by Lisa Harris
Leo continued across the floor. The curtains billowed slightly. The woman in crimson was still standing on the balcony. She was barely five foot tall, with the lithe build of an athlete and dark, luminous eyes that almost seemed to be looking right at him. Leo felt a hand on his shoulder and realized Killian had followed him.
“Excuse me, Commander,” Killian said. “Apologies for being direct, but I don’t think you realize the situation you’re in.”
“And what situation would that be?”
“Clearly you’re new to the spotlight.” The Irishman’s smile was thin. “But there’s been a lot of media attention on this conference and the delegates. I put out a call on my website for tips and received several requests for stories about you. Some of them raised the issue of your family situation. I’d be happy to share with you what I’ve received and even give you an opportunity to review it for your reaction—”
“I don’t care about rumors, and I don’t read gossip,” Leo cut him off. “Marisa was an incredible mother. She passed away unexpectedly last summer from an invasive, malignant cancer. My daughters miss her terribly. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
He turned on his heels and strode off. The sooner this mission was over the better. He wasn’t cut out for the spotlight. While he didn’t know for certain what kind of dirt the man had thought he’d found, he wouldn’t have been surprised if someone did the math and realized Ivy had been the result of a teenage pregnancy. Leo had been an emotionally switched off eighteen-year-old, when he’d had a brief relationship with a straight-A student named Marisa, who’d been blinded by a superficial crush on what she imagined might lie beneath his very private shell. The relationship had been a total mistake. Her attraction to him had quickly faded, but not before Ivy was conceived. He’d proposed marriage and joined the navy to support her and the baby. It had been the right decision and one he’d never doubted, even after it had become clear Marisa would never be in love with him. They’d been quietly estranged for years, despite the brief and failed attempt to rekindle a relationship that had resulted in Eve. But the girls had come first. Marisa had been a very protective mother. He wasn’t about to let his past become tabloid fodder now.
Meeting his informant and getting the intel safely was all that mattered.
Leo reached the balcony and slid the door open just in time to see the woman in red hop up onto the balcony railing.
“Stop!” He shut the door quickly behind him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
She turned and looked at him, her stiletto shoes still a hairbreadth away from the ledge. Wind tossed her black hair around her heart-shaped face. A curious smile turned at the corner of her lips. “Don’t worry, Commander. I’m Zoe Dean. It’s only about an eight-foot drop and the lawn is pretty soft, especially after the rain. Please, just go back to the party.”
Everything about this picture was wrong. She said her name like it should mean something to him, but it didn’t, and while he did know someone with the Dean family name, it was the tall, blond linebacker-type who was engaged to Ivy and Eve’s therapist, Theresa. Zoe’s nose wrinkled, like she was listening to someone talking in a hidden earpiece. She raised her wrist to her mouth and spoke into an intricate bracelet that curled against her skin. “One second, bro. I’ve got a situation. It’s Commander Darius. What do I tell him?”
He glanced over his shoulder. The curtains had closed behind him. Who was this woman? He seriously doubted she was his informant. Yet the idea that she wasn’t was even more worrying. If he didn’t return to the event, and get back to mingling, he might miss his opportunity to get the drug-smuggling intel. But if the only other option was letting a strange, armed woman skulk around leaping off of balconies, that wasn’t any better. Guide me, Lord.
“Clearly you know who I am,” he said. He stepped toward her. “Which means you know I’m not about to let you hop off over the balcony. So, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to get down off that railing and tell me exactly who you are, who you’re talking to and what you’re doing here.”
A gunshot cracked somewhere in the darkness below. Zoe’s head spun toward the sound. A cry escaped her lips, as her feet slipped off the crumbling edge of the balcony.
