Born To Protect (Elite Force Security Book 1)

by Christina Tetreault

  “No more wasting time,” she said. “There’s no one hiding in the kitchen or anywhere else.” If anyone had tried to get in again, the alarm would’ve gone off, alerting her as well as the security company monitoring the system.

  Becca tossed the blankets off and stood. Work awaited her, and sitting around behind her locked bedroom door wasn’t going to get her there. She paused at the alarm console mounted beside her bedroom door. From here she could do everything from turning the system on and off to seeing who stood on the front steps, thanks to the new security cameras. Similar consoles were mounted downstairs in the kitchen and in the front entryway. She’d decided to hold off on having one installed in Kassidy’s room until she returned from wherever she was at the moment. Her stepsister might not want one in her bedroom, not to mention what it might do to the resale value of the home down the road.

  She turned off the motion sensors in the house but kept the rest of the system activated. The last thing she wanted was to step out in the hall and have the alarm go off, disturbing the neighborhood and alerting the monitoring company.

  Despite knowing it had only been a nightmare, she still held her breath as she stepped out of her bedroom. When she reached the first floor, she checked each room, starting with the living room, before entering the kitchen. All the windows and doors remained closed, just like when she’d gone up to bed last night.

  Sunlight came through the windows, illuminating the room just as much as it had upstairs in her bedroom. Still, rather than set the teakettle on the stove like she had in her dream, she went for the coffee maker and switched it on. While she waited for it to brew, she bypassed the fridge and popped two slices of whole wheat bread into the toaster instead.

  “Let’s see if anything interesting happened last night.”

  Becca opened her new laptop and brought up her favorite media site. She scanned through various stories, none of which she found overly important, or interesting for that matter, while she enjoyed breakfast. When she finished, she brought up her personal email account. She didn’t get any further than typing in her username and password before the doorbell chimed. Instantly, her hands froze over the keyboard and her heart rate spiked.

  “Get real. Would bad guys really ring the doorbell before forcing their way in?” she said, disgusted with herself. She’d lived alone for years and never thought twice about it. Now the doorbell was freaking her out.

  She checked the time before standing. The tiny clock in the top right-hand corner of the screen read seven o’clock. She didn’t get many visitors, and the ones she did get never showed up this early.

  The security console near the kitchen door revealed a man and a woman on the front steps. Both wore business attire, but otherwise, nothing suggested who they were or what they wanted. Although they both looked harmless, she wasn’t going to simply open the door and invite them in for tea. Becca pressed the intercom. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m Detective Murphy from the Alexandria police department. I’m with Detective Reed,” the man answered. “We were hoping to have a word with you this morning, ma’am.”

  Assuming the two individuals were who he said they were, and not some con artists, why was the Alexandria police department sending people to talk to her this early in the morning?

  “I’ll need to see ID before I open the door.” Just because they looked the part didn’t mean anything. “There’s a security camera on you, so you can just hold it up for me.”

  “Certainly. We understand,” Detective Murphy answered.

  She watched the man remove a wallet from his back pocket. The movement caused his jacket to shift as well, revealing the gold badge attached to his belt. Opening it, the man held up his credentials. The woman removed a similar wallet from inside her blazer and held it up for inspection as well. At least on the screen they both looked authentic.

  “I’ll be right there.” Becca released the intercom button and then punched in her security code before heading for the front foyer.

  Both individuals still had their credentials in hand when she opened the door.

  “Good morning.” Detective Murphy held out his credentials again. “I apologize for the interruption this morning, but we’d like to have a word with you, ma’am.”

  Becca glanced again at the man’s identification before checking out the woman’s. They looked like the real deal, as did the badges and handguns at their waists. “It’s Becca, and of course. Please come in.” She wasn’t in the habit of letting strangers into her house, especially when she still wore pajamas, but if two police detectives stood on her steps, it must be important.

  She showed them into the living room. “Would it be okay if I went upstairs to change?”

  The two detectives exchanged a look. “Of course,” Detective Murphy replied.

  Becca hated the idea of leaving anyone alone in her living room, even police detectives. However, she hated the idea of entertaining guests while wearing pink sleep shorts and a T-shirt that read Will run for brownies even more.

  Upstairs she pulled on the jeans she’d tossed in the laundry at some point and threw an old Georgetown University sweatshirt over her T-shirt. Neither were exactly interview appropriate, but under the circumstances both would do.

  Murmured voices reached her when she hit the bottom of the staircase, but she couldn’t make out any of their conversation.

  “Detective Murphy, you said you have questions for me,” Becca said, entering the room.

  The conversation between Detective Murphy and Detective Reed came to an abrupt halt.

  “Yes,” Detective Murphy spoke up, giving her the impression he was the man in charge. “We understand your stepsister, Kassidy Buchanan, lives with you.”

  Becca took a seat in the armchair across from her visitors and nodded. “She moved in a few months ago.”

  “Have you seen her recently?” Detective Murphy asked.

  “Could you be more specific?” What she considered recently might be ancient history to someone else.

  “Within the last week or two,” Detective Reed answered.

