Safe in His Sight

by Regan Black

  He glanced up at the stage when the last notes of the current song faded away. In the momentary lull, the lead singer introduced the owner of the club as guest drummer for the next set. Grant Sullivan knew drums, the Philly music scene and how to keep men like Mitch from going stir-crazy when they fell on tough times.

  This was Mitch’s second week at the Escape and the only thing keeping him sane since the Philadelphia Fire Department had placed him on administrative leave. More than anything he wanted to stay connected with the action at his firehouse on the west side of town, but he didn’t dare. Getting impatient would only drag out his case and keep him off the job longer. He owed Grant big-time for giving him all the shifts he could handle between now and whenever the PFD reinstated him.

  Another customer served, he moved on to the next. The bustling crowd kept his mind off the troubling thought of how long it might be before he worked a fire. He took an order, admiring the approach of a striking redhead. Chin up, it was as if she dared the whole world to try to take a shot or give her a kiss. He imagined those rosy lips could level a man with a technical knockout.

  She squeezed close to the bar. No wedding band. He wondered where her boyfriend was. Maybe it was a girl’s night out. “What can I get for you?” He leaned over the bar so she wouldn’t have to shout her answer.

  “I need to speak with Alexander.”

  Huh. That phrase meant the lady was in some sort of trouble. “All right.” Following Escape Club protocol, Mitch scooped ice into a glass and filled it with water. Anyone who came into the bar and asked for Alexander needed to speak privately with Grant. Usually it was a matter of protection, or an assist getting out of a tough situation. Mitch dropped a straw into the glass and pushed it across the bar toward her. Giving a nod toward the stage, he said, “He’s on the drums. I’ll take you back as soon as he’s done.”

  She gave a quick nod, her hands closing around the water glass, but she didn’t drink.

  He continued to work the crowd, keeping an eye on her, noting the way she repeatedly peered over her shoulder and took careful stock of the people ebbing and flowing around her. He interrupted his service rhythm just long enough to send Grant a text message.

  Shortly after Grant exited the stage to cheers and applause, Mitch’s cell phone hummed.

  “Alexander’s waiting for you,” he said to the redhead.

  Her lips compressed to a thin, stern line, she slid off the stool and joined him at the end of the bar. He led her to Grant’s office and stepped aside for her to enter. Intending to give them privacy, he didn’t follow.

  “Join us,” Grant said, waving him inside.

  With a nod, Mitch entered the office, closed the door and leaned back against it.

  His boss extended a hand to the woman for a brisk handshake. “Grant Sullivan. You’ve met my bartender, Mitch Galway.”

  “Julia Cooper.” She slid a wary glance at Mitch but didn’t shake his hand. “Yes.”

  “Have a seat, please.” Grant’s chair creaked as he landed in it. The man was built like a boxer, stocky and solid, yet light on his feet with an energy that frequently outlasted his younger employees. “How did you hear about Alexander, Miss Cooper?”

  “A woman I work out with had a problem a few months ago. You helped her.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Grant maintained a friendly but cautious reserve. With his salt-and-pepper hair and kind brown eyes, he had a way of putting people as ease. “What sort of trouble are you having?” he queried, his voice full of that patience Mitch admired.

  Julia reached into her purse and swiped her cell phone screen before handing it to Grant. “A man sent me threatening text messages during my lunch break and the situation quickly escalated. He followed me back to the law firm where I work. Those pictures arrived in my personal email account shortly after I got back to my desk.”

  “Quick worker. I’d guess you’re probably not his first.” Grant looked up, his gaze sharp on the potential client. “You’re a lawyer?”

  She nodded. “Everything related to my problem is in that file.”

  A lawyer with an impatient stalker, thought Mitch. An impatient stalker seemed like an oxymoron, but he wasn’t the expert.

  “You just noticed him today?” Grant peered intently at her phone, swiping through whatever information she’d gathered.

  “Yes.” She paused while a quiver twitched across her shoulders. “The pictures were taken over the past few days. That’s why I’m here.”