*
Zoe’s hands flailed, grasping at the empty air as she felt her footing give way beneath her. Her body pitched backward. A prayer filled her heart. Then a strong arm slid around her waist, yanking her back onto the balcony. Leo had leaped for her. She clutched at his arm, even as she felt the weight of gravity threatening to pull her from his grasp. A second strong arm went under her knees, as Leo lifted her into his arms and pulled her back against the castle wall, like some kind of knight carrying a damsel to safety. What had just happened? She was a bodyguard, a mixed martial arts specialist and had once been an internationally ranked gymnast. She didn’t need some dashing man in uniform to protect her and rescue her from falling. She never had. Yet, here she was in the commander’s arms, pressed so tightly against his chest she almost couldn’t tell where his heartbeat ended and hers began. “Put me down.”
His arms held firm. “Not until you tell me who you are, what you’re doing here and why somebody just shot at you.”
“I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the target,” she said. “Sounded like the shot came from somewhere on the grounds below us.”
They’d better not have shot at her. Ash Private Security thrived on its secrecy. In the dozens of undercover operations she’d been involved with as a private bodyguard, since helping found the company with her stepbrother, Alex, and their friend Josh, her cover had never once been blown.
“Good news, sis.” Alex’s voice crackled in her ear. “No imminent danger. No casualties. No reaction from within the party, either. Nothing to worry about. Just looks like the guy we were tracking shot out one of the security cameras in the castle gardens. My best guess is he’s heading around the building to one of the side doors, but I can’t tell which one. Two security guards are looking for him now, but once he slips inside he could blend in and be anybody. If the commander’s still holding you up, I suggest you tell him whatever it takes to get him to let you go.”
She looked at Leo. “There’s a prowler on the castle grounds, he shot out a surveillance camera in the gardens and security are looking for him now. Check with security and I’m sure they’ll say the same.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” he said.
“I told you, my name is Zoe Dean. My brother, Alex, is engaged to Theresa Vaughan. I spotted a prowler. I can stop him and turn him over to security, but not until you let me go.”
Leo brushed her hair away from her face, his finger tracing along the edges of her tiny earpiece. Then his fingers slid over her wrist, holding her hand gently while keeping the microphone in her bracelet away from her lips. His other hand tapped the leg holster strapped to her calf. A shiver ran up the back of her knee. He still hadn’t set her down.
“Let me make this very simple,” Leo said. “I don’t believe you. I’ve met Alex Dean, and he looks nothing like you. You’ve got a microphone in your bracelet, you’re wearing an earpiece, and unless I’m very much mistaken I can feel a pretty solid leg holster on your calf. Knife, though, not gun, so at least that’s one law you’re not breaking. So either you come up with a much more convincing story than that or I’ll have you arrested.”
“Is that a challenge?” she asked.
He grinned, but only slightly like he couldn’t help himself.
“Then let me make one thing clear,” she said. “The only reason I didn’t go for a quick, sharp jab to your windpipe and leave you here gasping for breath, is because you’re very respected by a couple of people who I’d give my life for and I promised them I wouldn’t cause a disturbance.”
“Really?” His dark eyebrows rose.
“Yes, really,” she said. It seemed like he was determined to doubt her. “Do you want me to prove it to you? When you were serving in the Middle East, you tr
ansported a soldier on one of your missions called Joshua Rhodes. Josh tipped you off about a drug smuggler in your crew and you had the smuggler dishonorably discharged.” Leo’s face paled. The skeptical grin faded. Yeah, she imagined he could count on one hand the number of people who knew that story. But she wasn’t done. “When you returned to Canada, a year ago, Josh gave you a call and told you that his good friend Alex had gotten engaged to an amazing psychotherapist named Theresa, who specialized in child trauma. He said that she lived near Toronto but was willing to drive out to Ottawa to see your daughters, if you thought it would help them. Josh is my colleague. Alex is my colleague and my stepbrother—we both lost a parent when we were young. Josh, Alex and I are bodyguards for a very private and elite firm called Ash Private Security.”
Leo’s grip loosened. She slipped from his arms and landed on her feet on the balcony.
“Talk about pulling out the big guns,” Leo said. “You could’ve just told me you worked with Josh.”
