RYDER: A Standalone Military Romance (Blake Security Book 1)

by Celina McKane

  Even if I didn’t know these Louisiana backroads like the lines on my own face, I’d know I was getting close to the swamp as soon as the humidity began to rise. I felt myself starting to sweat, but instead of turning up the air conditioner I put down the windows. Home was a place once I couldn’t wait to leave, and now it was the place that renewed my soul.

  I can’t live without it for long, and I wondered why I ever wanted to leave it in the first place.

  The land is low and wet, and the bugs are big and loud, and most importantly, the people who live there are content to be whom and what they are. You won’t find any fake in the bayou. My granny has lived in the same house in Terrebonne Parish her entire life. She grew up on the swamp, and she knew it better than anyone I’ve ever known. The house faced right out to it on the backside, and when I was a kid growing up, Granny and I used to catch and sell crawdads to the restaurants in the little town and the tourists.

  The house was no more than a cabin up on blocks to keep the water from flooding us out back then. I was in the Middle East when Katrina hit, and it took me over two weeks to be able to get in touch with someone who could let me know that Granny was okay. The little house was wiped out, but by the time I got my furlough and made it home a month later, our neighbors had already rebuilt it. That’s another thing I loved about bayou country, the sense of community and belonging. We’re like one big family that speaks half-English and half-French with a bunch of sayings we made up thrown in there, too. Not much of it makes sense to an outsider, but we communicate with each other just fine.

  The only regret I really have in my life is that my memories of my Pops were fading more and more with each passing year. From what I know, he was a hell of a man, and it was to my detriment that I didn’t get a chance to know him better. When Pops was just seventeen, he met a girl in N’awlins one night at a party. Granny said Pops told her that she was the most beautiful girl in the world, and he was gonna marry her someday. She was a little older than he was. She was also a city girl going to a university somewhere far from the bayou and just in New Orleans on spring break. Pops and the girl did some drinking and some dancing and nine months later when she showed up on Granny’s doorstep, they had to admit they’d gone a little further than that. She said she didn’t want the baby, and if Pops didn’t want him either, she was gonna leave him at the county hospital. Pops and Granny wouldn’t hear of that. The baby was their family, their blood. That baby was me, and when Pops died in a car accident at twenty-three years old and left behind a five-year-old boy, Granny stepped up, and if I say so myself, she did a great job.

  In the dark, the swamp was all dark shadows and glowing eyes. In the light of day, the cypress trees would be filled with heron and other birds and the shallow, murky brown water with just about every fresh water fish, reptile, and amphibian known to man.

  I turned off the main road and onto the bumpy dirt road that led along the bank of the swamp and out to Granny’s house. I bumped along for a couple of miles before the house came into view. As soon as my car topped the small dirt mound in front of it, I saw Granny’s head pop up from the porch. The porch swing behind her was still swaying as she hurried down to greet me. I’d only seen her two days ago, but every time I go away—even for an hour—Granny acts like we’re having a family reunion when I get back.

  I put the car in park and turned it off as she bounced down toward me. Her dark hair now streaked with long strands of gray was piled up in a loose bun on top of her head and swayed back and forth as she moved. My Granny is tiny, and when you look at her and me together, it’s almost impossible to believe I have any of her genes running through me. But even if I found out now that I didn’t, I wouldn’t care. Granny is my heart, and she always will be.

  When she reached me, I smiled, and before I could say anything, she wrapped her arms around me. Her head only came up to my chest, and her arms were like spindles, but she was so strong from years of hard work that when she squeezed, I felt it.

  After a few seconds, I held her back and looked into her dark eyes. “Granny, why don’t you answer your phone?”

  She waved a wrinkled hand at me and said, “You know I don’t need none of them electronic contraptions. I tried to tell you before you went and spent all dat money on it.”

  I chuckled. “It’s just so I can check on you when I don’t have the time to drive all the way out.”

  “What you need to check on me for? Dis my home. I’m fine here.”

  I laughed again and put my arm around her and led her back toward the house. “I know you are, but I just don’t like knowing you’re out here alone.”

  “I spent seven years wit-out you, remember? Things were just fine. Even lived through dat hurricane.”

  As we went up the steps, I kissed the top of her head. She always smelled like strawberries. Every time I get a whiff of strawberries, no matter where I am, I think of Granny. “I know, but I’m home now, and it’s my job to worry.”

  She cackled out a laugh and let go of me as we went through the door. I had to duck to make it through. “Wat you want to eat?”

  “I’m not hungry, Granny. I just came to…”

  “I got some fresh boudin balls and some a dat dark gravy you love.”

  “I’m okay Granny, I had supper. I can’t stay too…”

  “You don’t want boudin balls? I got some pig from yesterday’s cochon de lait.”

  A cochon de lait is a big Cajun party where they roast the slaughtered pigs all day while they drink and dance and play music. They are real proud of the fact that they find a way to use every piece of that pig, and I have to admit that it’s the best-damned pork in the world.

  “Okay, Granny, I’ll have just a little…” I didn't know why I bothered trying. Feeding me was her life’s work, and she was not about to let me take that away.

