Her Secret Protector

by Roxanne Snopek

  Ethan Nash Cyber-Security.

  Something twigged. She’d heard that name before, but where? In what context?

  She clicked on the website. There was very little information, no photo of the man, just a home page listing his credentials and another with endorsements from satisfied customers. Apparently, he’d consulted for numerous Fortune 500 companies, as well as government agencies, before retiring to the private sector.

  Why did that name ring a bell?

  “Let’s see what they say about you, Mr. Ethan Nash,” she murmured.

  The testimonials were impressive.

  “Discreet,” said one.

  “Well worth his fee,” said another.

  “Saved my business.”

  “Protected my customers after an attack by a disgruntled employee.”

  “Found areas of vulnerability I wasn’t even aware of.”

  “Helped me understand the issue so I can prevent similar problems in the future.”

  And the accolades kept coming.

  Authoritative but respectful. Friendly. Professional. Knowledgeable without being condescending. Understanding. Friendly. Trustworthy. Friendly.

  It seemed this Ethan Nash was more than competent; he was somewhere between Superman, Wolfman and Mr. Darcy.

  And don’t forget, friendly.

  High praise, if it was true.

  But if she had heard the name before, it was not in such a positive connection.

  She went back to the search engine and typed in Ethan Nash Cherry Lake.

  And there it was. Of course.

  There was an Ethan Nash in Cherry Lake. According to the old real estate listing that popped up, he’d moved to the area a few years ago, after purchasing the old Lewis homestead up on Mission Range Road.

  She sat back in her chair as the memories clicked into place. Surely this wasn’t the same man.

  Only a few people had met him and friendly was not the word they used to describe him.

  Entitled. Rich. Reclusive. Rude.

  That was the Ethan Nash of Cherry Lake.

  He sounded like a different man entirely.

  She checked the address of the real estate listing against the address on his website.

  Nope. One and the same.

  Now what?

  She cringed at the thought of letting some mysterious stranger see these photos.

  Then again, she thought, maybe there was more to him than what she’d heard. And if he was reclusive and unpopular, so much the better, given the… delicacy… of the situation. His opinion meant nothing to her. She’d be able to stay completely business-like. Impersonal. No need for embarrassment.

  Yes, he would be her safest bet to address this disaster.

  She only hoped she could afford him.

  “Dear Mr. Nash,” she typed in an email message. “I am in urgent need of someone with your expertise to address a security breach in my business website. Please direct me as to how to proceed. Yours truly, Carrie Logan.”

  Then she sat back and prayed for his response.

  Chapter Two

  ‡

  “Car ride, boys.” Ethan Nash opened his front door and slapped his hands on his thighs.

  Three Belgian Malinois dogs bounded over the polished slate of his entry way like hairy, slavering, hopped-up gazelles and crashed to a stop at his feet. Car ride and treats. Their three favorite words.

  “What say we go to town, huh?”

  He was meeting a potential new client later in the afternoon and it was best if the dogs worked off some of their ferocious energy before he had to work.

  Jaws gaped, tongues lolled, and a small whine came from Gun, his youngest and greenest dog. They quivered as if they hadn’t been outside for days.

  Which was not true. He spent hours with them, training, exercising and playing. But they were social creatures and let’s face it, he was just one man.

  He put the boys in the back of the Land Rover and pulled out of the yard, reminding himself that if he ever wanted to be accepted into the community, he had to keep showing up. It was a nice place. He’d feel at home here, eventually.

  Unfortunately, when he first arrived four years ago, he’d been seeking an idealized, romanticized version of small town life, a safe place where people smiled at and cared for and brought out the best in each other. A kind of Mayberry, with picket fences to go with his rose-colored glasses.

  Anything to wash the taste of New York from his palate.

  In reality, Cherry Lake was full of people just as flawed and ordinary as any other place.

  Some of it was his fault, he acknowledged. At the time, he hadn’t exactly wanted to parade himself around town. He didn’t enjoy his own company, let alone that of others. He needed time to lick his wounds, in private.