  “I haven’t seen Kassidy in over a week. She’s been traveling for work. I believe her most recent stop was a tech conference somewhere in California, but you probably want to double-check with someone at Lafayette Laboratory. She goes to a lot of conferences, and I might have them mixed up.”

  “Have you received any phone calls or messages from her?” Detective Murphy asked.

  “I received some texts from Kassidy on Sunday, but nothing since.”

  Detective Murphy jotted the information down on a small notepad he’d taken from his jacket pocket. “Did she mention where she was or when she might be back?”

  She didn’t care if they were from the police department. Until she knew why they were inquiring about Kassidy, she wasn’t answering any more questions. “I understand you’re only doing your jobs, but I’d like to know why you’re asking me these questions, Detective Murphy. Has something happened to Kassidy?”

  “Lafayette Laboratory contacted us because they fear Ms. Buchanan might be in danger. She was expected back there on Tuesday,” he answered. “We’ve already verified she attended the conference you mentioned in San Diego and checked out of the hotel Sunday. However, no one has seen or heard from her since. All calls to her cell phone have gone unanswered.”

  Due back on Tuesday? That wasn’t right. After she’d messaged Kassidy to tell her about the break-in, they’d exchanged a few short messages. In them she’d told Becca she’d worry about what might have been taken when she got home from her vacation in two weeks. She’d found Kassidy’s lack of concern odd, but hadn’t questioned it. After all, it was her stepsister’s stuff, not hers. If Kassidy didn’t care, why should she?

  But the lab wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of contacting the police if they weren’t concerned. Was this another case of catching Kassidy in a lie, or had someone at Lafayette made an error?

  “Are you certai
n you haven’t heard from her at any time since? Maybe you have a call that went to voice mail and you haven’t listened to it yet,” Detective Murphy asked, interrupting her thoughts.

  “Positive. Like I said, the last time I heard from her was late Sunday, and they were short messages.”

  “Was there anything odd about them?” Detective Murphy asked.

  “No. I sent her a message on Saturday, letting her know someone had broken in. And she responded to that text. She said she’d worry about it when she came home. I haven’t had any reason to try her again.”

  Again, Detective Murphy wrote in his pad.

  “And the messages came from her cell phone?” Detective Reed inquired.

  “Actually, no, it didn’t come from her cell number. It came from a messenger app she has an account with and uses a lot,” Becca admitted.

  “Are you certain the messages were from her?” Detective Reed asked.

  Becca nodded. “It’s not unusual for her to send messages from her tablet instead of her cell phone. She finds typing on it easier.” Becca did too, but her phone was simply more convenient because she always had it with her, unlike her tablet, which she usually left at home.

  “Do you still have the message?” Detective Murphy asked.

  In an effort to stay organized and not clog up her phone’s memory, she made it a habit to delete old messages, whether they were ones she’d received or ones she’d sent. She also regularly downloaded any photos she took to her laptop so she could delete them from the device as well. “I can check.”

  Becca left the room and retrieved her phone. When she came back, she quickly scanned through the messages still on the device until she reached the ones Kassidy sent Sunday. According to the time stamp on them, she’d received them at eleven o’clock Eastern time. “I deleted the one I originally sent, but I have the other ones from Sunday night.”

  She passed the device to Detective Murphy so he could see it for himself. While he read the short messages and then jotted down the address attached to them, she wondered if she should mention Kassidy had a second cell phone. She still didn’t know if it was for work or personal use, but the police might find the information helpful—especially if Kassidy really was in danger.

  “Kassidy has another cell phone. Or at least she did about a month ago.”

  Detective Reed made another note in her notebook. “Do you have the number?”

  “Sorry, no. I guessed it was for work, so I never asked for the number.”

  She’d rather not tell them it was just as likely her stepsister used it to contact whatever married man she was involved with this time around. Kassidy’s romantic life wasn’t any of their business. But if the authorities knew the phone existed, they might be able to trace it back to Kassidy somehow. At least in the movies, the police were always able to track a cell phone back to a person no matter how little information they had to go on.

  She spent at least another fifteen minutes answering questions before Detective Murphy finally ended their interview.

  “If you hear from Ms. Buchanan, we’d appreciate it if you’d contact us immediately.” Detective Murphy handed Becca a business card. “Both my direct line and my cell phone number are on here. You can also call the station’s main number and ask for me.”

  Detective Reed passed one to her as well. “If for some reason you can’t get through to Ray, call me.”

  After promising she’d call them if and when Kassidy contacted her, Becca locked the door and reactivated the alarm. Rather than go up and get ready for work, though, she retrieved her cell phone from the living room. Pulling up the last message she’d received from Kassidy, she sent her stepsister a text.

  Please call me ASAP. It’s an EMERGENCY.

  Her cell phone came to life before she stepped in the shower, but rather than a phone number or Kassidy’s name, the words No Caller ID appeared on the screen. Usually, if she didn’t recognize the number, she let the call go to her voice mail.

  But not this morning.