  “I get you sum of efferthing,” she said, already with a plate in one hand and a ladle in the other. A few minutes later a plate full of hot, spicy boudin balls and rich, dark gravy was set down in front of me. I knew that wouldn’t be it, and I wasn’t wrong. A giant-sized bowl of gumbo came next along with a heaping plate of the roasted pork and rice. I wasn’t the slightest bit hungry, but as soon as my taste buds got a whiff of it all, it disappeared into my big body like magic. The whole while Granny watched me eat, she smiled from ear to ear. Her enthusiasm might make you think I was a skinny, sickly thing if you couldn’t see me.

  “So tell Granny what’s new, cher.”

  . “Cher” is “dear” in French. It’s all she called me my whole life. Until I was almost ten, I thought it was my name.

  I was still shoveling in food as I said, “Ain’t nuthin’ much new, Granny. I’ve just been workin’ a lot. Blake, me, and the new boys have been keepin’ busy.” When I was home, I reverted back to the grammar I’d worked a lifetime to change. I tried speaking proper when I first got out of the Navy, but Granny told me I sounded like I was “puttin’ on airs,” and she would have none of it.

  “How dat Blake?”

  I shook my head and looked up at her. Sometimes it shocked me when I looked at her and just suddenly realized how fast she seemed to be aging lately. Her Cajun heritage had given her dark skin that stayed smooth long beyond its years, but lately it seems to be catching up with her. The only thing left to prove she was still a spry old thing was the light in her eyes that never went out.

  “He ain’t doin’ so good, Granny. I can’t get him to talk to me about it though. I worry about him a lot.” They say twenty-four veterans commit suicide every twenty-four hours in the U.S. Sometimes I worried that was the direction Blake was headed in.

  “You send him out here ta see me. I’ll get ‘im ta talking.”

  I laughed, but I knew that if anyone could, it would be Granny. Convincing Blake to come out here and let her give it a shot would be the hard part. “I’ll see what I can do, Gran.”

  I finally finished my food, and we went back out on the porch. I was so full
I felt like I might need to be rolled down the steps to my car. As we sat there and listened to the melody of the crickets and frogs out on the swamp, I said, “Granny, wouldn’t it be nice if you were closer to me in town and you could come and see me any time you wanted?”

  “Nah,” she said with a mischievous grin. “I done seen you enough for all des years.”

  I laughed, and she cackled. I loved the sound of it. I loved her. I know I’m over-protective and I drive her crazy, but I’m just not sure what I’d ever do without her. It hurt my heart to think about it.

  I finally got away in time to make it back to the mansion by midnight and relieve Leif. She’d sent me with a tub full of leftovers, and I gave half to Leif, who had no idea what most of it was but said he didn’t have a problem eating anything. The Bransons weren’t home yet, and Alicia, the baby, and all of the servants seemed to be down for the night. I took a seat in the sitting room, fired up my laptop, and started my own search on the Bransons and the hospital where little Celia was “born.” Like Blake, I doubted there was anything out there if he hadn’t found it, but until I could talk to them face-to-face, it was probably going to be a long boring night…or so I thought. That was until about three hours later when the perimeter alarm started screeching, and this time it wasn’t the baby making all of that noise.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  RYDER

  “How did he get in through the gates without you seeing him?” I was standing in the foyer with the gate guard in front of me. He looked young and scared and on the verge of tears. He was probably wondering what he would do for a job when Mr. Branson was finished with him.

  “I have no idea, sir. The only other possible way to get into the perimeter is by climbing one of the fences. They’re all alarmed, and the lowest point is six-feet tall. They’re smooth on the outside, so unless he had something to climb up on, I can’t imagine that he scaled it.”

  “Has he said anything yet?”

  The man on the property had been caught by the other security guard on duty. Luckily for that one he probably still had a job. I hadn’t had a chance to interview him yet. I’d spent the past hour on the phone with the police, the Bransons, and Blake. Alicia, the baby, and the rest of the staff were all gathered in the living room, waiting for the all clear to go back to their rooms. Alicia looked frightened, and the poor baby was crying and upset after being woken up by such a rude noise. I wanted to take Alicia into my arms and tell her it would be all right. I still wasn’t sure about the baby.

  The guard shook his head. “He’s not saying anything at all to us. Vince talked to him first. The police are in there with him now though, so hopefully they can get something out of him. You know, all they’ll be able to charge him with is trespassing unless they get him to admit that he was here for something else.”

  “Where is Vince?” Vince is the head of the Bransons’ security. I’d spoken to him on the phone but had yet to meet him in person.

  “What the hell kind of security lets someone get onto the property not once, but twice?” Matt Branson’s booming and slightly intoxicated voice interrupted the young officer before he could answer my question. I looked over and saw him glaring at the poor security officer. The young guard looked like he might pee his pants. Branson seemed like the kind of guy that worked overtime to intimidate his staff. It was obviously working on this poor guy.

  “Mr. Branson, maybe we could go talk in the living room,” I said, trying to help.

  “Where is he?” Branson said, this time looking at me.

  “Where is who, sir?”

  “The man that tried to kidnap my daughter!”