  And time had healed. He was in a better place now, and ready to start over, but the old adage about no second chances for first impressions seemed to be the law here.

  “It’ll be fun,” he said, more to himself than the dogs. “We’ll go for a run at the lake, maybe meet some new friends, and on the way home, I’ll stop at Doc’s for some treats.”

  At least he could count Dr. Morrow, the vet, as a friend.

  Ethan slipped on his sunglasses, turned on the radio, then started down Mission Range Road to town. When he reached the park at the edge of town, he pulled into a shaded spot at the far end. There were only a few other cars but he wanted to keep the dogs well away from the children’s play area. Powerful, working dogs could be intimidating to the short crowd.

  “Here,” he said, slapping his leg as each dog jumped down from the back of the vehicle. They stood beside him, waiting, excited but controlled.

  Ethan checked again for people – there were none nearby – and then led them to the shrubbery at the far end of the field, where the young dog promptly lifted his leg and took care of business.

  Naturally, the other two took the opportunity to leave their own, superior, calling cards. He watched them explore the smells of a new, exciting environment, admiring their waving coffee-colored tails and intent faces.

  The air coming off the lake was fresh and cool, despite the heat promised for later in the day, and he breathed deeply. The dogs trotted down to the water and he followed, smiling as Gun attempted to tease the older dogs into a game of tag. He reached down for a stick and threw it into the water, laughing out loud as Gun promptly catapulted in after it.

  The sound of high, excited voices alerted him to the approach of a couple of women surrounded by small children, coming from the gravelled parking lot. One of them was pushing a stroller.

  “Come on, boys,” he called, pulling out the leashes.

  Ashur and Mars returned immediately. Gun’s attention, however, was caught by the squealing sounds coming from the small prey-like creatures scrambling over the grass. He dragged himself from the water, shook violently, then stood transfixed.

  Damn.

  “Gun, here,” he snapped. The dog’s ears flickered. He looked at Ethan and took a few steps toward him, his tail down.

  But then one of the kids kicked a ball, directly within the dog’s sight-line.

  Gun took off like a bullet, his long, sleek body stretched out like a puma.

  “Gun!” yelled Ethan, dropping the leashes. The dog meant no malice; he was going for the ball. Ethan knew that. But the women – now screaming – would only see a large dog pelting toward a small child.

  The kid, a little boy, from the looks of his overalls and blue t-shirt, saw the dog and pulled up short, just as Gun stopped. The child turned back to his mother but stumbled and went down, tumbling over the turf, shrieking and wailing.

  Gun, fired up from his successful take-down of the ball, gazed at the boy, ears pricked, tail high, muscles taut, quivering with the desire to chase.

  Even friendly as he was, he could easily hurt the child by accident.

  “Gun, here, now!”

  This time, to Ethan’s immense relief, Gun respo
nded. His body language softened in shame at the scolding. His tail and ears down, he slouched back to his master and dropped into a down-stay, like the others.

  “What’s wrong with you?” screamed the mother from across the grass, where she gathered the youngster close to her body. She was attractive, blonde and heavy-set, but the anger on her face was unmistakeable. The other woman had herded the remaining children together and were now huddled awkwardly on the grass, the kids wailing in chorus. “Letting those dogs loose around children, are you crazy?”

  Ethan willed himself to stay calm.

  “Is your little guy okay, ma’am?”

  He repeated the down-stay command and then walked closer to the mother.

  The woman got to her feet and ran to her friend, clutching her son like she’d just snatched him from a burning building.

  “It’s okay, Amanda,” said the second woman, her golden-brown ponytail bobbing as she rocked one of her own youngsters. She eyed him nervously. “We can go to another park.”

  He glanced behind him. All three dogs were lying on the grass, alert but relaxed, the picture of controlled power.

  Ethan put his hands up in front of him as if to show he was unarmed. The women and children were sitting between him and his truck, so he’d have to talk them down before he could put the dogs away.

