Killian's Secret: The Lone Wolf Defenders Book 1
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Matter
Note
Prologue
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
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
Author's Notes
Sneek Peek: Loving Quinn
Other Books by Alicia Montgomery
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Matter
Note
Prologue
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
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
Author's Notes
Sneek Peek: Loving Quinn
Chapter Two
Other Books by Alicia Montgomery
Killian’s Secret
Book 1 of the Lone Wolf Defenders
By
Alicia Montgomery
Copyright © 2017 Alicia Montgomery
Cover design by Melody Simmons
Edited by LaVerne Clarke at Free Bird Editing
All rights reserved.
To my Great Grandmother.
A pebble cast into a pond causes ripples that spread in all directions.
- Chinese Proverb
Don’t forget to turn the page all the way to the end - you can get a BONUS chapter of my book, as well as a FREE copy of my contemporary billionaire domination romance novelette The Billionaire Heirs.
Dear Reader,
Thank you so much for buying or borrowing this book! Indie authors like me rely on you guys a lot to read our work and spread the word.
If you love the True Mates Series and the Lone Wolf Defender Series and want indie romance authors like me to keep writing and offering our books on Kindle Unlimited, then please support our work by reading it and leaving reviews
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All the best,
Alicia Montgomery
Prologue
4 Months Ago…
The tapestry hanging on the wall looked like any ordinary rug to Killian’s eyes. Smaller than he’d expected, and like something in those big box home improvement stores. The designs on the carpet were geometrical and archaic—a large diamond in the middle woven with brown, black, and red threads, surrounded by smaller diamonds in similar colors. The border followed the same color scheme but had a floral pattern (or what looked like flowers to his untrained eyes). Frankly, Killian didn’t know what the fuss was about. But the rug was apparently important enough to warrant a display room in the Portland Museum of Art and for the Mornavian government to hire him to steal it.
This was his first job alone. Usually, he worked with his mentor and adoptive father, Archie Leacham, and his siblings, doing whatever jobs the older man had found for them. Corporate espionage, surveillance, protection and security, and major heists now and then—there was no job too big for their merry little family of professional thieves, hackers, and mercenaries. As long as no one got hurt or killed, they did it. It was what they were trained to do and what they were good at.
However, wanting to expand his skills as a master thief and spread his wings, Killian had decided he would try to do this one without them; after all, the current Mornavian president, Bogdan Martinov, had met him personally and pleaded his case. Archie had been quite proud he’d decided to strike out on his own, and offered advice whenever he needed it. Quinn was only too happy to take off and go backpacking in Europe, but not before helping him get set up with a few tech things, mainly his cover and background. Connor…well, he wasn’t sure when he’d use his last brother’s unique set of skills, but Killian knew that if he needed someone’s face bashed in or leg broken, he could count on him. And his sister, Meredith? Well—
“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” came a voice from behind, interrupting his thoughts.
The hairs on his arms rose, the prickling sensation startling his inner wolf. As a Lycan shifter, the wolf was part of him. He was grateful for the speedy healing and enhanced senses, but the wolf didn’t always make its presence obvious. Now the animal perked up, something it rarely did. Only when it was warning him of something important. Or of danger. He’d learned to trust it over the years.
Killian turned around, and for a moment he thought he had imagined the voice, as there was no one behind him. But, looking down, he saw a petite woman staring up at him in wonder, her large, violet eyes widening. He swallowed a gulp as his eyes traced over the rest of her features. Her gorgeous face with high cheekbones and milky white skin. Silvery hair was pinned up on top of her head, though a few tendrils softened her face and brushed against her delicate collarbones.
Her pink lips parted, and his keen senses picked up the slightest gasp. And her perfume? Cinnamon, sugar, and freshly-baked pastry. Such an unusual choice for a woman, one he’d never smelled before.
“It certainly is…” He grasped for words, losing his composure for a split second. “Interesting.”
She laughed, her voice tinkling like little silver bells. “I know it can be a bit underwhelming, especially with all the promotion and press it’s been getting. But I assure you, there’s more to the Gastlava Tapestry than meets the eye.” Her lovely face brightened, her cheeks coloring with excitement.
“Oh really?”
“Well, I’m sure you’ve heard about it? And the controversy behind it?”
Of course he had. That was why he was here, and why he was going to steal the rug. But something about the woman, the eagerness in her eyes, made him want to make sure she stayed right where she was standing. “No, I haven’t. Do tell.”