  “I see.” Grant continued his study. “Have you spoken to the police?”

  “I don’t think the police can help me in time. They’d have to catch him stalking me and I have a feeling that won’t be easy. Average height, average build, no stand-out features.” She sighed. “And it could take months—if ever—for the FBI to figure out who hacked my credit card and bank account,” she said. “On top of that, based on the timing and the wording of those texts, I have to assume he’s fixated on me because of a criminal case I’m working. He could jeopardize my participation in the case, not to mention my career.”

  Grant’s mouth flexed into a frown. “The car-theft ring?”

  “Yes.”

  Mitch stifled an admiring whistle. It was the biggest case in the local news. Every branch of law enforcement had been trying to bust the operation, but witnesses and informants regularly wound up dead. The FBI had snatched one of the key players and managed to keep him alive—so far—and he’d lawyered up with the best defense firm in the area.

  Grant scowled at her, his eyes narrowed. “You’re with Marburg?”

  “Yes.” She glanced over her shoulder at Mitch before addressing Grant again. “Will that be a problem?”

  “No.”

  The answer made Grant a better man than Mitch. In his boss’s shoes, he wouldn’t want to help anyone associated with Marburg. Their legal team had represented the bastard who’d shot and wounded Grant, ending his career with the Philly police department.

  “Mitch will help you out,” Grant said. “He’ll be a buffer between you and the stalker until we can make an ID. He can investigate who might want to target you.”

  The announcement startled Mitch. Stalkers and investigations sounded like a problem better suited to one of the cops moonlighting at the Escape.

  “Buffer? Is that code for bodyguard?” Julia asked. “The partners will know something’s up if he’s tagging along behind me at the office.”

  “Tell them he’s your boyfriend,” Grant suggested.

  “That would be worse. No offense,” she clarified, eyeing Mitch. “A new associate with a personal life is frowned upon.”

  Mitch shrugged a shoulder, holding his ground and taking her measure as she took his. She didn’t strike him as the type to scare easy. Not with the deep red hair and sheer defiance in her stormy sea green eyes. He couldn’t wait to see what the stalker had done to drive her here. Not that it mattered beyond getting the guy off her. When Grant handed out assignments, it was best not to argue. “Is there a different excuse you’d rather use?”

  “No,” she replied through gritted teeth.

  “I won’t create any trouble for you at work,” Mitch assured her. “I’ll follow your lead and won’t even enter the building unless I’m following your stalker.” He understood the value of privacy and discretion in the workplace.

  Her shoulders relaxed a fraction. “All right. I’ll be safe enough at the office and at home. I have a security system in my apartment.”

  “If you want our help, you’ll accept that he’ll be with you around the clock,” Grant corrected. “At least until we identify the man and his motives.”

  “I’m not comfortable with that.” Her shoulders locked up again. “Surely, Mr. Galway—”

  “Mitch.”

  “—has better things to do than tail me.” She glared at his interruption.

  “If you’re sure you can handle this, why did you ask for my help?” Grant voiced the question even as Mitch tho
ught it.

  “I... That is...” She stopped and cleared her throat, those tempestuous eyes skimming over him from head to toe once more before darting back to Grant. “I do need the buffer,” she admitted, reluctance dripping from every syllable. “Twenty-four/seven is more than I expected.”

  “Good!” Grant beamed. “We aim to exceed expectations in every aspect of our operation.” He stood, returned her cell phone and brought the meeting to an end. “Send me a copy of that file, Miss Cooper. I added my contact information to your phone. Mitch, I’ll cover the rest of your shift at the bar. You take good care of our new client.”

  “Of course.” Mitch opened the door, tipping his head for her to go first. The woman wasn’t happy, but she’d stopped protesting. His curiosity about her and the situation revved into high gear and he found a new appreciation for the free time created by his administrative leave.

  Maybe this unexpected career detour would prove a little more interesting than he’d thought.

