Rockwell Agency: Boxset

by Dee Bridgnorth

  “What’s the problem, Mark?”

  “Trinity was just announced dead—under suspicious circumstances.”

  Liam sat straight up. “What? Under what suspicious circumstances?”

  “I don’t know. The news literally just broke. But I thought I’d give you a heads-up.”

  Swearing under his breath, Liam struggled not to throw his phone at the window. Trinity didn’t deserve to die. She was sweet, and fun, and beautiful. She’d had goals and dreams. It was wrong—wrong if she was dead. Wrong if someone had killed her. And he hated it.

  But he would be lying if he didn’t admit that one of his first thoughts was that her grandmother would be coming after him. She would want to say that he had done it because he had supposedly stolen Trinity’s money.

  He wasn’t scared of the old woman. She had nothing on him—not a thing. What could she do? Who would believe her crazy lies? He hadn’t been anywhere near Trinity in month. He’d called her a few times about her grandmother, but she had never answered or called him back. He didn’t have her money, and he didn’t have anything that would tie him to her.

  He wasn’t afraid of that old woman. He was a goddamn defense attorney with plenty of his own money, friends, and connections. He wasn’t afraid of her. He wasn’t.

  Except that the dread he felt growing inside of him suggested that he was, in fact, quite afraid of her. And he didn’t know why because she was so frail, and there didn’t seem to be anything that she could do to touch him or hurt him.

  But she had already. Because ever since she had whispered those words in his ear, he had been a failure at everything he touched. In fact, just the other day, he had been turned down by a girl in a bar.

  That never happened. Ever.

  Imagine what Winnifred would do to him if she thought that he actually had killed her granddaughter. She wouldn’t stop at making him a failure. If she believed he’d done it, she wouldn’t stop until he was dead. He had no doubt about that in his mind.

  “Liam? Are you okay?”

  He focused back on Mark’s voice, trying to calm the panic he felt rising. “Remember what that woman said to me?”

  “Yeah …”

  “Well it’s been coming true,” Liam said. “For six weeks, nothing has gone right. Not one thing.”

  “Come on, man. That’s not how that works.”

  Liam didn’t think it was how it worked either, but he didn’t know how else to explain what he’d been experiencing. He remembered that his fridge had broken. And he’d dropped his cell phone, and the screen had shattered. He’d only just gotten the phone repaired a few days ago. His car had needed four new tires. His lease had renewed at a higher rent. And everything he did at his job fell apart.

  He didn’t want to believe, but he didn’t know how to avoid it anymore.

  “I’m drunk,” he mumbled into the phone. “I’m just drunk. That’s all. I’ll …in the …talk to you in the morning.”

  Liam hung up the phone and let his head hang low, his vision blurring after three whiskeys knocked back in a row. He wanted to believe his own reassurances that he was just intoxicated, but he knew it was more than that. He knew in his gut. That woman had done something to him, and she was going to come back for more.

  “God, what have I gotten myself mixed up in?” Liam said, dragging his hands through his hair and leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I should have known that some girl was going to come back to haunt me. And it’s not even the girl I slept with.”

  The cab driver glanced back at him. “You get a girl pregnant, man? That sucks.”

  Liam shook his head. “No. I slept with a girl whose grandmother is convinced that I stole from her, and probably that I killed her now, too.”

  “Damn.”

  “Yeah,” Liam said, wondering when the old woman would show back up again. It was ridiculous that she was under his skin so completely, and yet she was. He couldn’t think about Taylor and his case. He couldn’t think about Taylor sitting in prison. Not without thinking about what the old woman had said to him, and how it had come true. He had gone from a rock-star lawyer to one who couldn’t keep the most sympathetic client with the least amount of evidence against him out of jail. And it had happened in six weeks.

  He needed help, and not from any private investigator who worked at his firm. He couldn’t go walking around his place of work telling people that an old woman was keeping him from doing well at his job. He needed to talk to someone who would be quiet about it. Someone who would be willing to think outside the box, and at least imagine the possibility that this old woman had had some impact on him, without writing him off as a nutcase.

