by Sky Winters
God, she thought, realizing how happy it made her to please the boss. Always a teacher's pet.
"You want anything else, just let me know," said Ingrid.
"I'll keep that in mind."
With that, he left the room. Ingrid sat down with Adeline and placed a few pancakes on her plate as the little girl ate happily. Somehow, she was even more confused than she was before.
CHAPTER 4
DAMIEN
Damien Kennedy was more than a little surprised when he looked at his calendar and saw it had already been a week since he'd brought on Ingrid. So far, she'd been a wise hire, and seemed to be hitting it off with Adeline. Damien knew that the girl wasn't the easiest to get to open up, but Ingrid was being patient with her, encouraging her to talk about herself and play without being too insistent about it.
However, there was still the manner of their tryst that first night. Standing in his office, he shook his head as he thought back to that evening. He couldn't believe he'd let it happen.
It was his animal, he knew it. His wolf nature had gotten the better of him, and when he laid eyes on Ingrid, the attraction he felt for her broke free and he lost control. Just like it usually was when his animal emerged, he hardly could help what he did, or what he wanted. Ingrid found him when he was weak, and the primal lust that was so common with his wolf shifter kind. He simply took what he wanted, and, judging by her reaction, it wasn't something Ingrid was unwilling to go along with.
He sipped his coffee and looked out the window at the long expanse of green that comprised his backyard.
It was that night, he thought. The operation.
That first evening with Ingrid, Damien and the rest of his mercenary clan had an operation that went…differently than he was expecting. It was supposed to be a standard job, an escort mission for a senator who'd purchased their services for the day. Such bodyguard operations were common for Damien and the Red Claws, and their skill and professionalism are what made them one of the most sought-after mercenary firms in the city.
And as the evening went on, Damien and the rest of the Red Claws working the perimeter of the stately mansion where the Senator was hosting a party for the evening, were sure this night was going to be a standard affair – an easy paycheck from a senator who was feeling little paranoid.
But a gunshot cracking from a distance, followed by the shriek of pain from Anders, one of the men in his crew, let him know things were going to be very, very different.
The Red Claws took cover from the gunfire that sounded from the trees around the house. The battle was fierce, but Damien managed to rally his men and fight off just whoever it was in the attack. But they weren't able to take down a single one of the attackers – whatever group involved was professional and well-trained. And judging from the scent in the air when Damien went into the woods to check for any clues, they were undoubtedly fellow wolf shifters.
When Damien spoke to the senator about what happened, the man seemed pleased that Damien was able to fight off the attack so effectively. But Damien wasn't happy with his performance; he was furious that anyone could get the drop on him and the Red Claws like that, and as soon as Anders was taken to their medical facility for treatment, he vowed to get to the bottom of what was going on.
The evening left Damien shaken. And when he arrived home, the animal within wanted nothing more than to break free and go on a wild rampage, tearing through the city to figure out just what the hell had happened. It took every bit of restraint he had not to lose control and fully shift, but when he laid eyes on Ingrid, he was pushed over the edge. He couldn't help himself from taking her hard and fast.
Some professional you are, he thought, taking another sip of his coffee.
Damien didn't care for just ignoring the issue, but drama with his hired help was the last thing he wanted to deal with. He had a situation to get to the bottom of, and he was going to figure out just who was behind the attack before they had a chance to strike again. His reputation depended on it.
So, as he stood in front of his computer, looking over the invitation he'd received for the ball tonight in downtown DC, he couldn't help but wonder if he had the luxury of letting his guard down, even for just one evening.
Anyone who's anyone is going to be there, he thought. I wouldn't even be surprised if the president dropped in. Security's going to be tight, so no chance of an attack, but if someone's looking to pick off a senator, I might be able to find something out.
He sighed and shook his head, his thoughts returning to Ingrid.
One damn thing or another, he thought. If I go, I'll need a date.
He closed the laptop in front of him and left his office, the weight of his current situation still heavy on his mind. Entering the kitchen, he saw Ingrid and Adeline playing together, and he couldn't help but let a small smile cross his lips as he watched from a distance.
She needs a woman in her life, he thought. Hopefully, Ingrid is the one to finally be up to the job. We'll see, I suppose.
"Ingrid," said Damien, the two girls snapping to attention at the sound of his voice. "I need to speak to you for a second."
"Be right back," said Ingrid, playfully mussing Adeline's hair as she stood up.
"What's up, Mr. Kennedy?" she asked.
Glad she still knows to call me that, thought Damien. Nothing more irritating than when the help gets too familiar too quickly.
"Something came up tonight," he said.
"Oh?" asked Ingrid. "Well, that's what I'm here for."
"No," said Damien. "It's a little different. There's a ball happening downtown, one charity event or another. And I'm actually not working it; I've been invited as a guest."
"Really?" asked Ingrid. "Sounds interesting."
"Glad to hear you say that," said Damien. "Because you're going to be my plus-one."
An expression of total shock and surprise came over Ingrid's face.
"Wait, are you serious?" she asked. "I don't know…I mean, this is going to be a high-society party, right? I mean, I'm just assuming."
