by Shayla Black
I swallow back the less-than-kind observation that it’s too late for Amanda’s father to play daddy. She’s already looked beyond him. And if Stephen is right, if she’s genuinely seeking a father figure to protect her and share her load, I see two choices: either I let Bruce come in and do it—which makes me want to punch my fist into the nearest wall. Or I do it myself.
They’re both fucking bad ideas. What do I have to offer Amanda?
“I don’t think she’s interested in anyone forcing their guidance on her. Your daughter is very strong-willed.”
“She is,” he agrees. “But my will is stronger. Once she talks to Bruce, I think she’ll understand he’s where her future lies.”
I think he’s full of shit, and I’m pissed on her behalf. “No.”
“No, you don’t agree?”
“No, I won’t tell you where to find us. It’s a dangerous, potentially fatal risk simply so Bruce can drag her home like a naughty little girl.”
“Let’s be honest. She’s behaved like one.”
Does he realize how condescending he’s being? “I think she’s finding her way in the world. We all make mistakes when we’re younger, then correct course.”
“She made more than a mistake. She stepped in a steaming pile of shit. I’m giving her a handout now. An easy way out of her mess. All she has to do is say ‘I do’ to someone she already likes and trusts.”
“I can’t stop her if she wants to marry Bruce, but she hired me to protect her. I’m going to do that until she tells me otherwise.”
“Seventy-five thousand, with a fifteen thousand dollar bonus if she agrees by Thursday to come home with Bruce.”
“It’s a generous offer, but I don’t have any sway over her. We just met this morning.”
“Stephen seems to think otherwise, just like he thinks you’re eager to get her into bed.”
I can hardly call him a liar when it’s true. “The answer is still no.”
“It’s admirable of you to defend not just her privacy, but her character. Tell you what, a hundred thousand, with a twenty-five K bonus if she’s on a plane wearing Bruce’s engagement ring by Friday.”
I need the money so fucking bad. That would set my business up for at least a year and allow me to buy a condo now. Those are just two of many reasons to say yes. I only have one reason to refuse him, and that’s Amanda. “No.”
“You’re loyal. Good trait in a man. I admire that.”
“Don’t butter me up.”
“Maybe I wasn’t plain earlier, Tanner. If you don’t help me steer Amanda toward the right future, you’ll walk away empty-handed. I won’t pay you a dime for protecting her this week. Then how will you put a roof over your head? It’s expensive in Maui, and you can’t afford the plane ticket home, son.”
“I’m not your son.”
“Just tell me where to find Amanda and talk Bruce up, and you won’t have to worry about money for a long while.”
I hesitate. He makes a good point. Where the hell will I be at the end of a week? A couple hundred bucks poorer and without a place to hang my hat. Even if my house sells tomorrow, escrow won’t close for at least thirty days, maybe more. The guy who owns the building where I’d like to open the shooting range told me when I toured the facility that I wasn’t the only one looking at it.
Fuck.
“I’ll think about it and let you know tomorrow.”
Douglas Lund hesitates, and I can almost feel his frustration through the phone, but he gives me more forced affability. “Sure. Tomorrow. Best make it early if you want that bonus. Bruce is just waiting to sweep Amanda off her feet and snap her up as his wife.”
A trio of beeps in my ear tells me Lund hung up. I resist the urge—barely—to slam my phone on the counter. If I did, I’d only break it and I can’t afford to replace it.
“Ma ma!” A teary Oliver cries down the hall, bottom lip quivering, as he drags a blue cotton blanket with trains and stars behind him.
I dash the boy’s way and kneel in front of him. I know zero about children, but I know a lot about women. Amanda needs sleep. “You want donuts?”
It’s afternoon, but this is the first chance he’s had to eat.
The boy scowls and looks like he’s ready to open his mouth and wail again, so I pluck him off his feet, hustle him to the kitchen, then set him down on the counter. I drag the little carton of milk she bought at the donut shop out of the fridge, plow through the bag of donuts, then set both in front of him. “Hungry?”