  Before she touched the green icon on the screen, she said a little prayer the caller was Kassidy. “Hello.”

  “What’s up?” Kassidy asked.

  Becca dropped onto the bed at the sound of her stepsister’s voice. “Are you okay?”

  “Of course. Better than okay. I’m currently sitting on a deck overlooking a private beach in the Caribbean, with a hunk who can give me multiple orgasms in a row. Life doesn’t get much better.”

  “You’re positive?” She didn’t detect any distress in Kassidy’s voice, but the police didn’t show up at your house and start asking questions without a good reason.

  “Yes. You should try going on vacation sometime yourself,” her stepsister answered. “Why?”

  “Two detectives from the Alexandria police department showed up this morning.” Either Kassidy was lying to her, or the police had their facts wrong. But why would the laboratory contact the police if they didn’t truly believe she was missing?

  She waited for Kassidy to ask what they wanted. When she didn’t, Becca spoke. “Kassidy? Are you still there?”

  The sound of her sister clearing her throat came through before she answered. “Sorry, yeah. I was wondering if I’d heard you correctly. The police were at our house today?”

  “Yes, asking questions about you. They said the lab was worried you were in danger,” Becca explained. “According to them, you were supposed to report back to work on Tuesday.”

  “More like two weeks from Tuesday I’m expected back. My supervisor’s secretary must have screwed up and put the wrong dates into the system when I talked to her,” Kassidy said with frustration. “Typical. I’ll call and get it all straightened out.”

  “They said they tried calling your cell, but you didn’t answer.”

  “It’s been acting up since we got here Monday afternoon. I’m not sure if it’s because of where we are or if I need to replace it. I called you with Jameson’s phone because his has good reception out here.”

  Back the ship up a minute. Before flying to California, her stepsister had been spending her nights with someone named Bryan. “Jameson? I thought you were seeing a guy named Bryan.”

  “Bryan’s all the way in Virginia, and I’m not there now, am I?”

  Kassidy really was the female version of a playboy. Becca looked at the ceiling and dismissed the issue of who her stepsister was currently sleeping with and focused back on the reason behind her call.

  Kassidy had an explanation for everything. Her supervisor’s secretary could have made an error and cell phones did act up. Still, the unease she’d been experiencing since Detective Murphy opened his mouth remained.

  “Maybe you should call the detectives who stopped by today and explain too. I have both their numbers.” She picked up the two business cards she’d left on her nightstand when she came upstairs.

  “Good idea. Give me them, and I’ll call after we’re finished.”

  Becca read off Detective Murphy’s number first, because he’d seemed in charge this morning, and then Detective Reed’s. “They might try sending you a text message anyway. They had me worried, so I showed them the messages you sent me the other night. They took down the screen ID and the name of the app they came from.”

  “Yeah. That totally makes sense. I would’ve done the same thing.” Kassidy cleared her throat again. “Listen, I better go and get this friggin’ mess straightened out before it gets any more out of hand. I’ll call you soon. I really want to hear all about how things are going with Connor. Hope he’s as amazing in bed as Jameson.”

  Becca had no idea how Jameson ranked in the sex department and didn’t care, but she doubted he could out-perform Connor. However, no matter what Kassidy told her about him or the guy she was seeing closer to home, she’d never share details with her stepsister. Unlike Kassidy, she liked to keep some things private, including her sex life.

  “Good luck. Hope it doesn’t take you too long to get this mess corrected,�
�� Becca said. She wanted to believe Kassidy and had no concrete reason not to. Unfortunately, she couldn’t dismiss the doubts floating around in her head or the fact that the police had visited her before she’d even managed her first cup of coffee. “Call or text me when you get a chance and let me know how things go.”

  “Will do,” Kassidy promised.

  Becca ended the call. Although Kassidy had said she’d call the police, Becca dialed the number listed for Detective Murphy before doing anything else.

  “Detective Murphy,” she said when the man answered the phone after a couple of rings, “this is Becca André.”

  ***

  Connor went straight from the airport to the team’s meeting room Thursday morning, glad to be walking into a morning briefing instead of another art museum, college campus, or some fancy show. While both Deborah Stone and her daughter had been pleasant enough, he hated that aspect of his job. This morning, though, he’d seen them both safely to the airport a day earlier than planned. Hopefully, whatever assignment Ax handed him next wouldn’t involve visiting museums of any kind. A guy could only handle so much of that cultural bullshit.

  “Hey, Coleman finally let you out of the dog house,” Connor said when he saw Mad Dog seated at the table.

  “I’ve been back since Tuesday,” she answered. “But Coleman has me parked at a desk until I finish physical therapy.”

  “Better than parked at home.” He’d done his share of desk work since coming to the firm. Usually it involved searching for leads or listening to wires. No matter the task, it beat sitting at home on your ass doing nothing.

  “For a change, Connor’s right,” Keith said.

  “Glad you two think so,” she said. “I need to have some fun this weekend. Maybe see a ball game or something. Either of you have plans?”

  “I’m all yours,” Keith replied with a wink. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

  “I’m not that desperate,” she drawled.