"About as high-society as it gets. Congressmen, press – the works."
"Oh God," said Ingrid, her face turning red. "I mean, if you want me to go, I will, but I don't think I'll fit in at all."
"You'll be fine," Damien said. "But you'll need something to wear. Take Adeline into town and go pick out something nice. Price isn't a concern. And go get your hair done and anything else you need – you're going to have to look your best."
"Oh…okay," she said, nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot. "I just…I don't know."
"You'll be fine," Damien said, his voice sterner. "Just get done what you need to get done, and I'll make sure I have someone to watch Adeline tonight."
"Sure, Mr. Kennedy."
With that, Damien handed her his credit card and she was off.
Damien knew he could easily find some willing girl to go with him tonight; the city wasn't exactly short on young women who'd kill to attend a party like this. However, Damien wanted someone he knew to be at his side. And he'd be lying if he said he didn't think a beautiful girl like Ingrid would be a fine partner for the evening.
But she's going to need to know to stay out of my way if things get out of control, he thought. If I end up finding anything out, things might get hot, and fast. And hopefully, she knows how to handle herself at something like this.
The afternoon passed. Damien made all the arrangements for the evening, picking out a suit and finding a sitter for his daughter. By the time the early evening rolled around, Ingrid had returned, her auburn hair done up beautifully, a few shopping bags in her hands.
She may not be familiar with high-society, thought Damien, but she sure knows how to look the part.
"So far, so good," said Damien. "Now hurry and get ready; the limo will be here in an hour."
"Limo?" asked Ingrid.
Damien would be lying if he said it wasn't a little charming just how over her head she seemed.
"Oh, man," she said.
Damien headed off to put on his tux, and when he was ready, he returned to the living room to await Ingrid.
When she entered, it was Damien's turn to be in over his head. Ingrid looked stunning. She wore a cream-colored gown that went perfectly with her fair skin and lovely hair. Her hands were enclosed in elegant gloves, and a beautiful necklace was around her neck. Damien had to take a moment to compose himself.
"This okay?" Ingrid asked.
"It's perfect," said Damien.
"I just picked something out in a hurry; I didn't know what to wear."
Damien rolled his shoulders, his animal feeling like it might burst out at any moment. A surge of primal energy welled within him, and part of him wanted to bend Ingrid over the kitchen counter and have his way with her right then and there before they left. And then maybe again in the limo.
Keep your goddamn cool, thought Damien. We've got a whole night ahead of us. And who the hell knows how it's going to turn out?
The sitter arrived, and moments after Damien greeted her, the phone in his pocket buzzed, letting him know the limo was there.
"Shall we?" Damien asked Ingrid.
"Sure," she said, her voice still heavy with uncertainty.
She'll have to get a little spine if she's going to get through the evening, Damien thought. I hope she's not planning on being a wallflower.
The two of them went out to the limo, which was a sleek, silver vehicle. Damien normally didn't care for such gaudy displays, but he knew that, at events like this, looking successful was about as important as actually being successful – though he certainly was that. There were always new clients to be found. And besides, it's not as though money was an issue.
"This is…really nice," said Ingrid as the car drove through the streets of Washington.
"First time in a limo?" asked Damien, though the answer was obvious.
"Mhmm," said Ingrid.
Damien couldn't decide whether to be charmed by her small-town nature or mildly annoyed. The girl was constantly looking around at the packed city streets and bustling boulevards as if she hadn't been living in New York for the last few years.
I guess you can take the girl out of the small town…, he thought, preparing himself a drink and taking a small sip.
Eventually, the limo pulled up to a grand building in the old Neo-Roman style that was so common in Washington. The front was a hive of activity with men and women in tuxedos and elegant gowns walking up the magnificent staircase that led up to a towering set of doors guarded by a team of security agents.
That looks like the Lobo Pack, thought Damien, scanning the crew of mean-looking men who were performing security for the evening.
Seeing a crew of up-and-comers like them reminded Damien of his first few years working security in the area, back before he was the leader of one of the top mercenary teams.
"Oh my God," said Ingrid, her face pressed up against the window, her eyes on an elegant woman with silver hair and dressed in a ruby-colored gown. "Is that Senator Wilkins? I love her!"
Damien sighed.
"Try not to ogle the politicians," he said. "That's not going to be the only one you see tonight and acting like a little girl meeting one of the Jonas Brothers isn't the look I want for my date."
"Sorry," she said, her shoulders sinking a bit at the upbraiding.
"Listen," said Damien, deciding to finally let her in. "Tonight isn't just about networking. Someone in the city is gunning for senators, and I have a sneaking suspicion they might be here tonight."
"Are you serious?" asked Ingrid, her green eyes going wide. "Like, to kill them?"
"No," said Damien, "not to kill them. The other night my crew and I fought off an attack at a senator's home. The crew was professional, and they knew just when to strike. Knowing where senators are going to be and when they're going to be there isn't something that just anyone knows – that's insider info. So, I'm thinking that whoever made the attack is someone who's close, someone who runs in these circles."
It was clear to Damien from the surprised expression on Ingrid's face that she didn't quite know what to make of this information.
