“Oh.” She fidgets; her hands clasp and unclasp as if she’s not quite sure what to do with them. She seems lost, which is not far from the way I’m feeling. Looking up at me with those large brown eyes, she asks, “What happens next?”
That one’s easy. “Next, I take you to lunch, and we try to make some sense of what’s going on. Is there a pub nearby?”
Chapter 4
Mia
Seven years ago
Checking the number to make sure it’s the right house, I paused by the front gate while I summoned up the nerve to go to the door and knock. This was the first – and, as it turned out, the last – teenage party I went to, and I had no idea what to expect. Fortifying myself with a couple of deep breaths, I started up the path.
While I was in the middle of deciding whether to use the knocker or ring the bell the door opened and to my surprise, Anna immediately stepped out and drew me into a tight friendly hug. “I’m so glad you came, Mia.” She beamed at me.
I gave a weak smile, feeling a bit suspicious as I shrugged and replied, “I don’t know why you invited me.”
Putting her head on one side, she gave me a serious look and then nodded as if making a decision. “My mum meets yours at the Ladies’ Fellowship Group at church. Says she’s a mad old bat?” Her voice rose on the last word as if asking me a question.
Part of me felt I should be defending my mum, but the description was wicked, and Anna’s grin was taking the sting out of her words. So I laughed. “That’s one way of putting it.”
“Apparently, she tried to veto a Bingo session as it was an invention of the devil!”
I looked down, feeling embarrassed. Yes, I’d heard all about that. I could only hope she hadn’t been quite as virulent in front of the other church ladies as she’d been at home telling me about it.
“Anyway,” Anna continued without waiting for a response. “I felt a bit sorry for you – I thought my mum was bad enough. Hence the invitation!” She finished with a flourish and threw open the door. “Come on inside!”
Present day
He’s taking me out for a drink? I suppose it’s a sensible suggestion to get out of the house for a bit. A change of surroundings, after the intense morning I’ve had, might help me put things into perspective, but there’s something about the way he has walked in and taken over that I don’t like. I hate the way he’s so dominant, so sure of himself. Telling me, not asking. Not giving me the opportunity to decline his services. Deep down, I understand I need what he’s offering; what the hell do I know about the kind of security of protection I ought to have? And I have to remember it’s Val who’s organised this, I trust her, and that she knows what she’s doing. She wouldn’t put me in touch with a firm that wasn’t reliable and didn’t have a good reputation.
I’ve got a stalker who’s come right to my door, and categorically I don’t want to have to deal with him on my own if he turns up to make a personal visit. Having someone here should be a very comforting thought, but I just wish it wasn’t going to be this man who’s providing that protection for me. My irrational attraction to him unnerves me. I shouldn’t feel like this, I’ve never had this kind of reaction before. When he touched my arm, a bolt of electricity went through me, making me want to turn and run, to get out of this house, to another place, another country, another continent. Anywhere, I don’t care where. As long as it’s as far away from him as possible! How can he affect me like this? Deep down on a physical level, he’s made parts of me awaken that I thought were completely dead. I’d figured I was immune from the baser instincts, and the realisation I might not be – dammit, it scares me stiff.
And apart from my strange response to his presence, I’m irritated that Grade A seemed to have checked my financials and violated they’ve obviously hacked into my personal accounts. And even if he knows down to the last penny the amount I’ve got saved, I still have concerns whether his view of what is affordable is the same as mine. I don’t want to spend the money I’ve put aside in case my career goes down the drain; my reserves are there, so I never need to go back to living hand to mouth, skipping meals to have enough money to pay the rent. I did that for long enough after I left home and struggled to manage on a student grant. As I glare at him, I’m lost in my memories, reminiscing on those days I survived with hardly any money, or food for that matter. He coughs, pulling me back to the present.
Unable to think of any other option that wouldn’t leave me exposed and unprotected, I glower and stand up straight, needing to take back some control. Before I agree to go anywhere, I want to check where I stand. “You’ll give me a breakdown of your charges?” I ask.