He was rattled. She couldn’t blame him. She’d been warned that Leo was a very private man, and here she’d just rattled off two rather personal things about him that she guessed not many people knew.
“I honestly didn’t think you’d believe me, and I didn’t want to hang around here trying to convince you.” An unexpected flush rose to her cheeks. He would hardly be the first person to underestimate her or presume someone her size couldn’t protect lives. But was he always this suspicious? He was easily one of the most skeptical people she’d ever met. “When you’re my size you learn to make your first shot a big one, as it might be the only one you get.”
His eyebrow rose. “Like taking on a prowler and leaping off a balcony.”
“I was a nationally ranked gymnast growing up and I competed internationally in mixed martial arts until I was fifteen,” she said. “And yes, I work with Josh and Alex—as a bodyguard. Theresa consults for Ash, too, on occasion, and Josh’s wife, Samantha, sometimes helps with online research. In fact, I’m the only member of the team who didn’t get an invite to this shindig. But since Josh and Samantha are on their honeymoon, Theresa’s back home in Toronto seeing clients and Alex is outside manning the surveillance van, I got to be the person on the inside. I trust you won’t blow my cover.”
She might no longer be in his arms, but she was still standing so close to him she could almost feel him against her chest. She held her breath still half expecting him to tell her that she didn’t look like a bodyguard.
Instead Leo asked, “Who’s your client?”
“I’m here on surveillance only.” She took a step back. “A couple of our clients have been targeted by a particularly nasty gang of thieves. Samantha picked up some online chatter that three of them would be here tonight scoping out a new target. So, I’m here to hunt the potential thieves while they stalk their next target.” She took another step backward.
Leo’s arms crossed in front of his chest. “You knew thieves were targeting an international gala and you didn’t alert the police or security?”
“Of course we did,” she said. “But this particular group of thieves don’t pick pockets and grab handbags. They think of themselves as vigilantes, who in their own twisted logic are righting wrongs and meting out justice. They steal big things, like companies and identities. They plan stings that take months, to break into vaults or invent media scandals. Are you familiar with Greek mythology?”
He shook his head. “Let’s say I’m not.”
“They call themselves The Anemoi.” She pronounced it like “the enemy.” “Which roughly means a group of deadly storms. That’s what these thieves do. They destroy lives and leave them in ruins. They’ve targeted three of our clients so far, nobody has ever successfully identified a single member of their gang and the police seemed convinced they’re a myth. Internet chatter that three of them were here tonight, scoping out their next target, was too good an opportunity to pass up, and I’m not about to stand around and try to convince you they’re real when one is sneaking around the gardens as we speak.” She took another step back, sweeping her long skirt into her hand. “It really was a pleasure to meet you, Commander. I hope you enjoy your evening.”
“Wait!” Leo said. He was too late. She’d already vaulted backward, over the balcony.
She landed on the grass and rolled, feeling the soft damp earth absorb the blow. Then she sprang back up into a crouching position. She raised her bracelet microphone to her lips. “Okay, Alex, I’m down in the garden. Tell me you’ve still got eyes on our guy.”
“No, I don’t and security doesn’t have him, either.” Alex’s voice was in her ear. “Please tell me you didn’t just leap off the balcony.”
“He was frowning at me, and I didn’t want to waste time arguing with him.”
“Or climbing down safely. Or taking the stairs.”
She slipped into the shadows against the stone wall as her eyes scanned the night around her. Heavy iron fence lay to her right. Beyond it swirled the dark waters of the Saint Lawrence River. She headed left, toward the front of the building, following the path as it curved around flowers and fountains. “Just tell me what he looks like.”
“Samantha’s intel said there are three Anemoi thieves on-site tonight,” Alex said. “They go by the handles Prometheus, Pandora and Jason. Prometheus stole fire from Mount Olympus. Pandora opened a box that shouldn’t be opened. But Jason is a weird code name for a criminal.”
“Jason of the Argonauts stole a golden fleece,” Zoe said.