“Well,” she began, pursing her lips. “The Gastlava Tapestry is one of the oldest known woven works in existence. It was excavated in 1941 in what is now the modern Mornavia in the Balkan mountains,” she explained. “The tapestry itself was dated back to the fifth century BC. It’s quite unique, not just for its age, but also the unusual pattern of the border. Back then, weavers weren’t very skilled, but if you look at rugs from around the same time, few of them had such intricate designs or
bold colors. The weaver must have been very talented or used a special loom that was—” She flushed again, and this time it wasn’t with excitement. “Sorry, I tend to babble on about this.”
“It’s alright,” he replied. “Please, go on.”
“I won’t bore you with the details, but I’m sure you’d like to hear about the controversy.” She turned to the rug. “As you’ve probably heard, Mornavia has been in a state of civil war for the past fifteen years, thanks to Milos Fedosiovic, the former dictator. Two years ago, a bloodless revolution overthrew Fedosiovic, when the people of Mornavia took to the streets. He fled the country, along with, according to rumors, many of the priceless artworks and antiques from the Mornavia National Museum.”
Killian stared at her, watching the shifts in her expression as she told the story and the way the colors in her eyes changed under the lights. He wasn’t disinterested, but he already knew the story. No one had realized the tapestry was missing until it had resurfaced six months ago, in the hands of the notorious and flashy Portland-based hedge fund manager, Larry Bakersfield, who claimed it had been legally sold to him by the previous administration. The Mornavian government demanded the return of the piece, and even lobbied the US government, but to no avail. Bakersfield’s net worth was bigger than Mornavia’s GDP and he had powerful friends in Washington and everywhere else. He lawyered up, and refused to return the piece, despite the wave of bad publicity. He also hired a PR firm, who had apparently arranged this showing at the Portland Museum of Art, to show the world that Larry Bakersfield was a generous patron of the arts, not an egomaniacal bastard who would steal from a war-torn country. And tonight was the big gala, the unveiling of the exhibit centered around the Gastlava Tapestry.
“And so here we are,” she concluded, and then looked back to Killian.
“You seem so knowledgeable, Ms…?”
“Rhoades. Luna Rhoades. Assistant Curator for the Portland Museum of Art.”
Ah, a gallerina. Probably one of those artsy-fartsy types who went through four years of liberal arts school on daddy’s dime and now has her dream job thanks to years of mummy’s tea socials and charity galas. He should have known, looking at her expensive dress and jewelry.
“And you’re okay with this, having this tapestry here, despite the negative press around it?” he challenged.
Luna’s back stiffened. “Thanks to, uh, Mr. Bakersfield, we have the tapestry on display for an entire year, for everyone to enjoy.”
Killian did not miss the hitch in her voice and the distaste in her eyes when she mentioned Bakersfield’s name. “So you agree with him? And his way of doing things?”
Anger briefly flashed in her violet eyes and her fingers curled into fists at her sides. “My personal opinion on the matter is private, especially in this room. I represent the Portland Museum of Art, and we are grateful for Mr. Bakersfield’s contribution.”
Contribution. He bet it was a generous one, too. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted.
“Do I care for politics? Not at all. But at least here, people will actually get to see the tapestry, rather than it being locked away in some billionaire’s private collection,” she retorted.
“Ah, a true art lover,” Killian replied.
Her slim shoulders sagged. “Or a realist.” She lowered her voice. “I know that Mornavia doesn’t stand a chance of getting the rug back, but at least here…” She shrugged and shook her head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name, Mr…?”
“Jones. Killian Jones,” he said smoothly, offering her his hand. When her delicate fingers touched his, he felt the crackle of electricity. Whether she felt it too, he wasn’t sure, but the expression on her face told him she felt something.
“Oh,” she gasped. “You’re the representative from Grover Real Estate Holdings?”
Killian nodded confidently. Quinn was good at what he did, and he’d set up a fake company and made him a top executive, complete with bio and social media accounts. On the surface, he really was Killian Jones, VP for Operations of Grover Real Estate Holdings. Getting into the gala had been a snap, especially when he hinted that his company was looking to make a sizable donation.
“I spoke with your assistant,” Luna recalled. “I’m sorry we initially overlooked your company this year, but I’m glad the invitation made its way to you.”
“I’m glad, too,” he said meaningfully, and she blushed. “So, Ms. Rhoades, you’re the assistant curator. Do you have any favorite exhibits or pieces?”
The question made her eyes light up again, and the mood around them relaxed. “I can’t possibly answer that! That would be like asking me who my favorite child is! Not that I have any. Children, that is,” she added quickly.
