the country.”

  He sat there quietly.

  “Nothing to say, dear husband?”

  “What can I say?”

  “I have you by the balls.” She flipped her long hair over her shoulder. “Did you really think you could leave this marriage? If anyone decides to chuck it like yesterday’s trash it’ll be me.”

  “True, but you did sign a prenup, therefore if you leave the marriage you get exactly what you brought into it…nothing but grease under your nails and a crazy fascination for the finer things in life.”

  “Would you like me to leave the marriage?” She sat down on the edge of the desk, leaning in such a way that her double Ds were seductively exposed.

  “Come on. When I take office, I need a deceitful, insane woman at my side. You’re the right one for the job.”

  “Oh, darling. Just as you said, you do need a woman like me by your side. With the pictures of the assistant I think we can prove to her, and that hunky ex-husband, that it’s in their best interest to stay quiet.”

  “I think you’re forgetting that no one will care about a picture or two after they learn about what we’ve done.” His wife had a way of not seeing the forest because of the trees.

  “Wouldn’t it be terrible if that cute little child of Novah’s would face a problem? What’s her name again? Fegan? Farrah?”

  “Finley.”

  “Yes, that’s it. Kids make us weak. They are the lifeline to all peaceful negotiations.”

  “I won’t be a part of hurting any child, including my own.” He held her gaze.

  “Of course not, darling.” She stood, rounded the desk and bent over him, planting her hands on the arms of the chair, surrounding him with her evil seduction. “It won’t come to that I assure you, knowing as much about little Miss Novah as I do, she’ll crumble like paper in a tornado. She’ll convince Egan to walk too. Imagine how they would be destroyed if one little hair were harmed on their kid’s head.” Her grin spoke of the animosity inside her heart. She reached out to trace the curve of his jaw and even her touch was cold. “As far as your pregnant slut goes, let it play out. She must have a few brain cells in that head. She doesn’t want to destroy her career, especially with an unwanted baby.”

  “What if I don’t get elected—?”

  “Seriously? You
’re already one foot in, Peter. As we speak republicans are carving your name on the door at the governor’s mansion. Stop being so weak minded. Allow me to handle everything. You put on your pretty face, charming smile and keep pulling voters in.”

  Once upon a time he swore he’d be elected without stepping on anyone. That had been so long ago, back when he was naive. A man couldn’t manage a political career without getting dirt on his hands. What ShyAnne, and neither Stark, knew was that Peter had made some unbelievably bad, and dangerous, business decisions with the wrong people who had a lot at stake in him winning the election. He couldn’t just walk away from this. Those unkind men were breathing down his neck to make good on the promises he’d made with their backing. If he didn’t get elected, then he wouldn’t be worth anything to them any longer. He could lose everything—including his life.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  NOVAH FOLLOWED THE beaten path through the field of wildflowers, hearing Hannah’s laughter before rounding the back of the big red barn that had the American flag painted on the side. Standing in the clearing was Hannah and Egan. He kicked up the dirt with his boot and hooked his thumbs into his front pockets.

  “You certainly like shotguns, don’t you?” Egan checked out the weapon Hannah held firmly in her grip.

  “A woman can never have too many,” Hannah said with a wide smile. “This gem I bought two weeks ago. My first semiautomatic. Much better than pump action.”

  Novah could see the flirtation dripping from Hannah’s smile. She reached out and touched his wrist lightly—possessively. Something sharp and profound rocked through Novah, much like a kick in the teeth. She had no clue that Egan and Hannah had known each prior to them coming here. What was their relationship? They seemed very friendly.

  It’s none of your business, Novah.

  And yet, wasn’t it her business? Not only had she and Egan been intimate, but she’d been grappling with the possibility of them rekindling their relationship.

  “Watch this.” Hannah widened her stance, lifted the muzzle of the gun and shot one of the glass bottles lined up on a branch. She lowered the gun and patted it proudly. “Can you do any better?”

  “Should we make a bet?” He lifted a thick brow.

  “How about we—”

  Novah couldn’t take another second of the flirting. She joined them, making her presence known with a none too subtle clearing of her throat.

  Hannah swept her lavender gaze up and down Novah and said, “I’m upset. My clothes look better on you.” Her genuine smile stretched from ear to ear. It was difficult to be upset with the woman whose genuine friendly personality seeped from every pore.

  “That’s impossible.” It wasn’t as if Novah had a right to feel any jealousy.

  “Do you shoot?” Hannah asked.

  Feeling a little intimidated standing in front of two people holding guns, she said mildly, “No.” She narrowed her gaze on Egan. “Pao said you wanted to see me.”

  Egan holstered his weapon. “Today we’re having a lesson.”

  She popped up a brow. “A lesson? For what?”

  Hannah who must have sensed the growing tension aimed her shotgun to the ground. “I have some business to tend to inside. I’ll see you both later. Dinner at six.”

  Once they were alone, Novah tapped the toe of her borrowed boot. “Well?”

  “It’s high time you learned how to shoot.”

  She squinted. “Why? You know I don’t like guns.”

  “Whether you like them or not, you should know how to protect yourself.”

  “I suggest you call Hannah back and you two enjoy your afternoon of shooting.” She turned on her heel and started to retrace her steps through the grass…

  “Novah?”

  Stopping, she didn’t dare look at him for fear what he’d see in her expression. “You know my stance on guns.”

  “And I’m not asking you to change those views or ever buy a gun. I’m only suggesting that you learn how to shoot just in case.”