Quickly, he reaches out one little hand, making it clear in an instant that he cares absolutely nothing about the milk. But donuts? He crams a fluffy, fat hole into his mouth—then breaks into a smile.
“You like that?”
Oliver lunges for the bag, doing his best to grab it with glaze-crusted hands. “Ma ma.”
He’s probably wanting her to feed him. “Sorry, big guy. I’ll have to do for now.”
Suddenly, I hear a knock on the door and I tense. Who the fuck is that?
I consider not answering, but somehow this someone got past the security gate. Since I didn’t hear anything screech or break, I’m assuming they have the code.
Hoisting Oliver off the counter, I creep to the front window. I see a swanky black SUV in the driveway with a crib mattress hanging out the back. This must be Trace’s friends with a much-needed delivery.
Ignoring the little boy’s whines as he tries to lunge out of my arms to reach the donuts, I open the door a crack to find a thirtyish man standing on the stone-paved porch. He looks big and fit with dark hair so perfect it’s clear he spent a fortune on his super-precise cut. Expensive shades rest on top of his head. But it’s his eyes that get my attention. They’re the same striking green as Oliver’s.
“Hi, I’m Griff.” He sticks out his hand. “Trace said you need a crib?”
I’m confused, but I shake it. “Yeah. I’m Tanner. Come on in.”
“Thanks.” He steps over the threshold and shuts the door behind him. “Where’s Amanda?”
“Sleeping. Last night was…”
“A lot, I’m sure.” Then he directs his attention to Oliver, ruffling the boy’s hair. “There’s my little brother.”
He didn’t mean that literally…did he? “I’m sorry, what?”
“My little brother.” While I’m numb with shock, he plucks Oliver from my grasp. The boy goes happily with a grin. “But I’ve gotta tell you it’s weirder than hell to have a son older than my youngest sibling.”
I’m so confused. “Wait. You and Oliver are both…Barclay Reed’s children?”
“Yeah, you didn’t know? There are a bunch of us here on the island.”
So when Douglas Lund referenced his late friend’s other offspring, he didn’t just mean Cook. “Besides Evan?”
“Yeah. Maxon is my older brother. We grew up together, along with my younger sister, Harlow.”
“Noah Weston’s wife?”
“Yeah.”
Come to think of it, she had the green eyes, too. “I had no idea.”
“Bethany is my other sister.”
“She used to be Barclay’s right hand? That’s what I heard anyway.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t meet her until last Christmas.”
Mind blown. “Your dad had six kids by four different women?” As soon as the words are out, I realize he might think I’m being rude or judgmental. “Sorry. Just trying to understand who’s related to who here.”
He laughs. “It’s confusing. But I think you’re up to speed now, at least with what we know.”
It’s none of my business, but I’m curious. “You think there are more?”
“He fathered five of his six kids in a seven-year span—proudly. Then I’m supposed to believe he found the willpower or decency not to knock up any other woman for twenty-six years, before Oliver came along? Does that make sense to you?”
Given what he’s said? “No.”
“Me, either. So we’re all looking for others.
But I didn’t come here to draw you our fucked-up family tree. Trace said you’re bodyguarding Amanda, and Oliver needs a crib.”
“Exactly.”
“Where do you want to set it up?”
“Since Amanda is sleeping in the bedroom, you can leave the pieces here.” I gesture to a corner. “I’ll figure out how to assemble it later.” Somehow.
Oliver chooses that moment to jerk out of Griff’s grasp. He barely manages to get a hand on the boy again before he falls to the floor. And once his little feet hit the tile, he makes a mad dash back to the donuts.
Griff laughs. “Oliver clearly knows what he likes.”
“And he’s hungry.”
“No doubt.” Griff frowns. “You weren’t going to give him milk out of a carton, were you?”
“Um…” I guess I’m not supposed to.
“It’ll wind up everywhere except in his mouth. Where’s his sippy cup?”
“No idea.” Hell, I’m only half sure what that is.
