Search and Protect

by Nichole Severn

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright 2019 by Natascha Jaffa. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the author.

  Nichole Severn

  Email: nichole@nicholesevern.com

  Visit her website at www.nicholesevern.com

  Interior Design by Natascha Jaffa

  Cover design by Yevinn Graphics

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  About the Author

  Also by Nichole

  Chapter One

  “You should’ve kept running, Emma.”

  Fear raced through Emma Chastaine’s system as the man straddling her chest pressed the knife into her throat. She didn’t want to die. Shaking her head slightly, she forced herself to see through the shadows, past the black ski mask, to pick up on the slight inflections in her attacker’s voice. In vain. Her heart pounded too loudly behind her ears, her breath strangled as it sawed in and out of her chest. Air struggled up her throat against his weight on her chest. There was only pain, the slight pinch at the base of her neck where the blade cut into her, the pressure building in her lungs. A tear streamed from the corner of her right eye into her hairline.

  “Now, beg.” He leaned into her, a hint of salt and cigarettes surrounding her. The man who’d broken into her small rental cottage on the beach lifted the blade, scooping the tears from her face onto the flat surface. “Beg for me to let you go. Beg for your life.”

  This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real. She’d only done her job. Her heart threatened to explode straight out of her chest. Something slipped down her neck—blood?—and she fought to control the outburst of sobs clawing up her throat. She’d only done her job, and now they wanted her dead. But she wasn’t going to beg. Wasn’t going to give her killer the satisfaction. Shutting her eyes tight, Emma curled her fingers into fists. Her dad had taught her how to defend herself. She’d spent a huge chunk of her childhood on the mat with him before he’d left. She just had to calm down. Had to remember. Her attacker had pinned her arms beneath his knees and sat on her chest, but her legs were free. “No.”

  The word growled from between her lips.

  His dark eyes widened, the knife faltering in his hand for the briefest of seconds.

  Emma didn’t wait for another chance. Hiking her knees into his back, she locked her ankles around his neck and thrust as hard as she could. Her momentum slammed him back onto the floor and hauled her upward. Every cell in her body caught fire as he swiped the blade across her arm. A surprised gasp escaped her a split second before he landed a hard right fist to her jaw. She’d forgotten to secure his arm when he hit the hardwood. Blood filled her mouth, threaded through her fingers from the injury on her arm. She crawled toward the kitchen, toward something—anything—she could use as a weapon. There. The plate she’d dropped when he’d come at her from behind while she’d been making herself dinner. Shattered pieces of ceramic coated in marinara sauce. They were just out of reach.

  “No one has gotten away from me, Emma.” He locked his hand around one of her ankles and pulled her back. “You won’t be any different.”

  Yes, she would. Her fingernails caught in the hardwood floor grooves, one ripping free, but it was nothing compared to the pain in her arm, the throbbing in her face. Twisting around, Emma kicked high, landing a blow to her attacker’s chest. He dropped his hold. She pushed to her feet and ran for the cottage’s back door. Through the kitchen, past the small dining table. She twisted the deadbolt, reaching for the chain. But she wasn’t fast enough.

  He ripped her back by her long hair, but Emma caught herself before he had a chance to thrust her head into the door. She wasn’t going to die. Not here. Not now. She wouldn’t be another one of her boss’s victims.

  “You’re going to want to get your hands off of her.” The sound of a bullet chambering barely registered through the pounding in her head. His voice. Low, dangerous. Warning coiled low in her stomach as her pulse slowed. “Right the hell now.”

  Wrenching her around, her attacker maneuvered her into his chest and placed the tip of the blade at her throat again. Using her as a shield. Or a hostage. A brush of salted, humid breeze swept through the cottage, clearing the smell of cigarettes from her lungs. “By the time you’ve pulled the trigger, I’ll have slit her throat.”

  “Go ahead, take that chance.” A thick beard and tousled hair only added to the depth in the darkest green eyes she’d ever seen. Muscled, with veins determined to escape from beneath his skin, the man aiming a gun at her assailant took a single step forward. “I dare you. Because either way, you’re getting a bullet to the head for putting your hands on my client.”

  Client?

  Her attacker fanned his gloved grip over the blade’s handle. One second. Two. “Are you really willing to risk her life?”

  Emma didn’t dare blink, didn’t dare move. She’d been forced to leave Columbia, South Carolina, finally found safety here in Charleston the past few months. She’d changed her name, gotten a job as an accountant for a small art gallery in town. But it’d all been for nothing. The danger had followed her. Air rushed from her lungs as realization hit. It would always follow her. As long as her boss dodged federal charges, she’d never be safe.

  “I’ll give you to the count of three to drop your weapon,” her mysterious rescuer said. “One. Two.”

  This was her life to protect. Hers and no one else’s. She’d worked hard for it, and not even Carter Hudson could take that from her. No matter how many goons he sent after her. Emma thrust her elbow deep into the bundle of nerves of her attacker’s solar plexus. His rough exhale hit the back of her neck as she slammed her heel onto the top of his foot before she shoved him back. Her attacker crashed through the window pane of her door, his weight hauling his feet off the floor, and landed onto the small cement porch. She fought to control her breathing, blinked as a wave of dizziness crept in, and in the next moment, he was gone.

