Knight Shift (Knight Ops Book 5)

by Em Petrova

  eBooks are not transferable.

  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights Reserved

  Knight Shift

  Copyright Em Petrova 2018

  Ebook Edition

  Electronic book publication 2018

  All rights reserved. Any violation of this will be prosecuted by the law.

  Other titles in this series:

  All Knighter

  Heat of the Knight

  Hot Louisiana Knight

  After MidKnight

  Knight Shift

  Angel of the Knight

  O Christmas Knight

  Fleur Sutton’s a natural brunette but now she’s a blonde. She’s also wearing blue contacts. Oh and her name’s now Rose Hutton. Because she’s on the run—from people who might kill her, and those people are her family.

  After Fleur—or Rose—witnesses a murder that keeps a friend from testifying against her father, she knows she’s next. From piecing together memories of a picture-perfect childhood, she realizes she’s grown up in one of the toughest, scariest crime families in the country. Now with no resources but her wits and a mean hand at cards, she sets out to decide her own fate.

  Chaz Knight is happy to kick back following a few rough Knight Ops missions and try something out of the ordinary—even if it’s on an order. When he steps into an underground gambling room and sees a polished princess beating all the sharks at their own game, he has to play his own game to get closer. Five minutes in, her presence has his dick hard and ten minutes later, his internal radars are blaring loud and clear—Rose is innocent and in need of protection.

  The only game Fleur hasn’t played—and isn’t willing to start right now—is that of love, even if Chaz has a lot of pillow-talk. But when the cards hit the fan and the Feds team up with the Knights to bring down her crime family she has two choices—protect blood because it’s their creed or protect the new family who have shed blood for her.

  Knight Shift

  by

  Em Petrova

  Chapter One

  Fleur dropped to her knees in front of the motel bathtub and doused her head in the hot water pouring from the tap. Her hands shook as she ran her fingers through her dark brown locks, now bleached blonde.

  She’d never touched her hair with bleach or dye before now, and the outcome would be far from perfect, but the trashier she looked, the harder she’d be to find. She had to get out of here.

  Frankie’s dying word, rough and burbling from the gunshot he’d suffered, had been: “Run.” And she was.

  She squeezed out her length of hair and grabbed a towel. Wetness trickled down her nape to dampen her top, but she ignored it as she frantically dried her hair. She didn’t have long before they located her.

  The events jumbled in her mind. Being called to Frankie’s small bungalow outside of New Orleans. How he’d dropped the call without saying goodbye. That was her first clue something was wrong.

  Frankie’s house wasn’t a place she visited often, but the suburb felt like home each time she drove through the quiet, quaint, historical district, but even the shadows cast by the older trees had seemed ominous.

  She gulped down her rising emotions.

  She loved Frankie. Her father’s friend had been in her life… well, forever.

  And now he was dead.

  She yanked the towel away and twisted to stare into the foggy motel mirror. Her thick dark hair was now a buttery blonde. Not as flattering as her real color but not horrible.

  She still looked like Fleur Sutton, though. That had to change.

  Digging in the bag of items she’d purchased on a mad dash through the drugstore, she came out with a pair of scissors. The most she’d ever done was give her own bangs a trim or cut off some split ends, but she lifted the shears to her head. How bad could it turn out?

  She yanked out a hank of hair and set the scissor blades on it. To completely change her appearance, she should go short.

  But in the end, she slid the blades farther down the lock and started cutting just below her shoulders. Bit by bit the blonde strands dropped into the sink and she looked less and less like Fleur Sutton.

  She’d need a new name along with a fake ID. A few of her father’s friends would know where to get one, but she had to steer clear of them. Each and every one was loyal to her father in ways she’d never questioned until this afternoon.

  When she’d turned up at Frankie’s house, he’d been tossing clothes into a duffel and barking information at her. He had to leave the city, now. Would never see her or get in touch with her again. If she was smart, she’d leave too but not before she found a certain man by the name of Antonio and asked him to give her the bag.

  She ducked her head, replaying the scene behind closed eyes…

  What’s in the bag? she’d asked, panic rising.

  He’d tossed a look her way, a slice that cut deep and left an icy coldness she didn’t understand and hadn’t even begun to process now.

  I don’t know what’s in the bag, Fleur. But it has to do with you. Your father gave it to me for safekeeping.

  You never looked?

  No. You know I can’t cross your father.

  At that moment, she’d seen movement outside—a car pulling up. A car she recognized. Relief swam through her—her father’s friend would help Frankie with whatever was wrong. She started to the door, but Frankie grabbed her back.

  Hide yourself and don’t come out no matter what you hear.

  But Raymond will see my car and know I’m here.

  Dammit, you shouldn’t have parked out front!

  Frankie had frantically worked bullets into a handgun while Fleur looked on, shocked.

  Raymond isn’t going to hurt us.

  You sure about that?