Over the next hour, Griff kindly helps me dig up an appropriate cup in Oliver’s diaper bag, sit him in a makeshift booster seat, then scramble him up a few eggs to go with all the sugar. As soon as the little boy is done demolishing his food, he seems content to sit with his thumb in his mouth and a toy truck in his hand.
And I dodged a bullet. If left to figure out how to take care of Oliver by myself, this morning would have been messy. “Thanks a lot. I’d offer you a beer…”
“It’s fine. I gotta drive home. Britta is holding down the fort with our two boys. Jamie is almost four. Gray isn’t quite three months old. Together, they’re more than a handful.”
“I’ll bet.” I’ve only got Oliver to contend with, and I’m already feeling out of my element. But Griff seems to have the Dad thing down. “So about that crib…”
Griff and I retrieve all the parts from his SUV, and he gives me a quick, dirty explanation of how to put it together before he grabs a bag with crib sheets and a few blankets, then sets everything together in a corner of the living room.
“Thanks.” I shake his hand. “Really. I know Amanda will appreciate it, too. And I’d appreciate it even more if you could keep our location on the downlow.”
“No sweat. Here’s my number, in case you need anything else.” He hands me a business card, then heads to the door. “I’ll see you around.”
Then it hits me. If he’s Barclay’s son and Amanda is Lund’s daughter, maybe he knows more about her, especially what happened between her and his father.
“A question before you go?”
Griff turns back. “Sure. What can I do for you?”
“I need help with Amanda. She wants protection. Someone is after her, and the explanation I’m getting feels…off. An asshole with murder in mind would try to shoot her or maybe set her place on fire. But this guy? He came after her with a knife. That’s a way more personal approach than a slighted client of Barclay’s would suggest.”
“I never thought about it, but since you have to get really close to someone to stab them, that makes sense.”
“She doesn’t want to tell me about her relationship with your dad…but I can’t shake the feeling that I won’t be able to figure out who wants her dead or why without more information. Can you tell me anything?”
“Besides the fact dear old Dad had a history of knocking up his assistants? No.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“And sharing them with his sons.”
Did Griff just say what I thought he said? “You…”
“Partook of his assistant? Yeah. When I was in high school. Her name was AnnaBeth.”
Holy shit. “Did Amanda know any of this before she went to work for him?”
“I don’t know. Honestly, I never paid that much attention to her. She was my kid sister’s age. So even when I’d spent summers home and hung out by the pool, Amanda was still jail bait. No matter how cute she might have been, I did my best not to notice.” He presses his lips together. “But I think my dad did, even back then.”
“Any chance he more than noticed?”
Griff takes a long time answering. “If I had to bet? Yeah. And I think she would have let him.”
My gut seizes up. “Seriously?”
He shrugs. “I’m speculating; I have to say that up front.”
But Griff seems smart, and I’d be stupid not to listen. “I still want to hear.”
“After my freshman year of college, Amanda came out to Cali to spend a chunk of her summer with Harlow, like she’d done for years. And she still looked at my dad with puppy-dog eyes. But after a trip to Mexico with some friends following my sophomore year, I went home. Amanda was there. I didn’t see curiosity in the way she stared at him anymore. I didn’t see innocence, either. I saw heat. I saw hero worship. And I didn’t like the lecherous way he looked at her in return. To be fair, it’s possible she had sex with someone else and it emboldened her to—”
“No. At least I don’t think so. She told her brother that your dad is the only man she’s ever had sex with.”
He winces. “Then my guess is something happened between them during that year.”
But if Griff was in his first year or two of college… “How old would Amanda have been?”
“About fifteen.”
Is he fucking kidding me? “Would your dad really have—”
“Oh, yeah. He liked females and he liked them young. Bonus if they were virgins. I knew how he thought.”
I have a feeling there’s a story there, but I can’t get sidetracked. “Did your dad ever confide in you about whether he, um…deflowered Amanda?”