He grins, realising the question means I’m giving in, and lifts his chin. “The office is sorting it out now. But you don’t need to worry about the cost, Miss Fable. You need us. I’m not walking away leaving you at the mercy of this bastard.”
I realise until now his face has been stern and unyielding; the new expression makes him look younger and more approachable. Butterflies flutter in my stomach and I have to look away. God! He’s even more attractive when he smiles. His words, though, give me some comfort; I’m not mentally or physically equipped to face this alone. Turning back, I study my new protector. Goodness knows how frigging tall he is; he must be well over six foot. At five-foot-seven I’m not short myself, but this man dwarves me. He’s broad, and it’s obviously not fat, but muscle. As a bodyguard, he’s probably going to be a good one. As someone who’s going to be offering close protection, he’s a threat to my well-being. Trying to clear my head of my unexpected reaction to him, focusing on the practicalities instead, I take a breath, and then a leap into the unknown and at last answer his original question. “There’s a decent pub down the road,” I tell him.
****
Within easy walking distance, the fairly typical country pub strangely named The Blazing Donkey advertises its fifteenth-century origins on a squeaky swinging sign out front. Inside, the low beams mean my companion has to duck his head, but the setting is quaint, the epitome of an English ale house. At this time of the afternoon, it’s nice and quiet; just right for the type of conversation we’re going to have. Knowing he’s probably going to be asking me all kinds of personal details to try and identify the stalker and, preferring no one to be within earshot, I lead the way to a small table beside a large inglenook fireplace. A fire’s been lit, and it casts a cheery glow over the room; flames flicker, their light dancing and reflecting on the horse brasses which adorn either side and up and over the chimney breast. I let out a deep sigh as I sit down and start to relax for the first time since finding the flowers left on my doorstep. It’s good to be in a different environment and, I have to admit, to not feel like I’m dealing with all this on my own.
A log basket is full by the grate. The landlord comes over and throws another on the fire. “Bit chilly today,” he greets us, rubbing his hands together, as the thick wood begins to smoulder.
We both nod and agree out of politeness in the way people do, and would, even if the truth was entirely different. As the barman goes back to take his place behind the bar, Jon asks me what I’d like to drink. Leaving my coat behind to reserve the seat, I get up, indicating I’m going with him and wait beside him as he orders himself a half of bitter as well as my white wine. Carefully, I watch the barman as he gets a bottle of wine out of the fridge and pours the correct measure into my glass. I carry my glass back to the table; while Jon brings his drink and a couple of menus with him. It’s only now I realise that I completely missed lunch and that I’m hungry. Food would be good! It’s basic pub fare, and luckily their kitchen is open all day. Quickly I decide on lasagne – I just need to eat, and I don’t care what. Jon says he’ll have the same. As he gets up to place our orders, I offer him the money for my meal, but he won’t take it, informing me he’s already started a tab. Sipping my wine my sceptical self-expects, despite his protestations, the cost of the food will appear on my bill for Grade A services at some point in
the future. But I’d noted the prices; luckily the food is relatively inexpensive.
My gaze follows this man who’ll apparently be my bodyguard. He’s standing at the bar, his back towards me. As my eyes take him in from head to toe, I appreciate the fit of his jeans over his taut backside, his muscles clenching as he rests one foot on the brass rail surrounding the bottom of the bar. Suddenly I have the desire to trace his firm buttocks with my hands. Shocked at myself I look away, not understanding what’s happening to me. I don’t fucking ogle men! I lift my glass of wine and take another long sip, forcing myself to look away from him.