  He took a few steps toward them.

  “Ladies, I apologize if my dogs frightened you.”

  The brown-haired one attempted a smile, but the blonde one shook her finger at him, making the hair piled on her head quiver.

  “Frightened us?” she snapped. “Look at them! That dog went straight for little George. I’ve had it with loose dogs and irresponsible owners. I’m going to file a complaint. Enough’s enough.”

  Brown Ponytail’s tentative smile took on a desperate edge. “Amanda, let’s just go.” She took a step backward, her eyes darting toward the mini-van they’d arrived in.

  Ethan recognized the fear in her eyes and it made him sick to his stomach.

  “My dog didn’t touch your son.” He worked to keep his voice level. “I can’t speak for any other dogs, but your kids were never in any danger with mine. If you like, though, I’d be happy to teach them some dog-safe skills.”

  Instantly he recognized his mistake.

  “So now it’s our fault?” Blondie was sputtering now. “How dare you! Sherry, hand me my phone.”

  An older man jogging near the water’s edge noticed and came up to them, a Border collie mix jumping and pulling at the end of the leash.

  “What’s going on here? Oreo, stay.”

  Ethan gritted his teeth. Clinton Calloway. Of all people. With no control over his dog, either.

  “Ethan Nash,” said the man, wiping his face on the sleeve of his t-shirt. “Winning friends everywhere, I see. Oreo, sit!”

  “Mayor.” There always seemed to be too many teeth in the man’s smile.

  Little George had stopped crying and was now squirming away from his mother’s grasp, trying to see over her shoulder.

  “Doggies?” he said, then scowled. “Bad doggies.”

  Calloway looked where the kid was pointing and raised his eyebrows. “They look scary but I’m sure Mr. Nash wouldn’t bring bad doggies around innocent children.” He yanked on the leash. The collie yipped, then stood still, subdued. “It takes a lot of work to train a dog properly.”

  The superiority in the man’s voice made Ethan want to punch him, especially since Oreo was so clearly confused and discouraged.

  “It certainly does,” agreed Ethan. He switched focus to the child, forcing his jaw to unclench and lifting his cheek muscles in what he hoped was a smile. “Would you like to meet them, little man?”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Blondie/Amanda’s voice hit a fresh new pitch.

  The kid frowned uncertainly. “Doggie bite me.”

  “My God,” said the mayor. “Shall I call an ambulance?”

  “Doggie did not bite you,” said Ethan to the boy. “You fell down.” He looked at the blonde woman, fighting to ignore the mayor’s attempt at escalation. “Has he been bitten in the past?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “No,” said her friend, with a slight eye-roll. Some of her nervousness seemed to have abated.

  The blonde woman lifted her chin. “He could have been. Last week at the park, a strange dog came up and snatched the sandwich right out of his hand. Scared the crap out of us both. No owner in sight, of course.”

  “Georgie gave it to him,” said brown pony-tail. “He actually walked over to where the dog was hiding and handed it over.”

  “His teeth touched my child’s hand, didn’t they?”

  “Come on, Amanda. There wasn’t even a mark.”

  “Unacceptable,” said Calloway with an emphatic head nod. “Dogs should never be running at large. I’ll have Animal Control look into it immediately.”

  Not a justification for Amanda’s over-the-top reaction, but Ethan admitted grudgingly that it may have sensitized her.

  “These doggies are very friendly, I promise.”

  Little George scrambled out of his mother’s arms onto the grass to stand next to a pair of tow-headed kids of similar size. There was a third, smaller one in a stroller, sleeping peacefully through the mini-catastrophe.

  “Get back here, Georgie.”

  But the boy easily evaded his mother’s grasp.

  “Good doggies, Mama.” He shoved out his lower lip, emphasizing the familial resemblance.

  He and the other kids eyed the dogs from across the grass with avid interest.

  The only ones who seemed traumatized were the mothers.

  Make that mother, singular. Only Blondie was really upset.