  Chapter 2

  Knowing it was the smart choice, her only choice, to accept help, Julia wondered why it felt like such an irrevocable mistake. When her friend had enlisted the Escape Club’s help, she hadn’t mentioned dealing with anyone as tall and imposing and...virile as Mitch.

  Virile. Yes, that was the best word to describe him as he stood silently looming over her in the hallway between the raucous club and the office. His brown eyes were intense and curious. He kept his thick blond hair short and burnished gold whiskers shaded his jaw. His bright blue uniform polo shirt with the club logo embroidered on the chest hugged his defined biceps and trim torso that narrowed to trim hips and long legs. She had her doubts that any fat cells would dare to linger on his fit frame.

  She’d dated a guy in law school who’d worked his body into this kind of shape. That guy hadn’t been interested in anything that didn’t benefit him directly. This man had been assigned to stand between her and the stalker who’d turned her life inside out in the space of an afternoon. She wondered if he had as many doubts about that 24/7 concept as she did. Willing away her immediate reaction to his tall, fit form, she raised her gaze to meet his and caught the spark of amusement.

  “Satisfied?” he asked, hooking his thumbs in the belt loops of his khakis.

  “How tall are you?” Her cheeks turned warm when she realized she’d voiced the question.

  “Six-three most days. Am I taller than your stalker?”

  “Yes, I think so. Fortunately, he hasn’t been close enough for me to be sure. Yet.”

  “And I won’t let him get that close.”

  The determined set of his mouth gave her a ridiculous amount of reassurance. Did he practice that expression? He hadn’t even done anything truly helpful yet.

  “What do you need, Julia? Should we stay for the music so you can unwind or should I take you home?”

  “I’d like to go home.” What was it about his voice that sliced through her defenses? Home didn’t sound scary anymore and yet nothing had changed. Not really. A stranger was still out there somewhere, expecting her to cooperate. What was the protocol for dealing with a temporary bodyguard? “What does twenty-four/seven mean?”

  “You’re an attorney. I think you’re smart enough to figure that out.”

  “You can’t really expect to...to stay with me,” she protested. She needed more space in her life, more than the average person. Her mother, friends and both former boyfriends were all in agreement on that.

  His eyebrows dipped low over his eyes. “Do you believe you were followed here?”

  “No.” She swallowed, knowing the immediate response might be inaccurate. She couldn’t know for sure. She’d just admitted to two strangers that a man had followed her for days and she’d been none the wiser. “At least I don’t think so.”

  “Did you drive here?”

  She shook her head, forcing her gaze to remain on his eyes. Steady eye contact conveyed confidence, and she needed him to know she wasn’t always frightened of every shadow. “I thought a cab was the safer choice.”

  “Probably right on that one. Safety in numbers, I guess,” he said, echoing her deciding thought.

  She folded her arms over her chest. “How many women have you saved from stalkers?”

  His eyebrows arched and his lips twitched into a half smile, but his voice was serious. “I’ve only been on the job here for two weeks. That makes you my first.”

  She rolled her eyes to the dingy ceiling tiles over his head. “Grant assigned you to me because I’m with Marburg. He’s going through the motions for me, that’s all.” She fisted her hands in her coat pockets. “This was a mistake.” She’d find a way to navigate this on her own.

  “Hey.” Mitch stepped closer, crowding her. “You came here for good reason. We can help. Personally, I think the boss would be within his rights to turn away anyone from your firm. But he didn’t. That’s not how he operates. Just because I’ve never done something doesn’t mean I can’t do it. I happen to know a few things about getting people out of trouble.”

  “Then show me your skills,” she said, spreading her arms wide and then dropping them back to her sides. “What comes next?”

  He’d better have some answers, because she was at an absolute loss. Another trickle of icy fear rolled down her spine. If she turned away from Escape’s help, the cab fare home would wipe out most of the cash in her wallet. She had more money stashed away at home, but not nearly enough to cover her expenses if the stalker didn’t give her access to her accounts. Trying to focus on what she could control, on choosing the best option out of the short and lousy list, she pressed her lips together and waited.

