Guarding Sierra: (Soldiering On #2)

by Aislinn Kearns

  The heartbeats in her chest seemed unbearably loud. Surely he must hear them.

  She shivered, just a slight trembling through her limbs. But he noticed.

  Blake stepped back, a shutter coming down over his face. He hesitated a moment, as if about to say something. She saw on his face the instant he changed his mind. “I need to go in first. To check that it’s secure.”

  She nodded, still a little stunned, and let him brush past her. She hovered in the entrance to her apartment as the sound of his footsteps echoed through each of the rooms as he searched. She tried to ignore those brief seconds in the corridor, wondering what, if anything, might have changed between them.

  “It’s all clear,” he said, coming back into sight.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

  Not quite ready to see her safety net disappear, Sierra blurted out, “It’s late. Did you want to stay for dinner?”

  Blake frowned, and Sierra got the strange impression that he was annoyed. Heat crept up the back of her neck, but whether from embarrassment at his obvious reluctance, or an answering annoyance, she couldn’t say.

  “No,” he replied. “I’ve still got some work to do.”

  “Oh,” she replied, wondering if it was a lie, but not wanting to press it. “That’s fine. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “What time?” he asked.

  “I usually leave here about six thirty.”

  He gave her an exasperated look, but a dash of amusement softened it. “Of course.”

  They said their goodbyes, and Sierra was left alone in her empty apartment.

  She couldn’t remember ever being as aware of the space as she had been since her stalker had begun his sick pursuit of her. Before, the silence had given her peace after long and busy days at work. Now, however, it was oppressive and lonely. Reminding her that she wasn’t safe, that there was no one to help her.

  Perhaps she should get a pet.

  Chapter 10

  Blake left Sierra’s apartment with annoyance simmering in his gut. Not at her, but at himself. What the hell had he been thinking, nearly kissing her like that? She was a client, and a traumatised woman. Absolutely not a person he should be getting involved with.

  It must just be exhaustion. Today was his first day back after being shot and three weeks of inactivity. Anyone might be forgiven for a lapse in judgement under those circumstances. But he was a SEAL. He had to be better than that.

  By the time he’d made it down to the lobby, he’d given himself a stern talking to. He needed to keep his professional mask more tightly in place.

  Gus was there, waiting for him. The man must be in his sixties. Portly, with keen eyes. Blake had gotten the impression that he’d made a career of being a security guard, and prided himself on doing the job well. His eyes took in details about Blake and processed them before either man spoke.

  “Still here?” Blake asked. “Don’t you have a home to go to?”

  He laughed. “Shift’s nearly over. The graveyard kid will be coming in soon enough.” Gus settled back. “How’s our girl, then?”

  Blake weighed his response. He didn’t want to give the man more information than necessary, given the way Sierra had reacted the last time he’d tried to inform people of her situation. But he didn’t understand why it would embarrass her, and security guards were around for a reason. They couldn’t protect her if they didn’t have at least some of the information.

  “She’s all right. But she’ll be better once we catch this guy and lock him away.”

  Gus’ eyes sparked, but his posture stayed relaxed. “We, huh?”

  “Well, I think I’m going to need your help.” He mentally rubbed his hands together, preparing for the conversation ahead like a fighter stepping into the ring.

  “How’s that, then?” Gus leaned back in his chair.

  “I need the security footage of whoever dropped off those flowers. I was hoping you might let me have a look.”

  The light in Gus’ eyes dimmed. “Ah, well. I’m sorry to say that won’t be possible.”

  “If it’s a question of legality, I could—”

  Gus shook his head. “’fraid not. See, the tapes only keep for twenty-four hours. They get wiped after that, to start again. There’d be too much information to store, otherwise. Or so I’m told.”

  Blake sighed. That was an annoyance. He knew this wasn’t the only potential path to catching this mysterious man, or proving his existence, but it certainly would have been the easiest.

  “And they don’t keep any backups at all?”

  “I didn’t say that, now.” Gus looked mighty pleased with himself.

  “Go on then, you sly dog. What are you keeping up you sleeve?”

  Gus grinned. “They keep a backup, but it’s external. The company that runs security here sends their feeds from all the buildings they run to one external server somewhere. As far as I know, they keep that footage forever. Or, at least longer than they do here.”

  “Now you’re talking. Any idea where I’d find that server?”

  He eased himself more upright in his chair and opened up a drawer. After digging around for a few minutes, he produced a card with a flourish. “Here you are. They won’t be open until morning, now.”

  “That won’t be a problem.” With a grin and a wink, Blake left Gus, with his crafty smile, and headed to his car.

  He called Paul on his way to the offices listed on the card. Beaton Security. He’d never heard of it, but thought Duncan or Mandy might have. Sounded like they might be competition.

  Paul picked up right before it went to voicemail. He sounded a little out of breath as he said, “Hello?”

  Blake heard a feminine giggle in the background. “It’s me. Sorry if I interrupted something.” And he genuinely was. Christine was a nice girl, and he was genuinely happy for his friend. Paul had been through enough shit in the last few years that he deserved something good.