  Moonlight gleamed off the blade he’d dropped on the floor.

  “Are you all right?” Out of the corner of her eye, the man with the gun moved in.

  Emma lunged for the knife, wrapping her fingers around the handle, and lifted it up. “Don’t. Don’t come any closer.”

  *

  “Who are you?” Her voice shook, the blade in her hand wavering.

  Hell, he’d scared her. Okay, it’d probably been the guy with the knife at her throat who’d scared her, but he wasn’t making this any easier on her. Blackhawk Security search and rescue agent Max Logan holstered his weapon, raising both hands, palms facing her. “My name is Max Logan. I was sent to find you.”

  “Sent by who? Carter?” Pin straight, long, brown hair slid over one shoulder as she scanned her own home. Looking for a way out? He wouldn’t stop her from escaping out the back door if that was her choice, but it would make his job a hell of a lot harder. Bright blue—almost turquoise—eyes matched the striped sweater clinging to her small frame. But from what he’d seen of her self-defense skills, there was a lot of power packed in that small package.

  “He’s the man you’re testifying against.” Max tramped down the guttural reaction as she bit into her full bottom lip, and he took another step toward her. “Carter Hudson, right? T
he senator.”

  Color drained from her face, but she only readjusted her grip on the blade.

  “I work for a security firm. Personal protection, tactical training, that kind of thing.” A hint of citrus filled his lungs. Not from the breeze coming through her shattered door either. Purely her. “Blackhawk Security. Heard of it?”

  A quick shake of her head.

  “Well, that’s not the important part. I work in search and rescue. I’m just going to reach into my back pocket for a business card as proof.” He slowed his movements as she shifted between both feet. He’d dealt with victims before, survivors. He recognized the exact moment she considered making her move while he was distracted, but she didn’t follow through. Interesting. Cardstock in hand, he leaned forward and offered her his business card then took a step back to give her space. He wasn’t here to force her. Not after what she’d been through the past few months. Hell, the past few minutes even. “Your friend the prosecutor, she hired my firm to find you after you ran. So here I am.”

  Emma snatched the card out of his hand with her injured arm, reading the information quickly, and he got a whole lungful of that citrus scent coming off of her. Lotion? Perfume? Whatever it was, it suited her. Alluring with a hint of sharpness. “She’s not my friend. She just wants me to testify against my boss—former boss.”

  “Okay. That works, too. My point is, I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to protect you from assholes like the one who just disappeared out your back door until you can testify against the senator in a few days.” Blood bloomed across the arm of her sweater. He’d done a hell of a job protecting her all right. Such a good job he hadn’t realized the bastard had been in her home until it’d almost been too late. “Right after we get that arm looked at.”

  “How did you find me?” She flinched, her arm lowering slowly. His insides tightened. She was tired, bleeding. From the look of debris on the floor she’d been in the middle of cooking herself dinner when she’d been attacked, so she probably hadn’t eaten in a few hours. Not a good combination in a stressful situation. Worry she’d bottom out at any second prompted him to step forward in case she collapsed.

  PTSD didn’t just affect veterans. Every day, lives had been destroyed because of trauma like she’d experienced. He kept his voice low, his movements slow. If she feared—even for a second—for her own safety, he’d lose her. He had no intention of failing this assignment.

  “As much as I want to fill you in on all the details, you’re still in danger, Emma.” Her name slid off his tongue with ease, pulled at something deeper inside. “Whoever broke into your house, whoever that guy was, he’ll be back. Best for both of us if we’re not here when that happens. Trust me.”

  Every muscle down his spine tightened as the seconds passed. A minute. It was late, and he really didn’t want to have to run after her.

  “Trust isn’t something I can do right now.” Emma lowered the knife to her side, her expression guarded, and the overwhelming exhaustion dimmed the brightness in her gaze. “Carter Hudson won’t stop until he has proof I’m dead. So I guess that makes you the only chance I have of making it out of this alive.”

  She swayed.

  Max rushed forward before she hit the floor. The blade dropped from her hand, metal on wood loud in his ears as he hefted her into his chest. Smooth Afro-Brazilian skin from her father’s heritage caught on the calluses on his palms.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I still don’t trust you,” she said.

  “No offense taken.” A genuine laugh rumbled through him as he led her back through the small cottage and toward the front door. He didn’t blame her. From what he’d read of her Blackhawk file when he’d been assigned to protect her, she had no reason to trust anyone. Abandoned by her father when she was only six years old, raised by a single mother who’d done everything she could for Emma before she’d died, and now her boss—a man she’d trusted—wanted her dead. No friends to speak of. No close relatives. Everyone had turned their backs on her when Carter Hudson put her in his sights. But Max would win her over.

  “Let’s get you safe for the night. Then we’ll work on getting you back to Columbia to testify.” Wedging her against his side with one arm, he set her on her feet and unholstered his weapon. Flashes of memory—of that bastard putting a knife to her delicate throat—tightened his grip on the gun. If he hadn’t followed his instincts when he’d heard her break the plate from across the street… Max shut down that line of thinking. Wouldn’t do any good. Emma Chastaine was alive. He hadn’t failed her.