  A second later, her father’s friend had stormed into the house without knocking, circling through the rooms and calling for Frankie in a taunting voice. When he got to the bedroom where he and Fleur stood, his gaze slid to her.

  Get out, Fleur. This doesn’t have anything to do with you.

  Terror had her blood running cold. Was Raymond, a man she liked and trusted, going to shoot Frankie in cold blood?

  What are you doing, Raymond? This is my father’s friend.

  Not anymore. No room for friends who betray, who sing when a little pressure’s put on them.

  She looked between them. Frankie held the weapon out, pointed at Raymond’s chest. Raymond’s pistol was trained on Frankie’s. If she didn’t do something to stop this, they’d both end up dead.

  She stepped up, heart tripping wildly. Don’t do this. Let’s talk.

  Too much talk going on, isn’t that right, Frankie? You’re good at spilling secrets. Fleur, this is my last warning to leave. You don’t need to be around when this happens.

  When this happened? Oh God.

  She racked her brain and an idea formed. She lifted her jaw a notch, looked into Raymond’s eyes and lied straight to his face. My father wants to question him further. He told me.

  Raymond’s gaze turned to her, contemplation there. You talked to your father about this?

  Yeah, he… She stumbled mentally but recovered quickly. He told me to set Frankie straight myself. Why do you think I’m here?

  You’re working with your father now? On this side of operations?

  Was there anot
her side to operations on the plantation?

  Frankie looked at her, horror on his face. She couldn’t ease his mind, couldn’t tell him she was faking her way through to save what seemed to be his life right now.

  Yeah, and he told me to bring Frankie to him. She put her hand on the man’s arm, applying the slightest pressure she hoped Raymond didn’t notice and Frankie understood as friendship. Come on, Frankie. I’ll drive you.

  Before she was able to get him to take a single step, Frankie squeezed off a shot. The bullet went wild, ricocheting off a bedpost and missing Raymond.

  But Raymond’s shot was true.

  Frankie had crumpled. And life as she knew it faded to black.

  In the mirror, tears burned in her eyes, far too dark brown to be anything but the French Creole that her mother had passed down to her.

  She’d need to get some non-prescription, colored contacts at a costume store and fast.

  But with what money? She’d fled with only a few bucks in her pocket, only enough for dye, scissors, a black hoodie with a rock band logo on it and a motel room. She had all of ten bucks left—enough for a fast food meal. Luckily her gas tank was full, and she could drive for hours. What then? As soon as she used her bank or credit cards, her father would be able to track her movements. The last person she wanted to find her right now was her father.

  Hands shaking, she finished off her haircut and lowered the scissors. Her mind was shocked into a reality she did not want to face. All she wanted to do was go home, and that was the last place she could ever set foot again.

  Not knowing what was happening after seeing her father’s friend kill Frankie, she’d driven straight to the family’s plantation. But when she’d neared her father’s office door, she’d overheard a conversation with Raymond’s brother.

  “It’s done.”

  “Good.” She heard the telltale squeak of her father’s chair and knew he was leaning back, hands templed in thought, rocking.

  “I didn’t know you were sending Fleur to talk to Frankie before I got there. Good to bring her into the family business at last, though, right?”

  The squeaking stopped, and her heartrate jumped to a rate so high, dizziness swept her.

  “Fleur. My Fleur.”

  “Yes, sir. She said you sent her because you wanted to question Frankie further.”

  “Family business… There isn’t room for Fleur in the family business. Especially after what she’s seen.”

  Her blood ran cold at the chilling threat.

  Silence and then: “Bring her in.”

  She still didn’t know how she’d gotten her legs to actually work, to run out of the house and not be detected, though Daddy would see it eventually on the security camera footage.

  None of this made sense. Her father had ordered a hit on her friend—on his own friend. And she wasn’t sticking around to find out what her father would do with her.

  Her tears fell in earnest, and she swiped them off her cheeks. Staring at her new reflection, she said, “Shoot, shovel and shut the fuck up.” That had been a motto she’d heard far too many times in her lifetime growing up, and now the words had a far different meaning than what she’d always assumed.

  With crop damage from marauding deer and who knew what else a constant problem, it seemed logical that her father and his men wouldn’t think twice about taking game out of season. But now…

  She had to get the hell out of here—fast. She took the bag from the drugstore and dumped the bleach and all her newly cut hair into it. She tied it shut and walked out, leaving the key locked inside the room, and tossed the bag into the dumpster on the way to her car.

  As she climbed behind the wheel, Frankie’s smiling face loomed in her memory. It was all she had now to carry with her of the man who’d been like a second father to her.

  Her heart pumped hard and she tried to draw in deep, measured breaths. She didn’t want to pass out behind the wheel.

  Driving in New Orleans was too conspicuous. Anybody who knew her father would easily pick out her sleek black luxury car given to her on her twenty-first birthday.

  She’d have to ditch it somewhere and get a rental.

  Again, with what money?

  Who could she trust to help her? Only Frankie came to mind.