  “It’s fine. We can pick it up again later.” From Christine’s laugh, Blake could almost see Paul’s exaggerated wink at his girlfriend. “What do you need?”

  “I need to get access to a building and thought you might want to be my eyes.”

  Paul’s voice was instantly alert. “Sure. Let me get to my computer. What’s the address?”

  Blake told him. “Keep Christine around, too. She was useful last time I had to hunt for information in the metaphorical haystack.”

  “Will do.” He could hear Paul explaining apologetically to Christine, and her excited response. Ever since her last adventure, she had expressed an interest in helping them out again. Paul never said his doubts aloud, but Blake knew he was reluctant.

  Twenty minutes later, Blake neared the highrise that housed Beaton Security. “Any luck?” he asked. Paul could generally get access to security feeds in two minutes flat.

  A noise of frustration sounded through the phone, drowning out the clicking keys. “Not yet, but I’m getting closer. These guys are good.”

  “You’d hope so, if they are a security company. And it gives me hope for the system in Sierra’s building.”

  Paul made a sound of agreement. “All right, I’m in. This is going to be a bit of a challenge for you. It’s pretty high-end.”

  Blake snorted. “Sure. What’s the deal?”

  “I count four security guards on the ninth floor—that’s where they are housed. They are actually paying attention to the same feeds I am, so you can’t rely on them not noticing you. Motion sensors in the corridor. Key card access to the different parts.”

  “So it’s all high-tech stuff?”

  “Yeah,” muttered Paul, demoralised.

  “Can you knock out the electricity in the building?”

  Paul let out a hum as he considered this question. “Theoretically yes. But you have no way to tell if they have a backup generator.”

  Christine’s voice interrupted, sounding distant through the phone l
ine. “Are there security cameras in the basement?” she asked.

  A few clicks, and then Paul answers. “Yes. And that looks like a generator.”

  Blake rearranged the pieces in his head, the plan coming to fruition.

  “So, first I’ll go below, knock out the generator. They won’t know the difference until you cut the power to the building. Then, hopefully, they’ll get drawn down to the basement in an effort to repair the generator, leaving level nine largely unguarded. I’ll slip in, grab the data, and slip out.”

  They both considered this. “Sounds as good a plan as any,” Paul replied.

  Christine spoke next. “Before you do this, have you considered just… asking them for the information? They might be happy to give it to you.”

  Blake scoffed, then realised she was serious. “These guys are a security company. They aren’t just going to give away their information. Can you imagine if a stranger, claiming to be from a competitor, walked into Soldiering On and asked for information on a client? Duncan would throw them out on their ear.”

  Paul jumped in. “And then you’d lose the advantage of surprise, because they’d already know who you are and that you want the information.”

  “Plus, it’s more fun this way,” Blake finished with a grin. Sitting in that office all day, on top of his weeks of inactivity, had left him itching for some adventure. He didn’t think just going for a run would cut it.

  He didn’t know how he managed to be both so weary from the day and restless from inactivity at the same time, but he had to admit that was the combination he was saddled with. He’d just have to work with it.

  Christine cleared her throat, bringing the attention back to her.

  “And why are you going to all this trouble? I’m sure it will be above and beyond what Duncan would expect of you.”

  Blake, never much one for self-analysis, had not considered that question before. He’d just had the idea and taken the next step to enact it. But for Christine’s sake now, he tried to parse through it. He considered his lonely apartment, and the deafening silence that he hadn’t been able to bear since being discharged. He thought of his conversation with Duncan, where it was clear the man didn’t think him capable of the job anymore. Blake definitely wanted to prove to his boss that he wouldn’t be a liability.

  Sierra’s face popped into his mind, scared, but resilient, and an overwhelming need to protect her surged in him, too. Yeah, that was definitely a factor.

  He took a deep breath and answered Christine. “It’s my job.”

  Christine let out a hum, telling him she wasn’t convinced, but Blake didn’t want to be interrogated tonight. Or ever.

  “So are we good to go?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “It’s all yours,” Paul replied. “Good luck.”

  Chapter 11

  Blake had called Duncan as he was loading himself up with equipment from the trunk of the car. The conversation had pretty much gone as he’d expected.

  “I’m about to do one of those things you’d tell me not to do,” he’d said.

  Duncan had let out a long-suffering sigh. “Is it for a good cause?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then don’t fuck it up.”

  That had been the extent of it.

  So, Blake readied himself, putting on a Bluetooth headset so he could keep his hand free, loaded up with a few weapons beyond his usual, just in case. He also pocketed some lock picks and a few other tools. In no time at all, he was ready.

  “Okay, I’m good to go. How do I breach the perimeter?” he asked Paul.

  “The easiest way would be through the roof. From what I can tell, the security door up there isn’t locked.”

  Blake looked up, all the way up, to the roof twenty floors above him. His shoulder ached just thinking about it.

  “Is there another option?” he asked. He tried to keep his voice casual, but he knew Paul wasn’t fooled.