God, what’s got into me today? Is it the shock of everything that’s happened? Is my disturbed state of mind having an effect on my libido? Bloody hell, I’ve got to control myself. Heaven help me, if he realises he’s only got to look at me to start me trembling in anticipation of his touch. What would his reaction be if he knew? He’d probably laugh himself silly. He’s just… Wow. He probably only has to crook his little finger to get any girl he wants, he would never be interested in someone like me in a million years! Putting down my glass, I lean forwards and place my head in my hands, my eyes staring into the dancing flames of the fire. I’ve got to play this as shy retiring Mia. Keep a bloody back seat, Dexie; I don’t need you to come out with any clever comments that could get me into trouble. What a joke. The first time I find myself interested in a man, it’s someone who probably wouldn’t look twice at me. Ruefully, my lips curve into a smile. Someone that handsome, that virile, must have to beat interested women off with a stick.
Want me? That must be the biggest joke of the century. My smile turns to a frown, as I realise doubtless I’d just be one of a very long line. No, I must hide any sign of my interest in my new protector. Given that I’m just a job to him, it would only make him feel awkward and embarrassed. Let’s face it, apart from my theoretical knowledge I’ve no experience to deal with a man who simply oozes sexuality.
Chapter 5
Jon
Five years ago
I had no inkling before it happened, no prior warning or premonition, but this was to be my last tour of duty. My final assignment; an extraction. We recovered the target; he got out alive, but half my team was taken out by a dirty bomb as we’d made our retreat. I was one of the lucky ones, alive, but in hospital needing shrapnel removed from my chest and a particularly nasty chunk from my lower back which for a short time had caused talk of permanent paralysis. I was better off than most; in time, I’d make a near complete recovery, but not full enough for the SAS to allow me to resume active duties. But mentally? There the healing would take much longer. The explosion played in my head on a loop. What could I have done differently to have prevented the deaths of my men? What sign had I missed? I didn’t know how I’d ever get over the guilt that something had been overlooked; a change in the ground, movement of the enemy I hadn’t seen. Something, anything that could have changed the outcome.
So there I was, unemployed. An ex-army man with no experience with anything else, I was left with little option other than to accept the job offer Ben Carter first enticed me with the year before. Unable to afford to buy in as a partner, I signed on as a Close Protection Officer. With discharge papers in hand, I entered the employment of Grade A Security but barely managed to get my arse in my seat before Ben sent me out on a long term posting as CPO for one Sheikh Nijad Kassis, Prince of Amahad and third in line to the throne of his country. Knowing it was quite a coup for Grade A to secure such a lucrative contract, it demonstrated the trust Ben had in me, and I was determined to make the most of what could be either a monotonous and dull, or exciting and extremely dangerous – and probably a mixture of both – role. To top it off, from my research Nijad was a typical playboy sheikh, and had nothing visibly hiding in his closet. I was looking forward to meeting the man for whom I’d be a constant companion, for quite probably, the next few years.
Present day
The pub is homely and welcoming, and the landlord jovial; the perfect atmosphere in which to question Mia. Returning to my seat, I see she’s already started to relax. Out of her house and away from the police, the lines start receding from her forehead and, as she sips her wine, I see the first real smile from her, and it transforms her face, making me hold my breath as I realise she’s even more beautiful than I’d first thought. Watching her, I find myself wanting to know everything about her, far more depth than I need to run the case. I want to know all her likes, dislikes, and how she prefers it in bed. Shit, there I go again. Rubbing my hand across my eyes, I wonder what the fuck is wrong with me. This is the wrong time, the wrong place, and definitely the wrong woman. However much I want to get to know her, to understand the pull she seems to have on me, I need to focus on the task I’m here for and be one hundred percent hands-off. We’ve no time for idle chit-chat. Particularly, as right now I’m going to have to steel myself to be a brute; we’ve got things to talk about, and she’s not going to get away with lying to me. Stalkers don’t stalk for no reason, there has to be something that’s triggered it, and that’s what I need to find out. I can’t let her hide anything from me.
Preparing myself for an awkward conversation, I down a good part of my beer – only a half-pint as I need to keep my wits about me – and then school my features carefully. “You know him, Mia. I’m sure you do.” I use her name for the first time; she doesn’t correct me.