“No, we weren’t close. And I don’t have any proof he did it back then, but now that we’re talking…my gut tells me yes.”
It would explain a lot, like why an otherwise sensible girl let her life get so off track. If Barclay got his hands on her young and warped her thoughts while he defiled her, maybe he used their relationship to string her along and persuade her to give him everything he wanted…until he was ready to cut her loose. It would also explain why she’s so disillusioned now by men and love.
“That son of a bitch.”
Griff doesn’t even try to defend the bastard. “That was my dad. Selfish to the core. If it made him happy, he didn’t think twice about who he hurt in the process.”
“If he only cared about himself, why did he share his assistant with you?”
The cynical twist of Griff’s mouth is almost painful. “He wanted to create carbon copies of himself. If more of us were bent like him, then he couldn’t be completely wrong.”
“That’s a fucked-up point of view.”
“That was my dad.”
Griff is bitter, and I don’t blame him. “I feel sorry for you and your siblings. For his assistants. For everyone he hurt.”
“There are a bunch of us. We’ve all done our best to pick up and move on.”
“I feel especially sorry for your mom.”
He scoffs. “Don’t. She’s a viper in her own right, and she helped Dad gather clients—no matter how she had to do it—so he could take their money.” He sighs. “I lived with a lot of anger and distrust for years. That shit cost me an emotional fortune with Britta. Jamie was nearly three when I met him for the first time. If I hadn’t turned my shit around, I would have spent my life chasing pussy and I would have ended up alone, just like him.” Then he does his best to laugh. “Aren’t you glad you asked?”
His speech was heavy, but he gave me a lot to think about. “I am, actually. Thanks for being honest.”
“Brutally so, but… I’ve known Amanda most of her life. I’d like to see her stay alive long enough to be happy.”
“I’m working on the alive part. Can you think of anyone who would want her dead?”
“No. But my mom’s trial for being an accessory to embezzlement starts next month. Maybe there’s something there?”
It sounds plausible. I’ll dig into that if I need to. “Do you know a guy she�
��d be familiar with from home named Bruce?”
“Yeah. Did she mention him?” He seems confused.
“It’s a long story.”
Griff shrugs. “He’s all right. A little stiff, but you know… When you grow up with a bunch of billionaires in private schools, you begin to believe your shit doesn’t stink.”
I wouldn’t have any idea. “Think he could make Amanda happy?”
“I can’t say. Honestly, I haven’t seen the guy in, like, ten years. He may have changed. I have. Amanda has. So it’s possible.”
He’s got a good point. “Thanks. If you think of anything else, let me know?”
“Sure. I don’t know where Trace found you, but he’s good people. If he hooked you up with Amanda, then he must believe you’re a good guy.”
“She’s been through a lot.”
“Amen. I’ll check in with you later, maybe swing by with my boys so Oliver has someone to play with?”
“That would be great. Good to meet you, man.”
“You, too.”
He leaves with a wave, and I’m stuck looking at a dozen parts to the crib, a closed door to the woman I’ve sworn to protect, along with her son—and a fucking decision to make. Enough money to finally start over…or protect Amanda because she’s beginning to mean something to me?
Chapter Five
For the next hour, I sit with Oliver in the living room. With one hand, I try to entertain him with the toys I find stashed in his diaper bag. With the other, I pull up the search engine on my phone and try to figure out what the fuck to do. It seems crazy to give up a much-needed fortune—more cash than I’ve ever had in my life—for a woman I met eight hours ago. And if I sold her out, I’d have to live with that.
But what if it’s for her own good?
First things first, I hand Oliver a stuffed train—something new for him to chew on—as I look up Barclay Reed. He has his own Wikipedia page, which tells me he was someone important, notorious or not. There are pictures of him throughout his life. No denying he was a good-looking SOB, and the green eyes are unmistakable. Even into his fifties, he could have been mistaken for a guy a dozen years younger. There’s sketchy information about his childhood and education, his marriage, as well as his kids, most of whom also have Wikipedia pages.