  Keys clicked. “What tools do you have with you?”

  Blake eyed the glass-fronted lobby. “I have the laser cutter if that’s what you’re after.”

  “All right, good. You can cut through the glass in the lobby.” He hesitated. “There’s just a slight issue.”

  “No problem. What is it?” Issue was his middle name.

  “The security guard in the lobby has a view of all three windows. There are no windows at all out the back.”

  Blake squeezed his eyes shut. “Well, that’s not much of an option. Unless we distract the guard, I guess?”

  Paul mused, “We could, but they’d be suspicious after. I’d prefer they never even suspect you are there.”

  “Roger that.” Blake considered the building again. “Okay, how about I just scale up the one floor. I might be able to manage that. Then I pick a lock or something once I get up there. The laser cutter will be too obvious, once they find the hole.”

  “True. But I have a better idea. Do you have a blowtorch?”

  Blake dug around in the trunk until he found exactly what Paul wanted. “Got it. What’s your idea?”

  “From what I can see, these windowpanes might be put in with glue.”

  “Wait, you don’t want me to melt the glue?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  Paul was right. When Blake had been in Qatar, at the American base there, the temperature had occasionally crept up to nearly one hundred thirty degrees. If he was unlucky enough to be standing near one of the tower buildings in the centre of the city on one of those sweltering days, he ran the risk of being brained by a falling window. It hadn’t happened often, but enough for him to look up when walking past certain buildings.

  “Do the windows fall in or out?”

  “I can’t tell from here. But either way, you’ll have to deal with it. It’s that, or climbing to the roof.”

  Blake swallowed. “Falling window it is,” he said cheerfully.

  His shoulder was already aching by the time he reached the shadow of the building. The surrounding towers were not brightly lit, disguising his presence. His heart beat faster, adrenaline spiking. But a slight dose of fear nagged at him, too. He hadn’t been this close to the possibility of failure in a long time.

  He’d always been strong. It was a requirement for the SEALs. And even after, when he’d lost his hand, he’d worked hard to keep his strength. Perhaps he was getting old, but it was taking him longer than it usually did for him to recover from a bullet wound. The numerous other times he’d been shot, he’d been back at work within two weeks with nary a complaint.

  Or, perhaps he was just remembering the past through rose-coloured glasses. He had never been superhuman.

  The path up the building was clear enough. A few leaps and swings, and he’d land right on the ledge of the window they’d selected. Trouble was, once he got there, he’d need to hold on using his injured side, because his prosthetic couldn’t grip the blowtorch correctly. It also might melt.

  He didn’t say any of this aloud, though.

  Blake positioned himself beneath an overhang and jumped. He sailed through the air for a brief second, freedom singing through his veins. He loved this. Loved the challenge, and the danger. But mostly he just loved the feeling of being alone in his own head, and nearly flying.

  He caught the lip of the window with ease, but it jolted his shoulder uncomfortably as he gripped it. While he used his good arm for this portion of the climb, his left still suffered from the impact. He hurriedly felt around with his feet until they found purchase, taking some of the pressure off.

  He let out a long, slow breath, moving through the pain. Then, he pushed off again with his leg, soaring up to the next handhold. He was more careful to cushion the impact this time, taking as much of the jolt as he could in his bicep instead of his shoulder. It seemed to help.

  A few more leaps. Blake reached up, but he wasn’t quite as fast as he thought. He nearly missed grabbing the handhold before gravity did its work and plummeted him back down. He recovered, barely,
his fingertips cramping at the awkward hold.

  He readjusted his grip, focused his mind, and leapt once again. And then he was there.

  Unfortunately, there was nothing that he could wrap his fake arm around, which would have been his first choice. It required less effort on his part. Instead, he had to pull himself up and rest his prosthetic forearm on the ledge. He tried to take some of the weight on his feet, but his shoulder burned in agony. There was too much pressure on the still healing wound.

  He had to work quickly.

  Blake carefully extracted the blowtorch from his pocket. He went slowly, not wanting to overbalance himself. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d have the reflexes to correct it.

  Firing up the blowtorch, he began carefully heating the edge of the window, where the glue had attached it to the wall. He tried to be patient, but he couldn’t see the joins, so had no idea whether it was working.

  “Guard is about to do his round,” Paul said into the earpiece a few minutes later. Blake grit his teeth. There was no way to speed this process up.

  He continued, steady and sure, using his instincts regarding how hot he’d have to make this. He knew that as soon as he moved on from an area, the glue would start cooling, so it was a delicate balance to get it right.

  His shoulder was distracting, shooting tendrils of pain through his body.

  “He’s coming your way,” Paul murmured. Blake ignored him. Nothing he could do about it.

  Finally, with a slip and a give, the entire window simply fell backwards out of the socket and hit the floor with a thunk. The heavy exterior glass didn’t shatter, meaning that Blake might even be able to put it back in its place before he left.

  Grateful, he hauled himself inside, landing awkwardly on the window, but not caring a whit as the pressure eased from his shoulder.

  He’d done it.

  Chapter 12