“What makes you say that?” Puzzled, she turns her head away from the fire that’s been mesmerising her and looks straight at me.
That’s right; I want to see your eyes for this. “The way the notes are worded. You owe him. This person thinks you’ve taken something from him.”
To give her her due, she takes a moment to think about it. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since Tuesday. But I can’t begin to imagine there’s anyone I owe anything to. Not in the money sense or otherwise. No one’s done me any favours that I haven’t repaid; I’m certain of that.” Sounding frustrated, she picks up her glass for another sip. “I wish I could say ‘oh yes, there was that person who’ as it would make everything so much simpler. But there’s no one I can point the finger at.”
The barman comes over with two sets of cutlery wrapped in a napkin and then places two mats on the table. He reaches over to the next table and puts salt and pepper pots in front of us, together with an assortment of sauces in little plastic sachets. “Won’t be long now.”
We both acknowledge him with a nod and a ‘thank you’. She’s back to watching the fire. I need to know all I can about anyone who’s close to her. There’s something personal about how those notes are worded. Knowing the police have already questioned her about likely suspects, I’m approaching from a different angle. Reaching out my hand, I gently grip her chin, moving her head around to face me. “Will your boyfriend mind me staying over?”
She quickly moves away from my touch as if it burns her, but laughs softly. Her humour seems to be directed at herself. “I haven’t got a boyfriend.”
I’m surprised but admit I’m pleased, more than I should be. I scold myself that it shouldn’t matter, but it’s good to know I haven’t got any competition. Then give myself a mental slap on the wrist, I really mustn’t get involved. The fact she’s available, however, does open a line of questioning. “Your last boyfriend? Did you part on friendly terms?”
A red flush crosses her face. Ah, I think to myself. There’s something here. Something she’s concealing. But at that moment, our food arrives, and she makes a fuss of putting dressing on her salad and salt on her chips, the normal accompaniments to typical English pub fare. I stare at her while she’s preparing her meal, shaking my head at her evasion, but then do the same to mine. We start to eat. I give her a few minutes; it looks like she’s hungry.
She glances up at me watching her eat and smiles, “I didn’t eat breakfast and missed lunch. Thanks for this, I was starving!”
“You’re welcome,” I smile back at her, suppressing the comment tha
t it’s her Dom’s job to look after all her needs. Her Dom? What the fuck? The frown that comes to my face is as much for me, as for her evasion. “You didn’t answer my question. Your last boyfriend?” I prompt.
She takes a few more mouthfuls, puts down her knife and fork then blots her lips with her napkin. “No need to go there, there are no ex-boyfriends with or without an axe to grind waiting in the wings.” She looks away, and then back, and after a sigh, adds, “I suppose you need to know that there have been no boyfriends at all, axes or no axes.”
I can’t hide my look of surprise, not immediately able to compute what she’s telling me. To gain some time to process her admission, I indicate she should continue eating; she needs to look after herself. I don’t want her to stress out, so I give her some peace while she finishes her food. But as soon as she’s done I start again. “Have you ever been married?”
Shaking her head, she laughs without any real mirth. “You didn’t understand me. There’s never been a man in my life at all.”
Am I stupid? Did I misinterpret the look she gave me back at her house? I’m sure it’s not true and if it is my gaydar needs a tune up. “Girlfriends?”
This time, she snorts a laugh, “Not in a sexual sense.”
I lean back in the chair and stretch my legs out in front of me, crossing them at the ankle and fold my arms, relieved I’m not off base. But as I try to fathom out her answers there’s something’s amiss, and I’m having difficultly working it through. She writes erotic fiction, but has never had a boyfriend? That makes no sense at all. I try again, “So you have short-term liaisons? One night stands?” Perhaps she’s into playing like me? Writing the kind of books she does, she needs a certain amount of experience.
Close Protection (Blood Brothers #2) Page 6