  But he had no idea how to find a person like that. He had no idea who could possibly help him.

  Chapter 3

  Hannah

  Hannah double-checked three times before she submitted the report on the case she had just finished the day before. She had become paranoid lately, worried that the paperwork she filed would somehow end up in the wrong place or get leaked to the public. She worried about her expenses, too, and she had to check four or five times that everything was correct before she filed her expense reports. It was becoming too much to try to keep track of everything in the midst of all of the new security and scrutiny that was in place.

  But if it helped Barrett stay on top of things or helped the older Rockwell Clan members [who were in such a tizzy] feel more secure, then she would do it.

  Glancing at the time, Hannah shook her head. Where had the day gone? She had been working on finishing up all of these little loose ends that always hung about after a case ended, and now it was well past 2:00 in the afternoon, and she hadn’t eaten lunch.

  Hannah stood up, smoothing down her simple, gray skirt that she had paired with a burgundy blouse. It was a day intended for being around the office, so she had dressed in a more professional way. She didn’t expect to be running around town hunting down ghosts or the like. But she did very much intend to go hunt down some lunch. Her stomach was growling, and she pressed a hand to her abdomen, pressing lightly.

  “There, there,” she said, patting. “I hear you already. We’re going now to get something to eat.”

  Grabbing her purse, Hannah shouldered it and started to walk out of her office. But there was a light tap at her door, just as she was about to pull it open, and Hannah bit back a sigh. Most likely that tap meant that there was someone waiting to see her.

  She pulled open the door and saw Anna standing there—their part-time receptionist. Hannah smiled at the young woman, always happy to stop and chat with Anna anytime, even when she was hungry for lunch. “Hi there,” Hannah said. “What’s going on?”

  “I have a new client,” Anna said. “He’s in the lobby.” Anna’s eyes were wide for some reason, and Hannah frowned, wondering if the man had done something to scare Anna.

  “Okay,” Hannah said, studying the girl’s face. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Is everything okay?”

  Anna nodded, gulping a bit. “He’s …gorgeous.”

  Hannah almost laughed out loud, her worry dissipating. “Oh. Is that all? Your face had me worried. Anna—honestly. You work with gorgeous men all the time, don’t you?” Hannah teased the girl, knowing that every red-blooded woman had to think that Ryan, Quentin, and Barrett were all exceptionally good-looking. It was a dragon shifter trait to be rather stunning, although Hannah had always felt that trait had passed her on by. She didn’t think she was unattractive by any means, but she had a plainness about her that didn’t apply to the others. Her long, brown hair hung straight, and her features were sweet but not startlingly beautiful like Jordan’s. It didn’t bother Hannah at all, but she knew that, standing in a line with her colleagues, she was by far the one who looked least like a dragon shifter stunner.

  Anna flushed at Hannah’s question and crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you have time to meet with him?”

  “I was headed to lunch,” Hannah said,
her stomach grumbling again. “Is there anyone else who—no, nevermind. Everyone is busy. He can come to lunch with me. How about that?”

  “Wow,” Anna said. “Cool.”

  Anna was young, and she was a non-shifter who had been born into a shifter family. Hannah always made sure to take time to be kind to her and include her in the happenings of the office. It would be too easy for Anna to feel left out—not just at her job but in life. “Very cool,” Hannah said, although she was prepared to be unimpressed by this gorgeous man. Gorgeous was so …physical. It didn’t mean anything. Not in the long run. Now, if he had a soft spot for dogs, they were in trouble.

  Heading out to the lobby, Hannah checked her purse to make sure she had everything. “Hi there!” She greeted the man standing in her peripheral vision while still looking through her purse. “My name is Hannah Reese. I’m an agent here, and I’m headed to lunch. You’ve probably already eaten, but—oh.” She finally looked at the man standing there, and she swallowed hard. Anna was right. He was gorgeous. He was movie-star gorgeous, actually, with dark hair and clear, blue eyes, and perfectly chiseled features. His cheekbones could cut diamonds, and his eyebrows were thick and arched and framing his beautiful eyes and long, lush eyelashes.

