Wyn Security

by Dana Volney

  She wore black heels, black pants cuffed close to her ankle, and a sheer white, sleeveless dress shirt, and she had a one-way ticket in her hand to Naples, Italy. Home was where she was going to start deciding who she was now and what she wanted to be.

  She stared a hole through his bland cream door and took a deep breath. It was now or never. Disappearing would only put off the inevitable, and he deserved closure. They both did. Even if she really didn’t want to leave him.

  She knocked on the door, stood tall, and stuck out her chin a little. I don’t care. This is another transaction. This is for the best. If she were going to get through this, she would have to act like he was one of her marks and she was sultry, confident, and didn’t give a damn. So the complete opposite of how she really felt. There’d be time to cry in the plane bathroom later and when she was home in her seaside villa.

  The door swung open, and Felix filled the frame. The hard set to his face was carved in stone, which was rigid even for Felix.

  “Good morning.” Her voice was light and playful, exactly what she was going for. She met his eyes with a coy smile and stepped toward him, forcing him to move to the side. She clenched the envelope in her hand a little tighter as she walked to the island and pivoted to face him. Her heart was racing out of control, but she knew he couldn’t tell. She was the only one who could hear her blood pumping and the thumping against her chest.

  “It’s a little late for dinner.” He closed the door and stopped on the other side of the counter, folding his arms across his broad chest, ice in his eyes.

  He had a right to be pissed. She should’ve begged off in a text. The problem was starting a conversation with him—once she started talking to him, she didn’t want to stop. She loved hearing his opinions, his ideas, his plans, their banter, and riling him up for fun.

  “I stopped by to give you this before my flight.” She slid the manila envelope across the granite. “My part of the deal.”

  He gazed down at the rectangle, but she desperately wanted to see his eyes. She needed affirmation this was what he wanted. He didn’t give it to her—when his eyes met hers again, there was no emotion, no indication he was hot under the collar or happy or sad. Nothing.

  It was time to go. She’d overstayed her welcome in more ways than one.

  “Thank you for your help, Felix. Really. If you ever need anything . . . ” She let her words trail off. She meant them, but they both knew he’d never call her if he were in trouble. They were never going to speak or see each other again. They had no reason to. This was it. Almost six years of her life gone.

  She started for the door, concentrating on her breathing. One foot in front of another. She just had to make it to her rental. Just a few more steps.

  “Arabella.”

  She didn’t stop. She couldn’t now. Her hand touched the cold brass of the front doorknob.

  “I have one more question.” His voice was low but sturdy.

  Her head hung a bit as she waited. She closed her eyes. She never wanted to remember this moment again—if she could erase it all and a whole bunch of other key moments with Felix, maybe she had a chance at a decent life. As it looked now, she was going to be miserable and heartbroken forever.

  “You could’ve gone to a number of people to help you out. Why did you come to me?”

  She swallowed as her body numbed. There were a dozen different lies that she could tell him, some partial truths, but there was only one answer. And she’d known it all along.

  “Because I missed you.” The words passed through her lips but were foreign to her ears. Vulnerability wasn’t something she embraced on a regular basis. There was no fake emotion or façade she could muster now—she had no power to put on a front or lie.

  She was exposed. She was that defenseless young girl in the hospital bed all over again who was waiting for even the slightest bit of love from the people whom she loved the most in the world. Naive hope prickled the back of her ears

  Her mind settled, and she realized he’d said nothing to her comment. She started to twist the handle.

  “Don’t go.”

  Her hand froze mid turn as his words registered. His deep voice was huskier.

  She squared her shoulders and slowly turned around. Did he want to have the last word . . . or call off the divorce?

  Her gaze found him in the same spot she’d left him—standing in front of the kitchen island, arms crossed. His head was sunk, and she focused on the long curve of his neck.

  “Why?” She had so many more questions, but that was the biggie.

  Her throat tightened. If the words professional security came out of his mouth, she was going to kill him for toying with her feelings.

  She stepped closer to Felix, stopping at the short edge of the island.

  “You want a new start. Start here.” His gaze rose and found her eyes. They were soft. Loving.

  She wasn’t talking to military Felix; she was talking to her lover. Yet cues she normally looked for in his stance, the severity of his frown, the creases at the sides of his eyes, the muscle in his jaw, suddenly didn’t compute into a firm answer of his objective. She couldn’t judge his intended meaning without adding what she wanted to see, to hear, to feel. She was over being impartial when it came to Felix.

  The envelope on the counter hadn’t been touched. Her life was sealed in that pocket. She should probably be grateful to Darek in some way—his hunt had led her to Felix and the realization that he wasn’t just part of her past that she had tucked away. He was a part of her. She loved life with him a hell of a lot more than she liked it without.

  He was her everything.

  “Say what you mean.” She gazed back to him, finding comfort in the blue of his stare. There was a time and place for their fun games. Now was not one of them.