  “One step at a time,” Mitch began in a soothing voice. “I’ll drive you home. I’ll walk through your place and make a decision after that.”

  Him. In her apartment. An image popped into her head, confounding her. The studio space was almost too small for her. “What kind of decision?”

  He gave her a pleasant smile she didn’t quite trust. “One step at a time,” he repeated. “Come on.”

  “Where?” she asked as he turned his back. Faced with the view of his wide shoulders tapering to lean hips, her feet moved forward of their own volition. Her responses to him embarrassed her, made her feel too much like her mother—the woman who used anyone and everyone in her orbit. “This kind of thing doesn’t happen to me.”

  “Okay.” He kept walking.

  She followed. “I’m not a drama queen.”

  “Got it.” He pulled open a door at the end of the hall, encouraging her to enter first. “Break room,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “I need to grab my coat and keys. Unless you changed your mind about staying for the band?”

  “No, thank you.” She scolded the voice in her head that encouraged her to forget responsibilities and problems and dance all night with Mitch. “I have to be at the office early tomorrow.”

  With a nod, he pulled a worn leather bomber jacket from a peg on the near wall and shrugged it over his shoulders. It fell into place as if he’d been born in it.

  The burst of attraction zipped through her veins. She blamed it on some unruly, misplaced version of hero worship. He hadn’t even done anything but hand her a glass of water and introduce her to Grant. For all she knew this would backfire.

  “Mr. Galway—”

  “Mitch. We’re going to be inseparable for a while, Julia.”

  He made it sound so ominous. And so tempting, she thought with a mental sigh. She ignored that hero-worshiping voice. “Right. Mitch.” She tested his name as he led her out the back door and into the dark night.

  The void of the Delaware River stretching away in both directions startled her and she stopped short. She’d forgotten the club was perched at the end of a pier. On the opposite riverbank, New Jersey sparkled. Little more than the bass of the band was audible once the door closed behind them. She knew thousands of people were nearby, in restaurants and bars, condos and businesses, but right now
, she couldn’t see any of them. The solitude was blissful.

  The cool night air slipped under her coat and she shivered. Mitch stepped up and wrapped an arm over her shoulders, pulling her into his warmth as they walked up the pier to the parking area across the street. Immediately, her body resisted the invasion of her personal space. Just her luck she’d get saddled with a touchy-feely type of buffer. “Do you have to touch me?”

  “Relax, play along. If you were followed here, being with me will throw your stalker a curveball.”

  Followed. One more fear to add to the heap, though the idea of putting the stalker off balance appealed to her. The jerk had demonstrated too much familiarity with her life and habits this afternoon. Giving in, she leaned into Mitch’s solid body as if she could truly count on a man she’d just met. No, it wasn’t smart, but it wasn’t forever. Her entire life had been one lesson after another proving she was better off handling things on her own.

  Until now. It had been quite a blow this afternoon to realize she had no idea how to overcome a situation where her opponent operated so swiftly and effectively from the shadows.

  “How do you think he found out so much about me in such a short amount of time?”

  “That’s a tough question. I’ll need a look at the file you assembled.” Mitch’s fingers flexed on her shoulder through her coat. “We’ll figure it out.”

  “How?” She had the impression he was holding back his real opinion of her and her situation. “You think he knows me.” Anxiety slid through her belly and she gazed out over the parking lot, expecting to see that orange cap. “Or maybe you believe I’m exaggerating the circumstances.”

  His sharp inhale was followed by a vapor cloud as he exhaled into the cold night air. “You don’t hold back much, do you?” He slipped a key into the door lock of a classic muscle car and opened the door for her. “Slide in,” he suggested when she stood there waiting for his reply.

  “Answer me,” she said. “Please,” she added a beat too late to be considered polite.

  He laughed. “You’ll get answers. In the meantime, let’s get warm.”