  And if she’d already had an alarming experience, he couldn’t really blame her. Also, while Gun hadn’t harmed the child, he hadn’t been completely under Ethan’s control, either.

  “This is an unsafe situation,” said Calloway.

  “I know!” said Amanda.

  “It’s not,” said Ethan, praying Gun wouldn’t break. The kid danced closer to the dogs. Every line in Gun’s body indicated how badly he wanted to play with this small human, but he kept an eye on his master and stayed in position.

  “Good boys,” he murmured, gesturing for them to remain down. “Good stay.”

  Amanda gave up chasing her son, turned back to Ethan and crossed her arms. “We shouldn’t have to be afraid to take our children to the park.”

  Arguing the finer points with her was hardly the way to improve his social standing in the community.

  “You’re absolutely right about that, ma’am.” He squatted down on the grass to be at eye level with the so-called traumatized child. “Maybe you can meet them another time, okay, buddy?”

  The blonde woman sniffed. The kid looked more curious than anything.

  The brown-haired woman glanced at her. “No real harm done then, right Amanda? Well, we should be going then.”

  “If anyone should leave-” began Calloway.

  Ethan straightened up and held out his hand to the brown-haired woman, cutting off Calloway’s comment. “We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Ethan Nash. Those are my dogs, Ashur, Mars and Gun.”

  Both womn looked from his hand to his face, and back again, as if not comprehending his words. It was almost humorous, watching small town courtesy wage war with unfounded suspicion.

  Finally, the brown-haired one reached out.

  “Sherry Hagerson,” said Calloway, before the woman could speak. “And those little cuties are Nicole and Hannah.”

  “Anna,” said Sherry.

  “Right, Anna,” said Calloway, with another of his too-wide smiles. “Nash, those dogs should be leashed.”

  The blonde woman’s lips were tight. She kept her hands firmly on the stroller. “Amanda Frankel. George, my three-year-old, and the baby, Rosie.”

  “I’m happy to meet you all.” He stepped back. “I’m going to call my dogs. Th
ey’re going to come running to me. Not to you, to me. Then they’ll sit and politely say hello, after which I’ll put them back in my truck and go home.”

  He whistled and gestured. Instantly, all three dogs leaped to their feet and galloped across the grass.

  Calloway twitched. Amanda snatched hold of Georgie and held him tightly against her legs and body. Sherry also held tight to her daughters, but interest accompanied her caution.

  That was good.

  “Boys, sit.”

  The dogs sat.

  “Say hi.”

  Each dog held up his right front paw and waved the air with it for a moment.

  “Shake hands.” Ethan went down the line and shook each one.

  “Now, down.”

  Each one flopped down onto his chest, sphinx-like.

  “They look,” said Calloway, “like wolves.”

  Ethan clenched his fists.

  “Look at the funny doggies, Mommy,” said the girl, Nicole. “Can we pet them?”

  “Not this time,” said Ethan, before Sherry could respond. “I’m going to tell the doggies to jump up into the truck so I can take them home. Okay?”

  The blonde woman frowned, but nodded her assent.

  He snapped another command and once more the dogs sprang to attention. They flew past him and leaped into the open back of the truck, grace and power in every move, one after the other, smooth as salmon swimming upstream.

  Ethan closed the tailgate, then turned back to the little group, now standing at the edge of the park, watching open-mouthed.

  “Once more, I apologize for disturbing your children’s playtime,” he said. “Have a good afternoon, ladies. Children. Mayor. It’s been… educational.”

  He got into his vehicle, started the engine and was almost out of town before he realized he’d forgotten the leather leashes lying out on the grass.

  *

  Carrie turned down the long driveway, following the directions Ethan Nash had grudgingly sent her. He hadn’t been particularly enthusiastic, suggesting his were not the services she was looking for. Must be nice, she thought, to be able to pick and choose your work.

  Tall cedars lined the long drive on either side, making it dark despite the bright late afternoon sunshine. She opened and closed her hands on the steering wheel, nervous not just about showing him the images but about meeting him, period.