  His chest rose high before falling. “I don’t want a divorce.”

  “And what does that look like in your world?” She shook her head. The status quo didn’t work for her anymore. She needed all of him or nothing. “We see each other once a year? That doesn’t work for me.” Before he could offer her some half-ass solution he thought would appease her, she continued. “I want everything. I want to love and live in the same home. I want to make a home. I want a new job with a purpose. I want kids.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve already asked for a discharge.”

  “Good.”

  “Good?” To which part?

  “Yeah.” He stood inches away from her; his woodsy scent flowed over her and drew her in. “We can have all of that. Together.”

  Her hair swooshed over her cheeks as she shook her head. “What makes you so sure we can make it this time? Our track record sucks.”

  He grabbed the tan envelope and tore it in two, throwing the pieces back onto the counter. Her wedding band bounced on the counter and settled in the middle of them. Neither made a move for the little, diamond-encrusted silver ring that had once been a symbol of their love.

  “Because this time we’re all in.” He searched her eyes, his entire being focused on her. “I know I am.”

  His palms swept up her forearm to her shoulders then her neck. His thumb caressed her jawline and her entire body buzzed with anticipation. It was happening. A once-farfetched reality was at her fingertips. And she had no idea what to say.

  “I’m in love with you, Mrs. Ibarra. I can’t see my life without you.” He kissed her lips gently, and then his gaze melted her little by little, promising her the world. And knowing Felix, he wouldn’t stop until she had just that. “Please stay.”

  “It won’t be easy.” The sting of tears pinched at her cheeks.

  “It never is with us. We’re fighters though. I think that’s why I love you so much, my wife.” He kissed her again, a long lazy kiss that made her forget where she was.

  He reached for the ring, held it between his thumb and index finger, and smiled. He slipped the band on her ring finger and kissed the top of her hand.

  He swept her up into his
arms and carried her toward his bedroom. His kisses were heaven and felt like home. “I’ve always loved you, my husband.”

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to Crimson Romance and Tara Gelsomino for being such an awesome publisher! You are a fun and accomplished group of people who make the process enjoyable every step of the way. Thank you for continuing to let me be a part of your business. The lively and professional environment you’ve cultivated is one of which I’m proud to be a part. And, Stephanie Riva, thank you for your eagle eyes during copy edits (you definitely are our shark as Julie puts it)!

  To my editor, Julie Sturgeon, thank you times a billion. This is, by far, the most fun I’ve had reading your edits, and, ya know, working on the story as a whole. There are so many emojis I’d like to put here, but I’ll use my words. I cannot believe this is the SEVENTH project we’ve worked on together. Here’s to beating the record—we can do it! I’ve enjoyed every last minute—even the hard ones when you say that there needs to be a motivation attached to an emotion or argument, but especially the ones when you say that I satisfied your smart-ass soul.

  Jami Wagner, remember that time I was almost done with the first draft of a manuscript and you came over for dinner and we brainstormed about what the heck was happening in the plot and what in the world my heroine stole and I told you this convoluted story with my hands flying every which direction and you looked at me like I was a ball of crazy and helped me sort through the jumble? Yeah, me too. Thanks for keeping me on task, being a friend, motivator, and all-around cool person.

  To my first friend in the publishing industry, Mary Billiter, thank you for being a part of my support system (for more than writing) and your encouragement.

  To my unfailingly supportive family, thank you for championing me. I appreciate you more than I’ll ever be able to express. And, Dad, thank you for being my go-to gun expert.

  Hola to all my Wednesday night writing mates: our lively discussions, laughter, and friendships go a long way!

  Thank you to my friends, family, and readers who have and continue to support my dreams. You inspire me every day and are appreciated!

  Copyright © 2016 by Dana Volney.

  All rights reserved.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.

  Published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  57 Littlefield Street

  Avon, MA 02322

  www.crimsonromance.com

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-9690-5

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-9690-2

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-9691-3

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-9691-9

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art ©iStockPhoto.com/Lorado, ©iStockPhoto.com/ekash.

  Protecting Her Secrets

  Wyn Security Book 3

  Dana Volney

  Avon, Massachusetts

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  To Jami. Dreams always need support. Without hesitation, you put your head in the clouds and flew away with me. Thank you.

  Chapter One

  Eddie Dever stood tall and broadened his already wide chest as he walked one step in front of his pop star client, Courtney, scanning the crowd for any threatening snarls, clenched fists, intense stares, reddening faces, or a wide stance conveying dominance. Add in plain old intuition—instincts he’d developed over the years dating back to his middle school days—and he was damn solid at his job. Amelia Roe, his partner, was bringing up the rear.

  “Lookin’ good, Roe.” His self-engineered earcomms they both wore would pick up his voice even through the crowd’s shrilling.

  “Same here.” Amelia’s low tone held authority; she no doubt was in constant scan of their surroundings.