  “Well, sir,” I said in my calmest of tones. “We don’t exactly know yet what he was doing on the property. He’s with the police right now, and they’re trying to sort that out.”

  “You can’t honestly think that this is a coincidence, can you? Has everyone lost their minds?” Mrs. Branson had stepped into my view as well. I might have expected an anxious mother demanding to see her child. Instead, she simply looked bored, annoyed, or drunk. I wasn’t sure which.

  Still trying to stay calm myself so that I didn’t further agitate him, I said, “Like I said, we just don’t know anything yet. When the police finish with him, they will come and talk to us. I would really like to speak with you and your wife while we wait.”

  Branson gave the security guard one more hard stare before telling him, “I want you back here at eight in the morning. Once I know exactly how this man got onto my property and I speak to Vince, we’ll discuss whether or not you still have a job. Now go home. Obviously you weren’t doing any good here anyways.” He turned to me then and opened his mouth. I realized then that he might be a huge ass, but he was at least a smart one. He knew better than to say whatever was on the tip of his tongue to a man twice his size. Instead, he adjusted his suit jacket and said, “Mrs. Branson and I will meet you in the sitting room.” He took his irritated wife by the arm and led her away.

  When he was gone, I told the security guard, “I’m sorry, man. I will do all I can to convince him that you and your guys did your best tonight, and if it wasn’t for you he would have gotten away. I’ll talk to Vince as well.”

  “Thanks,” the kid said. It was obvious by the look on his face that he’d already kissed his job good-bye. I watched him go and then texted Blake.

  “The Bransons are home.”

  “I’m at the gate. Be there in five or less,” was the reply I got back.

  I went back into the living room and found Mr. Branson pouring himself a drink from one of the decanters on the bar. Mrs. Branson had her head resting in her hand on the arm of the sofa. “I’m sorry you folks had to come home to this, but I want to assure you that the first thing I did was to make sure Celia was safe, and she is. Alicia brought her down for a while when the police were searching the house. She’s back upstairs now, sleeping hopefully.”

  “That’s good,” Branson said, taking his drink and sitting down on the sofa next to his wife.

  She looked up and I noticed a look pass between him and his wife before she gave me what looked like a practiced smile and said, “Yes, we’re so glad.”

  “Was this man Russian like the other one?” Branson asked.

  “I don’t know yet, sir. He wasn’t talking at all last I heard. But, while we’re on the subject, do either of you know anyone from Russia or who recently immigrated that might have some kind of grudge against your family? It could be a former employee or former house staff…”

  “Alicia is the only Russian we’ve had on staff,” Matt Branson said as he took a long sip of his drink.

  “How long has Alicia been with you?”

  “I don’t know…seven months or so,” he said.

  “Has she had any visitors since she came to live here, family or friends from Russia?”

  “Not that we’re aware of,” Matt said, once again speaking for both him and his wife. “Do you think she might know these guys?”

  “No. Russia is a big place. Again, I’m just trying to figure out who might have some kind of motive to want to get on your property and what that motive is.”

  “So you don’t think they’re trying to kidnap my daughter?” he asked.

  From behind me, I heard Blake’s voice. “Is she your daughter, Mr. Branson? I mean, biologically.”

  Matt Branson jumped to his feet and splashed bourbon from the crystal glass in his hand to the Egyptian carpet underneath his feet. His wife stayed put, but she had gone from looking annoyed to looking sick. “How dare you ask me that?”

  I looked around behind me and saw Blake come into the room. “I dare because my firm can’t do its job if you aren’t a hundred percent honest with us. We have reason to believe that you had a surrogate mother for Celia.”

  Mrs. Branson snorted out a laugh. She was silenced by a stern look from her husband. “Where did you get your information?”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Blake said. “Either you come clean
with me now, or we walk out of here and not come back. I will give you one chance to shoot straight here.”

  Matt Branson looked at his wife. She held his gaze for several long seconds and then said, “We found out that Julia couldn’t have children early on in our marriage. It took us a while to decide between adoption and surrogacy. We decided on surrogacy ultimately, and that is how Celia was born.”

  “Why keep it a secret?”

  “Because of our standing in the community, we just felt it would be better for Celia as she grew up if no one knew. She’s our daughter, Mr. Donovan, whether she was created the traditional way or not.”

  “I’m not disputing that. What I have an issue with, is the fact that you hired me to keep your daughter safe and try to find out who wants to kidnap her, yet you withheld from me the fact that there is someone out there who might have a very good reason to want her.”

  “It’s not her.” He stated it as a fact.

  “How can you be so sure?” I asked.

  “Because she is a tramp who is not interested in having a child in her way,” his wife said. All three of us turned to look at her. Matt Branson looked furious. Blake and I were confused and curious to hear what else Julia Branson had to say.

  “Julia…” her husband started.

  “Mrs. Branson,” Blake interrupted. “Why would you hire a surrogate to have your child if you felt that way about her?”

  “I didn’t hire her,” Julia said.

  “That’s enough, Julia!” Matt told her through clenched teeth.

  “No,” Blake said in his “No more B.S.” tone. “I’m finished playing games here. Either you come clean with me tonight, or you hire another bodyguard service and investigator.”