"Just stay close to me. I don't want you wandering off and getting into any trouble."
"I just…" she said, clearly nervous about what she was going to ask. "Are you going to be able to keep me safe?"
"Of course," said Damien. "You'll be meeting the rest of my crew in here. We're the best in the business, and no one, no matter how well-trained and organized, would be stupid enough to try an attack on a place like this. It'd be suicide."
"Okay," said Ingrid. "Good."
"Now," said Damien. "Let's get out there. Just FYI, however, don't be surprised if you have paparazzi snapping pictures of you."
"Really?"
"Really. I can't say why, exactly, but since I've been working with these DC bigwigs, I've had more than a few of these vultures trying to find out all sorts of things about my personal life. So, try not to give them a show."
"I'll do my best."
The limo door opened and just as Damien warned, flashes began going off immediately. Damien stepped out first, turning around and extending his hand to Ingrid. She followed close, the bright pops from the digital cameras causing her to become quickly disoriented.
"Such a fucking zoo," said Damien, speaking over the clamor of the crowd. "I don't know why they allow these assholes around here."
"I don't know if I like this!" shouted Ingrid.
Damien led her down the narrow lane up to the stairs, flanked on both sides by the paparazzi. He did his best to keep her close, but eventually, one of the more eager of the paparazzi grabbed Ingrid by the wrist and pulled her close.
"Mr. Kennedy!" shouted the photographer, a wiry man who looked barely out of high school. "Who is this you're with?"
Damien's eyes snapped first onto the man's hand on Ingrid's wrist, then onto the photographer's face. His animal roared to life, and anger boiled inside of him. Some protective instinct kicked in, and with lightning-quick speed, he rushed over to Ingrid and pulled the man's hand off her wrist. Then, he reached for the man's collar, grabbed it, and pulled him close.
"You touch her again and I'll fucking break your neck, got it?"
The man nodded, a look of terror on his face. And as soon as the nearby photographers turned toward the display and started snapping pictures, Damien knew he'd made a mistake.
Fuck, fuck, fuck! he thought, realizing he'd just gave them the scene of the evening.
He let go of the photographer and gave him a light shove back into the crowd. Ingrid watched the whole display with an expression of uncertainty.
"Let's go," said Damien, slipping his arm around her waist, and leading her up to the stairs.
Goddamn, that was fucking stupid of me, he thought. But when I saw him touching Ingrid, I just couldn't help myself. I wanted to do far, far worse to that little prick. But why am I feeling so protective of this girl?
Damien nodded to the members of the Lobo Pack and they let him and Ingrid pass without issue. Moments later, they were in a grand ballroom with high, vaulted ceilings, gorgeous chandeliers, and packed with crowds of the city's elite.
"Holy crap," said Ingrid, looking around.
Then her hand shot to her mouth.
"Sorry," she said. "I know you told me not to look too star-struck, but holy shit!"
"Get it out of your system," said Damien, the anger still boiling inside him.
Ingrid clammed up. Damien knew he was being harsh, sure, but he needed her to be on her best behavior for tonight. After all, this evening wasn't just about having fun.
Damien scanned the room, his eyes settling on a group of tough-looking men in sharp tuxedos, all with a drink in their hands and a beautiful woman on their arms. They were far louder and rowdier than any of the other stuffy party-goers. A sly smile cr
ossed his face.
"Come with me," said Damien, leading Ingrid by the small of her back over to the men.
"There's the boss!" shouted a tall, strapping man with close-cropped blonde hair and a wide scar on his otherwise handsome face.
These were the Red Claws, Damien's crew. Damien was relieved to see them; being around high-society types was always annoying for him, even though they were his bread and butter.
"Smith," said Damien, giving his coworker and friend a quick half-hug and slap on the back.
Damien greeted the rest of the men in his group, along with the women. He couldn't help but take a little sick pride out of the way the women looked Ingrid up and down in that jealous, competitive way that women reserved for girls they were intimidated by.
"How's Anders?" asked Damien, eager to know how his friend was doing after the attack.
"Better," said Smith. "Claw just grazed him. He'll be fine in a day or two. I told him he could sit out tonight, and he didn't seem too bummed out by that."
"Claw?" asked Ingrid. "Did you guys guard a zoo or something?"
Damien flashed his men a severe look, one that made it clear Ingrid wasn't aware of their shifter nature, and that he wanted to keep it that way. The expressions they returned made it clear they got the message.
"Codename for enemies," said Damien. "We had a little run-in the other night. Nothing to worry about, though."
The answer seemed to mollify Ingrid for the moment. Damien knew it was only a matter of time before she found out about his shifter nature, but he figured that was something he could ease her into.
"What's the scene?" said Damien, taking a pair of glasses of wine from the tray of a passing server and handing one to Ingrid.
"Usual stuffy bullshit," said Cutter, a stocky, shorter wolf. "Lots of glad-handing and networking.
"Heard you made quite an entrance," said James, a slim, lean man in a stylish tux, with a shock of oak-colored hair tied into a top-knot. "Talk of the party."
"Fuck," said Damien under his breath. "It's those fucking paparazzi. I couldn't help it."