  Musicians sucked to guard, but this protection gig was pretty chill. Not that he’d be caught dead admitting that. He’d ward off a few more tenacious young girls who wanted to press forward for selfies and autographs, and in fifteen minutes, his contract would officially end. He was going to spend the night buried in something soft: his pillow.

  “I got eyes on activity,” one of the other guards piped up. “Possible weapon.”

  “Where?” He glanced back to the guy on his left, who stood toward the back of the crowd, his heartbeat increasing.

  “To my eight.” The husky fella moved with purpose for a couple steps then pulled back. “False alarm.”

  Eddie resumed monitoring the crowd in front of him, a woman too old to be a tween fangirling and too young to be the mother of said tween was smiling at him. And flashing some seriously sultry brown eyes. Hard. Well, hello there. Maybe a pillow wouldn’t be the only soft thing in his bed tonight. Wait, was that Donna Martin who he always wanted to ask out in high school? Wow, she really looked good with her hair red. But damned if he ever thought she was the biker jacket kind of gal. No, whoops, that profile wasn’t quite right. Not Donna.

  The three guards made a path through the crowd, and he stepped to the side of the protruding steps that led to the tour bus their client called home, keeping one eye on the persistent redhead who was totally checking him out.

  “Get her into the bus, and I’ll cover you.” He stood, legs squared with his shoulders, in the all-black suit and shirt he’d been required to wear for this assignment.

  He may as well add a pair of black sunglasses and complete the cliché. His jeans and polo shirts were calling his name. He much preferred the jobs where he could be in the background, securing the client and blending in without a suit screaming that he was a bodyguard. It was well into the night, but the parking lot in the back of the arena was lit up like noon. He slowly moved his gaze over the crowd again, keeping his hands clasped him front of him, making sure to land his gaze on the petite woman in skinny jeans who was still watching him and had managed to inch up in the crowd. That settled that; in ten minutes, he was going to say hello. He shot her his best smile, the one he knew the ladies liked, that showed his pearly whites but wasn’t so big as to be arrogant.

  “Can I get an autograph?” A lanky kid, probably a little too old to be pining after a teen pop star, shoved a paper and pen toward Amelia’s back. Courtney was on the second step, but she turned around, waving at the crowd and shouting her thanks to her fans.

  “No more autographs at this time.” Eddie moved his arm between Amelia and the wide-eyed kid wearing a shirt of Courtney’s face enlarged to the point of being nearly pixelated.

  “It’ll only take a minute.”

  He almost smiled at the voice crack, but that would break the poor kid’s fragile, infatuated heart even further.

  “Sorry.” Eddie swept his hand out toward the kid to back him off, nodding to the other guards to escort the overzealous fan away.

  Then he found Ms. Redhead’s gaze again, because, dammit, he hadn’t met someone in a while.

  “Just one!” the kid screamed, pulling Eddie out of his trance, wild eyes landing on him.

  The crazy removed a plastic-looking gun from
his deep front pocket.

  Not today, little man-boy.

  Courtney’s smile faded right as Amelia shoved her inside the bus, Glock in hand and crouching in the doorway to the bus.

  In an instant, without any particular thought, Eddie lunged at the kid, tackling him to the ground, but before he made bodily contact, a shot rang out and reverberated off the light pylons, loads of tour vehicles, and concrete. He banged the kid’s wrist to the ground, and the 3-D printed gun skidded away from them on the cement. The crowd hysteria faded, and all he could hear was the ringing of the gun firing and his heart pumping. Thud. He used his elbow to strike the shooter’s jaw. Thud. The cheekbone gave way. Thud. The kid was no longer squirming under him to get away.

  The bodyguards muscled him aside and used a zip tie to cuff the little bastard.

  Eddie made it to his feet, running his hands down his shirt and slick pants as he hustled toward the entrance of the bus. Were Amelia and Courtney okay? He could just see the paperwork Winter was going to make him fill out on this little screw up.

  He heard screaming the closer he got. His gut twisted, and nausea crept up his throat. Screaming wasn’t good. He leapt the stairs and froze at the site of blood and Amelia lying on the entrance floor. Courtney was holding her, and blood was everywhere—in Courtney’s hair and smeared across her neck and arms—and it all stemmed from Amelia’s stomach.

  “Officer down!” Eddie shouted over his shoulder as he fell to his knees and took over applying pressure to the left side of Amelia’s abdomen. So much blood everywhere, and it wouldn’t stop. “We need the paramedics in here,” he ordered with a shout, catching the eye of a guard, who nodded and took off running.

  “Is she ...?” Courtney’s shaky words trailed off, her terrified gaze moving between him and Amelia.

  “Are you hurt?” Blood seeped through his fingers even though he was pushing so hard he felt her ribs. It took all of his strength to keep his eyes on his client. He knew his partner’s condition. Amelia was dying.