  Her heart actually thudded in her chest before she could get ahold of herself, and Hannah scolded her hormones. Yes, okay, this man was unusually gorgeous, but so what? That meant nothing. Was he a good person? Was he kind to people? If so, maybe then she could get herself all stirred up.

  He was looking at her expectantly. “But what?”

  Hannah searched for the last thing she had said, wishing she could shut her eyes to avoid looking directly at his face while she tried to remember. “Oh, yes. But perhaps you could come with me anyway, so that we can talk while I eat. I’m afraid I’m rather hungry.”

  “A lunch meeting,” the man said, nodding. He shrugged his shoulders in his black leather jacket, which he had paired with a cobalt-blue dress shirt, sleek black dress pants, and shiny black shoes. “Sure. I know a thing or two about those.”

  He flashed her a smile and Hannah shook her head. This man was dangerous. Those perfectly straight, white teeth gleamed at her right along with the little hint of a twinkle in his eye. Did this man have a problem to talk to her about? Because he looked like he didn’t have a care in the world.

  “Sure,” Hannah said slowly, pulling her keys out of her purse. “Okay. Great. Anna, I’m headed out to grab a quick bite, and I have Mr. …” she trailed off, realizing that he hadn’t given his name. “I’m sorry, I didn’t ask for your name.”

  “Liam O’Malley.”

  Hannah almost laughed. What a name to go with a face like that. If he’d had the accent as well, even she might have slid right down to the floor in a puddle. His looks were classic black Irish—she could see it now. And boy did he know how hot he was. Oh, yes, he definitely knew.

  “Great,” Hannah said, making a point of being businesslike. A man like this one probably had girls swooning over him all the time, or, at the very least, they probably blushed and giggled. She would do none of the above. From this point on, she wasn’t even going to mentally acknowledge how good-looking this man was. She was going to focus on whatever horrible thing he was bringing to her that had him all casual smiles and confident saunters. “Anna, Mr. O’Malley and I are going to lunch for a client meeting. If Barrett asks after me, you can tell him that.”

  Liam shot Anna a smile. “And if Barrett asks after me, you can tell him I’m on a date.”

  Anna giggled and flushed, and Hannah gave Liam a skeptical look, one eyebrow arched. “Are you ready, Mr. O’Malley?”

  “Please—it’s Liam. And you said your name was Hannah?”

  “Actually, it’s Ms. Reese,” she said, waiting as he walked through the door, then following him out. She had never before asked a potential client to call her by her first name, but something about this man’s familiarity made her feel the need to keep him at a careful distance.

  He smirked, holding up a hand. “Okay … Ms. Reese.”

  Looking down at her keys in her hand, Hannah made an impulsive decision to abandon her plan to eat at her favorite lunch shop, which was about eight minutes away by car. Instead, she bagged her keys again and nodded to the left. “There’s a little café down here that’ll do just fine. Thank you for accommodating me. I waited too long to eat, and if I don’t, I probably won’t be able to concentrate on a thing you’re saying.”

  “Not a problem,” Liam said, walking casually beside her. “I rarely say no to eating a meal with a beautiful woman.”

  Hannah had to force herself not to roll her eyes. It was clearly a line, although she believed the substance—he probably didn’t turn down much with any beautiful woman. “Mr. O’Malley, I assume that you came by the agency because you have a sensitive matter you want to discuss.”

  “Yes,” Liam said, clearing his throat and shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. It was getting well into the second half of March, and up in Baton Rouge, further away from the coast, there was really no need for jackets anymore. But it appeared to be part of his style more than something to keep him warm.

  He didn’t elaborate, so Hannah prompted him again. “Well, we can wait until we sit down if you’d prefer, but of course you understand that there’s not much I can do for you until you tell me a bit more than that.”

  “You’re not the kind of person I expected to talk with.”