  Swiveling, she crossed her arms over her chest. This was just another one of their disagreements. She never liked having guns in the house, but she’d conceded, and he’d kept them locked up. “Just as I always tried to convince you to learn to cook but you never saw the value.”

  He grinned. The smile that stretched his lips made her feel warm inside. Doors were opening inside her, the same ones she’d placed padlocks on. This made her vulnerable, but she didn’t have the control, or desire to shut herself off again.

  “How about I make you a deal. You learn to shoot and I’ll learn to cook. That is if you’ll teach me. I guess it would do me some good to learn to make more than mac and cheese.”

  The temptation was almost too much to bear. Imagining being in the kitchen with him made the hair on the back of her neck lift, yet she didn’t want to be too eager in answering. “Handling a wooden spoon is a bit different than handling a gun. And why is it so important to you?”

  “I told you.” He strolled over to the row of empty glass bottles and knocked off the broken ones. “Everyone needs to be able to protect themselves.”

  “But you’ll protect Fin and—” She stopped just short of adding ‘me’ to the sentence. She didn’t need him protecting her—or did she? As he reached down into a crate for more bottles, she smoothed her hungry gaze over his broad back. He certainly was a fine male specimen.

  “Are you listening?”

  “Had you said something?” She’d been busy admiring his ass. Who could blame her?

  “I said I might not always be there to protect you.”

  “Don’t manipulate me.”

  “It’s not manipulation. I’m concerned.”

  Her chest tightened. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have Hannah out here with you?” What was meant as a mere statement came out a bit raw and stilted with resentment.

  His chuckle caused her great humiliation. “Hannah doesn’t need my help.”

  “And I do?” she huffed. “If you haven’t noticed I’ve done okay for myself.”

  “Sure. You saved a woman by hitting two men over the head with a poker. That could have been extremely dangerous,” he growled.

  Gritting her teeth, she dropped her arms at her sides. “Don’t act like this is my fault. I did the right thing and you know it.” Steaming, she swallowed a few words that she couldn’t allow to cross her lips.

  “How about we stay on track. Gun lessons for cooking lessons.”

  “I’m only saying yes because Finley needs to eat more than mac and cheese while she’s in your care.”

  “If that’s the only reason then I’ll take it. Handling a firearm takes a commitment to learn the skill and safety. Becoming a strong shooter takes regular practice.”

  “Just so we’re clear, I won’t be a regular shooter,” she said stubbornly.

  “Fine, but at least you’ll be comfortable with the basics. Everyone must start somewhere. You might actually enjoy the knowledge if you’d give it a chance.” He strolled the distance between them and took out his pistol from his waistband. “Guns are only dangerous if we don’t use them properly.”

  “There’s a proper way?”

  He nodded. “You only aim a gun if you’re willing to shoot. First thing I want to show you is how to grip the pistol.”

  “I know how to grip a pistol.” She wagged her brows, feeling a little frisky.

  His dimples deepened. “I won’t argue how well you handle guns. Now stay engaged.” With a flick of his wrist, he pulled back the chamber and let it go with a click. “I checked and there’s no bullet in the chamber and no magazine, so I know it’s safe.” He held it out for her to take. She wrinkled her nose and unconsciously took a step back. “It’s safe.”

  Reluctantly, she accepted the offering, holding it between her forefinger and thumb like she would a dirty sock. “I’m guessing this isn’t the appropriate grip?”

  “Not even close. I’ll show you.” He stepped behind her, so clos
e that his breath brushed her neck. She didn’t mind his closeness, but if he wanted her to stay focused this wasn’t a good idea. “Here. Hold it in your dominant hand and have the web of your hand as far back on the strap as possible. Like this. Make sure your knuckle is under the trigger guard. Yes, just like that.”

  Her fingers were sandwiched between the cold steel of the gun and the iron warmth of his hand and although she’d never thought of a gun as sexy, there was something seductive about being there, both of them holding the same gun while their bodies were pressed together. Swallowing against the constriction building in her throat, she genuinely wanted to listen, but her mind kept wandering to how good he felt. She gripped the metal tightly. “Is this right?”

  “Loosen your grip just a bit. Imagine you’re holding a pool stick and getting ready to shoot. If you have too tight of a grip, you’ll miss the shot. Guns take a caring touch. Does it feel comfortable?” he asked after she relaxed her hand some.

  “Comfortable? Do comfortable and guns belong in the same sentence?”

  “You’ll get there.” He brought his other arm around her, wrapping her in his muscular arms like a beefy taco. “The slide,” he tapped the top of the gun. “Make sure it’s always in line with your forearm. This way you have more control over any recoil. Don’t touch the trigger,” he chastised. “Not unless you’re ready to shoot.”

  “That sounds about right. A person should never touch any trigger unless they’re ready to pull.” Hearing the hiss of his breath, she smiled, loving the power she still had over him. Very few things compared to getting a rise out of Egan—literally.

  “Take your other hand,” he reached for it and gently led it to the gun, “and place it here. Now you have even more control,” he said next to her ear.

  “That does feel better. Is this called gripping the shaft?”

  He chuckled. “Call it what you’d like. Keep your wrist at a forty-five-degree angle.” He tapped her wrist. “Here in this spot you’ll have more power.”

  “That was easy enough.”

  “That’s only one lesson out of many.” He took a step back, allowing the air, and the world to return between them.