  Can’t think about that now. She needed cash, contacts, a new ID and another car.

  Or maybe not.

  She drove into the heart of a bad neighborhood, one under constant spotlight on the evening news. Parking along the curb in broad daylight didn’t cause anyone to even look her way. Not even when she got out and started walking. She left the keys in it and didn’t look back.

  * * * * *

  Fleur walked along the shadowed sidewalk, head down, the blonde ends of her hair bobbing with each step. The streetlights overhead cast everything in a blue glow, only broken by the occasional neon sign of a pub.

  Music like you only heard in New Orleans burst through open windows or bar doors as merry people spilled onto the sidewalk.

  She couldn’t wrap her head around how she’d gotten to this place in her life.

  She’d been living on the streets for a week now, and she still couldn’t figure out how to get out of this mess. Everything was all wrong, totally off. Where was her comfortable home and easy lifestyle? She no longer even looked like herself. Each time she’d gone into a public restroom to wash up, her blonde hair and blue eyes stunned her.

  It had taken some trades to get a bit of cash she needed. Going into a secondhand shop that sold vintage items and hocking the items she was willing to part with and had monetary value had gotten her what she needed. Her Hermes scarf she’d discovered in a trunk with her late mother’s name on it had been enough to buy the costume contacts. Her designer calf leather belt had given her food for a week, but that was only because she didn’t have much of an appetite.

  After the few bucks ran out, she’d be up the bayou without a boat, or so the saying went. The worst was not trusting any of her old friends to help her. She didn’t trust anything about her old life anymore.

  With way too much time on her hands to replay the event of that day, she’d come to the same conclusion over and over again—her father had had Frankie killed. But why?

  As she passed one of the Irish pubs on this side of the city, loud laughter greeted her. The door hung open with a couple standing in the entrance talking to the bouncer.

  And inside, people sat at card tables.

  Fleur stopped in her tracks and ducked behind the couple, avoiding the bouncer’s attention. The scent of Guinness and hops hit her nose. The TVs were all tuned to Irish sports.

  If the people who frequented this pub liked to truly channel the Irish, then they’d fancy laying down a bet or two. And if there was one talent Fleur possessed, it was cards.

  She gripped the back of an empty chair and the men at the table looked up. “Is this seat taken?”

  The guy nearest her tossed her a crooked grin and waved to the chair. She took it and let her gaze settle over the table. “Twenty-five?”

  The men all stared at her. “You know the game?”

  She’d toured Europe extensively in her teens with her father, and she’d done a spell in Dublin where she’d learned with the best. She still recalled the proud look on her father’s face when she’d win a pot.

  Giving a small smile, she said, “A little.”

  “You don’t look like an Irish lass. What’s your name?”

  The name flew off her tongue, well-rehearsed over the past week. “Rose Hutton.” One of her father’s friends had told her as a child that if she ever needed to tell a lie, it was best to keep it as near to the truth as possible. She wouldn’t fear fumbling over Rose since Fleur meant flower, and the last name was the change of a single letter.

  The man gave a nod. “Robert.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  The others gave their names, which she immediately imprinted in her mind. Having any advantage over these
men was to her benefit.

  She watched the game wrap up, with the man to her left winning the pot of a hundred dollars. To think she was practically salivating over a hundred bucks when there were thousands in her bank account.

  But now she wouldn’t touch that money. After seeing Frankie killed, she’d spent a lot of time questioning how her father had earned his fortune.

  “Whattaya got to make it worth our while?” one player asked.

  “How about this?” She took off her watch, a designer one in gold.

  “Deal the lady in,” Robert said to his fellow players.

  She gave him a nod and smile and then checked herself. The woman she was impersonating wouldn’t have genteel manners. If anyone noticed, they didn’t say.

  The cards were passed her direction. She took a moment to calm her thumping heart as she realized what she held was more than likely the winning hand.

  Three minutes later, the cash in the middle of the table was pushed toward her. She refrained from snapping it up like a starvling took up food. But the urge to stuff her pockets full and run for it was strong.

  How quickly fates changed.

  “Beginner’s luck!” the guys began to tease. Somebody got her a Guinness, though she wasn’t a big fan, but she drank it anyway as they dealt her in again.

  By the end of the evening, when most of the cash was in her pockets, Robert tossed his cards onto the table and eyed her. “You’ve broken me, woman. I’m calling it a night and going home. That’s if I can rummage up enough money for a cab.”

  She pulled a ten-dollar bill out of her pocket. “It’s on me,” she said with a wide smile.

  He waved it away. “Keep your earnings and run. But if I were you, I wouldn’t show up here every night. The boys won’t want to keep losing to you.”

  That was her cue to go. She stood. Then throwing cautious looks behind her, she left the pub.

  Heading to a better part of town, she considered her options. She could sleep in the park as she had been, but she couldn’t risk being robbed of her winnings. And her body ached all over, accustomed to a comfortable bed and not the ground she’d been sleeping on.