  Hannah’s eyebrows lifted, and she stopped outside the café door, turning to look up at him. “Why is that?”

  He looked down at her, scrutinizing her in a way that made the heat start to rise into her cheeks. His eyes were so clear, and blue, and lovely, and they were so fixed on her. It was both uncomfortable and wonderful at the same time. “You don’t look like you could fight someone.”

  Hannah’s eyebrows went even higher. She wanted to tell him not to be fooled by her sweet appearance. She knew that she looked more like the girl next door than the warrior that she was very capable of becoming. But explaining that meant telling him that she was a dragon shifter with combat skills that far exceeded anything he could imagine, and there were already too many people tiptoeing around the Rockwell Clan’s secret.

  “Am I going to need to fight someone?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest and looking up at him, half-offended and half-amused.

  “No,” Liam said. “Well, what do I know? Maybe. I just pictured private investigators as big, strong people. Like bouncers. Not like schoolteachers.”

  Hannah’s mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

  He put his hands up, holding off her outrage. “Hold on, hold on. That’s not what I meant. I just mean you look sweet. And nurturing. And, you know …like you would be good at leading classroom songs. I don’t know. Teacher-ish.”

  “Teacher-ish,” Hannah said, jutting her chin out, slightly. “First of all, Mr. O’Malley, I take that as a compliment. Teachers are essential members of society who spend their lives dedicated to the emotional, mental, and physical well-being of children. They must possess infinite patience and flexibility. They must be creative and supportive but strict at the same time. They must deal with conflict well. They must be perpetual role models. And they must do all of that while dealing with the absolutely outlandish rules, regulations, and expectations of the upper-level administrators who are more concerned with numbers and test performances than with actual learning and cognitive development. So, if you ask me, looking like a teacher is better than looking like someone who can fight off some villain you’re not sure even exists. Looking like a teacher, actually, seems a lot like looking like a fighter, because teachers are on the front line of the battle.”

  Liam started to interject, but Hannah cut him off.

  “And, if you must know, I am both sweet and nurturing. I take those observations as compliments as well. But please do not mistake my sweet nature and nurturing appearance to mean that I will not ca
ll you on the carpet for your bullshit whenever it’s necessary. And, frankly, making any comment at all about my appearance will always be bullshit.”

  For some reason, Liam was holding back a smile. “I’m sorry.” He was holding up his hands again. “You’re right. It was an inane comment to make.”

  “It certainly was.”

  “I apologize.”

  “Very well.” Hannah opened the door to the café for him. “After you then.”

  Chapter 4

  Liam

  Liam kept watching Hannah. She walked into the café and chose a sandwich from the case, and then ordered a chai tea latte along with it. When he pulled out his card to pay for her food, she smiled gratefully but shook her head and brushed his hand away. “No, no. That’s unnecessary. Would you like something to drink? Are you hungry?”

  She was quite solicitous for a woman who had just put him right into his place outside on the sidewalk.

  “I’ll have a black coffee,” Liam told the barista, handing the girl his card anyway. “Your largest size.”

  The barista smiled coyly at him. “Cream and sugar?”

  “Black.”

  Biting her lip, the barista leaned forward against the cash register, tilting her head, teasingly. “You said that already. But do you want it …sweet?”

  “Black,” Liam repeated, not turning on his usual charm. “Black means just coffee—no cream, no sweetener. Nothing. Just black.”

  The barista seemed put off by his matter-of-fact tone, but he wasn’t paying attention to her, pretty though she was. Liam was looking at Hannah, who seemed altogether aware of what the barista was doing. Hannah, with her braided hair that fell down her back and her big, brown eyes. She didn’t wear much makeup at all, from what he could tell, and her clothing was simple. Outside, when he had put his foot in his mouth, he had been trying to work through it in his head, because she genuinely didn’t look like the kind of person who would be in the business of protecting or investigating anyone. But she had proven him wrong with her sharp tongue and her calm but firm demeanor. He wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of her, even if he still wasn’t convinced that she was the type to be packing a gun or the type who could defend him in a brawl.