“Why don’t you show me around?” he said, offering his arm. “And then I’ll try to guess which ones are your favorites. I promise I won’t tell.”
Luna eyed him suspiciously, but he noticed the smile tugging at the sides of her mouth. He cocked his head provocatively, and after a heartbeat, she took his arm. “Alright then, Mr. Jones. Let’s start with the Impressionists…”
Chapter One
Present Day…
Killian rubbed the spot between his eyebrows and prayed to any God listening to make his headache go away. He looked around the office reception area at the piles of folders scattered all over the place, the dirty coffee cups on various surfaces, and the general mess. Letting out a deep sigh, Killian stepped over the many unopened boxes and made his way to the door at the end of the hallway. The other two offices next to his were still dark which meant he was the first one in today. Not that the three employees (namely himself and his two brothers, Connor and Quinn) of Lone Wolf Security kept regular hours, but he was always the first one in. He had an appointment at eleven this morning, so he wanted some time to himself before his brothers arrived.
Flipping on the switch, he glanced around his office. Apart from the fine layer of dust that had settled in the days he’d been away, everything else was relatively clean and tidy. Their boss, Sebastian Creed, sent them to South America to deal with local gangsters terrorizing factory workers. Their client, the owner of said factory, was having problems with thugs who were intimidating the workers, stopping them from coming to work unless the owner paid them to go away. Needless to say, Lone Wolf Security had dealt with them, but it had taken longer than they’d expected. They were supposed to have come back forty-eight hours ago, but the operation had gone tits up. Thankfully, he and his brothers were professionals, and they were able to get out of trouble, if a little later than expected. They arrived back in New York late last night, and while it would have been reasonable to sleep in—he couldn’t. Not when he’d rescheduled this meeting three times already. He wasn’t going to do it a fourth time.
Killian sat at his desk and booted up his computer. Once he’d gone through his emails, he sorted the other mundane administrative tasks. By the time he was done, he wished he was back in that mud hut in South America, surrounded by goons with semi-automatic weapons.
He let out a loud sigh. They needed help and they needed it now. An admin assistant would make a difference and get the office in order.
Glancing at the clock, he saw it was nearly eleven. The front door opened and he stood up and stretched, ready to conduct this interview. However, the bundle of energy who rushed into his office was not the interviewee.
“Kiiilllllian!” Meredith, his adopted sister, greeted as she slammed the door behind her. The blonde woman tossed her winter coat on the couch in the corner and then plopped herself on the chair in front of his desk. She set cardboard coffee holder on his desk and handed him one of the cups. “When did you get back?”
He accepted the cup with a grateful nod. “Last night.”
“Where did Creed send you this time?” she asked. “And what did you have to deal with?”
“South America. Thugs with AK-47s. You know.”
“The usual,” she finished with a smile. “Wha
t time did you get in this morning? And where are Connor and Quinn?”
“Around eight. Probably still sleeping in.”
“And you are here because…”
“Interview for the new admin assistant,” he said, taking a sip from the coffee cup.
Meredith pouted. “You’re replacing me?”
“You know—barging in here and messing around with our files doesn’t make you our official admin assistant.”
“You didn’t complain when I volunteered at first. And I do such a good job!”
Killian laughed and then choked on his coffee, the liquid coming out of his nose down his shirt.
“Christ!” he cursed and grabbed some napkins to clean himself up.
“Oh ha, ha,” Meredith said. “Serves you right.”
He took a deep breath. “If you do such a good job, then what’s with all the boxes and shit in the lobby?”
“Hey, you wanted an assistant, not a cleaning lady,” she retorted. “An admin usually does filing and appointments, right?”
“Yeah, but they file things alphabetically,” he said, glancing at the file cabinet behind him.
“I did file alphabetically.”
“Yeah, you put the client report files in folders like; ‘Assface’, ‘Bastard’ , and ‘Cunt’ ,” he pointed out.
“That is alphabetical, Killian,” she retorted. “Besides, it’s not a reflection on your clients—just the things you had to deal with based on what I read in your reports. So, what am I supposed to do now? I don’t have a job, my husband is working his ass off, and we have a baby on the way.”
“Right,” he replied wryly. “Still, we both know that you don’t need the job. Didn’t you just buy half of a loft in Tribeca?” Besides their generous shares from jobs over the years, Archie Leacham left his adopted children his entire estate when he died. He and his siblings had enough money in this lifetime and the next.