  “If that’s all you’re here for, you’re wasting your time.” Emma fisted his shirt as he wrenched the door open, hiking his weapon high. “Because I’m not testifying.”

  Chapter Two

  A combination of soap and spicy aftershave dove deep into her lungs. The man who’d said his name was Max. Wasn’t surprising. They were seated less than two feet from one another in the darkened SUV. Picking at the torn threads on her sweater where her attacker had swiped the knife across her skin, Emma forced her foot to stop bouncing off the floor like there was an invisible spring under her shoe. Max had saved her life. If he hadn’t showed up, Carter would’ve gotten exactly what he’d wanted. So there was no point in being nervous. They were headed to a safe house, somewhere her boss and his hitmen couldn’t find her.

  The pressure behind her breastbone that had been building since she’d been attacked threatened to choke the life right out of her. She needed a release. “Pteronophobia is the fear of being tickled by feathers.”

  Oh, no. Her crazy side had started showing.

  She sucked in a breath and held it tight. Five seconds. Six.

  “Not something I thought I needed to know, but I’ll keep that in mind.” Max repositioned his hands on the steering wheel, sliding them toward the bottom, then smiled. And, wow, he had a great smile. The kind that would give her butterflies if it’d ever been directed at her out of anything but pity or duty. “You know, in case one of my clients is being chased by a chicken. Or an ostrich. Those bastards are scary.”

  A laugh burst from her chest, and the pressure…eased. Odd. She usually had to go through her list of mental tasks in order to calm down, useless trivia at the number one spot. “I’m sorry. I tend to sprout random facts when I’m nervous, or I have to sit still, or…”

  When she was scared. And she was. Terrified. Because less than thirty minutes ago, someone had tried to kill her, had drawn blood. Emma smoothed her palm over her injury, nausea churning like a violent whirlpool inside. The sting of her body’s natural salt and the wound fought to keep her in the moment, but she could still feel the blade against her neck, still remembered the sound of her attacker’s voice. Had Carter Hudson become so desperate to win his senatorial campaign, he’d actually sent someone to kill her? She closed her eyes, touching her thumb to each of her other four fingers. One. Two. Three—

  “Well, did you know a flock of crows is called a murder?” Max turned his gaze on her, and everything—the attack, the fact she’d never be able to go home, the target on her back—disappeared to the back of her mind. Headlights slid over his features as oncoming traffic passed, and she noted the scar cutting through his right eyebrow and the corner of his eye for the first time. There was even a small bit of scar tissue on his cheekbone she hadn’t noticed until now. He was sprouting random facts back at her. Trying to get her centered, calm.

  And it helped.

  “I did know that.” Emma studied what she could of him through the creeping darkness. Max had told her he’d been sent by the prosecutor trying to build a case against Carter Hudson for fraud and a slew of other federal charges. Had the DA given him and his firm access to her psychiatric file in case he needed to manipulate her into testifying? Wouldn’t work. She’d made her decision. Fighting one of the most corrupt politicians in the state would only end in more pain. Hers.

  She’d trusted Carter, thought they were friends. But
now… She slipped her hand into her pocket, running her fingers along the business card Max had given her. Blackhawk Security. She’d never heard of them, but that didn’t mean anything. She was an accountant who’d noticed a large percentage of campaign funds missing from the senator’s accounts. She wasn’t in security, didn’t have any reason not to believe the man who’d saved her life. But… “You said you were hired to find me.”

  “My boss assigned me to your case once the DA hired Blackhawk to find you.” Max kept his tone even, his eyes on the road. Would she even be able to tell if he was lying?

  “What is her name?” She fisted her hand around the card. They were on Lockwood, headed toward the freeway. Scanning the SUV’s passenger side door, she focused on the automatic lock. How fast could she hit the lock and wrench the door open before he realized what was happening? The Charleston Police Department was less than a mile away. She’d kept herself in shape while in hiding, kept a locker of clothes and hygiene products stashed at the airport, but could she outrun him?

  “You don’t believe I was sent to protect you. Even after I saved your life back there.” Her center of balance shifted as he jerked the wheel to the right and pulled the SUV to the side of the road. Her shoulders came away from the passenger side seat when he slowed the vehicle. Max dropped one hand off the steering wheel, turned that gaze on her, and her breath hitched. “Can’t say I blame you.”

  She pressed her thumbnail into her index finger as she thought back to her father’s self-defense training. Strike to the nose with the base of her palm. Use the headrest as a weapon if nothing else was in reach. Run as fast as she could for help.

  “I can practically see the wheels spinning in your head, Emma.” Her name on his lips warmed her from the inside, as though he’d wrapped his arms around her. Which was crazy. She didn’t know him, shouldn’t want that. But spending months on the run, having to look over her shoulder every day, triple check her locks every night, be someone she’d created to stay off Carter Hudson’s grid rather than who she really was. It’d torn her down, piece by piece. Having someone—him—say her name with such… respect threw her off balance. “Melanie Slater.”