“Got it. Based on my intel, the guy skulking around the gardens is Prometheus. He’s really big with broad shoulders. Imagine a bull in a jumpsuit.”
“You hate being stuck in the van, don’t you?” she asked.
“At least Theresa’s happy I’m keeping out of danger.” He laughed. “Just wait until I tell her she missed hearing you flirt with the great Commander Darius.”
“We weren’t flirting.” She felt herself blush. Maybe the good-looking commander had taken her breath away, just a little. But Leo was a valiant and decorated national hero. She was just a bodyguard. Not to mention, he was also a devoted father. And she’d always suspected she wasn’t cut out for motherhood, even before a doctor had confirmed she’d never be able to have children of her own.
A man like him wouldn’t be drawn to a woman like her.
“Next time we have a mission like this, you can wear the fancy clothes and I’ll stick to blue jeans,” she added. She took one last glance back at the balcony. It was empty. Leo hadn’t come after her. But at least he hadn’t blown her cover. A long, thin braided belt skimmed the waist of her gown. She looped her fingers through it and with a quick tug, her long skirt pleated neatly into a knee-length tunic. She had matching athletic shorts on underneath. Ta-da. Bit of Samantha’s creative tailoring and she’d just gone from gown to something she could actually move around in.
“Is he as handsome in person as the media makes him out to be?” Alex asked.
She rolled her eyes and ignored his teasing.
A life in competitive sports, not to mention a string of unrequited teenage crushes, had taught her pretty quickly that there were two kinds of guys in the world. Those who viewed her as equal and were happy to fight alongside her, but saw her as nothing more than one of the guys. And those who saw her as a “girl.” They were an even bigger problem. Something about her threatened them, she supposed. All she knew was that too many of them had the urge to cut her down to size. A sly word here, a crude gesture there, the occasional demeaning comment when nobody was looking, day after day, from creep after creep, until she’d eventually snapped when she was fifteen, spun around and elbowed the offending guy in the face, not even registering that the camera was rolling. That had been the end of her competing internationally. Now that creep, Killian Lynch, was a famous face in the spotlight and she slunk in the shadows.
“You okay?” Alex asked. It was impossible to hide anything from him.
“Yeah, I’m fine.
” She paused. The path ahead curved into a bridge over an ornamental pond. She started toward it. “But I saw Killian Lynch.”
The fist seemed to shoot out of nowhere as a black-clad figure leaped from the darkness. His arm swung toward Zoe’s face, giving her just seconds to dodge the blow as it flew inches from her jaw. She spun toward her attacker. Alex hadn’t been exaggerating—the man was huge, with a flat face that looked like it had been in too many fights. Her hands rose as years of competitive training coursed like adrenaline in her veins. But she barely had a second to catch her breath before a knife flashed in the moonlight.
“Found Prometheus!” She leaped back again as the blade swung inches away from her stomach. “He’s got a knife.”
“Do you need backup?”
“I might.” Her attacker slashed again. This time she ducked under the blade, then with a quick flick of her wrists snapped the knife from his fingers. She heard it clatter in the darkness. Prometheus kicked the legs out from under her. She stumbled. Her stiletto heel snagged on the cobblestone. She pitched into a protective front roll, a sinking sensation filling her stomach as she felt the path disappear beneath her. She tumbled into the flower pond. Muddy water engulfed her body. She scrambled out again. Prometheus was gone.
“I lost him.” She yanked off her stilettos. Nonsense like this was why she hated working in fancy clothes. Her bare feet ran quickly and silently down the path. A utility door was open on her right. “Found an open door. He must be inside. He won’t get far.”
She slipped through the door. Air-conditioning raised goose bumps on her skin. She was in a historical gallery of some sort with flat glass cases and the eerie blue glow of dim emergency lights. “I’m going to keep trailing him. Okay, Alex… Alex?”
Silence from her earpiece. No typing. No static. No buzz.
No Alex.
