by Stacy Gail
“I don’t understand, son.” Noah frowned, the only indication he was less than pleased with the interruption. “You were the one who insisted I set Sara up for a test of your own making. Are you telling me she failed it, when you were the only one who walked out of there bleeding?”
“She’s a chatterbox who can’t focus on the mission. It’s a flaw that could be fatal if I allow her to be your bodyguard.”
Noah huffed. “It’s not up to you.”
“Stop.” Sara held up a hand when it looked like father and son were getting serious about knocking heads. “Would somebody please explain why Noah needs a bodyguard of any sort, much less one of my caliber, before we get down to whether or not I would be—” she couldn’t stop the eye roll if her life depended on it, “—allowed to do it?”
“The person whose organs were donated to seven people on the waiting list was actually a murder victim. Her head was caved in by an unknown assailant,” Gideon said before his father could answer. “She was at home, with no sign of forced entry. She had no boyfriend, no enemies that anyone knows of. But according to the police, she’d changed her phone number four times in the past year, had the super change the locks on her apartment and had asked security where she worked to watch her car out of fear of it being tampered with.”
“Poor woman,” Sara murmured. “She had a stalker.”
“A stalker who may be trying to make sure all of her stays dead.”
“What do you mean?”
“The FBI’s been in touch,” Noah put in. When her eyes widened, he shrugged. “Just a precaution, they called it. But they wanted me to be on the lookout for anyone suspicious, as there have been four deaths across the country involving the transplant patients who received organs from this person.”
“A kidney recipient, two people who received the lungs and one cornea recipient have wound up dead so far. Though the Fed in charge, Agent Tuttle, gave no exact cause of death, he said their deaths were suspicious, and similar in nature.” Gideon gave Sara a sidelong look. “Gotta love the careful wording on that.”
“They gave no official cause of death?” For the FBI, that seemed unusually cagey.
“Not to us, though I’m certain if all these people died of organ rejection, the FBI wouldn’t be on the case.” Noah steepled his fingers in front of him. “And the odds of all four of those people just up and dying simultaneously from some other natural cause are pretty astronomical.”
“So the smart plan would be to assume the worst and put you under glass until the authorities can get a handle on what’s making the recipients of these donated organs die, correct?” Sara looked to Noah, worried and outraged this sort of pressure had landed on him. The one thing this man didn’t need was yet another round of life-and-death stress.
Noah nodded. “That’s the plan. I know your father is getting ready to retire and is in the process of shifting Lynchpin Security International over to you, Sara. This couldn’t come at a worse time, but I was hoping to hire you and Lynchpin as an added measure of security, until this mess blows over.”
“I have no problem with LSI,” Gideon cut in, still hovering near the archway. If body language was anything to go by, he was all but yelling he wanted no part of their cozy gathering. “The company is second to none in the private security business. But having Sara as your personal bodyguard is unacceptable.”
“Why?” The question shot out of her before she knew she was going to ask it, but as her temper spiked and she could feel the room start to heat up, she figured she might as well ask before she went up in a mushroom cloud. “Do you have a specific reason to believe I’m incapable of protecting your father?”
His eyes narrowed, a warning that came through loud and clear all the way across the room. “I do.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Are you really going to make me say it?”
Her temper inched up another notch, along with the ambient temperature. “Absolutely.”
“Fine. You’re a woman. And as well trained as you seem to think you are, physically you’re no match for any man on a mission to kill.”
“Surprise, surprise, an argument based on gender.” Her smile felt more like a grimace as disappointment burned its way into the core of her soul. If this was the true face of Gideon Mandeville, she never should have bothered with him. “I’ve run into that my whole life, so normally it isn’t a big deal. But somehow I had thought better of you.”
“In the past I would have been the first to hoist the banner of equality, but not now. You don’t know what cold-blooded savagery man is capable of. No amount of training on your part could ever prepare you for that. And it’s that lack of understanding that could get my father killed.”
Her retaliatory words died in the face of the darkness shrouding his words, a darkness echoed in the deadened eyes looking back at her. This wasn’t just gender bias, she realized as disquiet began to prowl through her. This was something...more.
“Lynchpin was founded by my great-grandmother, arguably the best natural warrior of our bloodline,” Sara said, her tone sliding into careful neutrality. The room’s atmosphere lightened as her core temperature cooled at last. “Until I came along, that is. Of course, you could go with a male bodyguard, or even a contingent of male bodyguards to ensure your father’s safety. But they’ll never compare to my unique abilities.”
“It’s not up to him,” Noah announced again, thumping the chair’s armrest with a fist. “This decision is mine, and mine alone. I’m going with Sara and her choice of people, Gideon. Feel free to watch over this operation, but I have every confidence you’ll be the one who’s not up to the task of keeping pace with her.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that.” It was Gideon’s turn to offer a snarling parody of a smile, and the sight of it had Sara working hard to restrain the need to fly across the room to knock his well-toned ass through a wall. “I’ll be watching her every step of the way.”
* * *
The twin knife wounds in Gideon’s neck throbbed beneath the bandage as he watched Sara’s car disappear down the drive. This time he didn’t take his eyes off it until it could no longer be seen, and even then he stood for another couple of minutes at the window to make sure she hadn’t decided to boomerang back, just to get under his skin.
Then he swore. Who was he kidding? She’d gotten under his skin a long time ago. If only he could figure out how to get her the hell back out.
“So? What really happened during your so-called test? She found you right away just like I told you she would, didn’t she?”
Gideon at last turned from the window to face his father, whose eyes seemed to have gotten into the habit of boring into him. He supposed that was only fair, since he’d been doing pretty much the same thing to Noah ever since he’d gotten back. But he couldn’t help it. His father was a virtual stranger to him now, which was painful for him to admit. It had always been just the two of them, with Gideon’s mother having passed away while he’d still been in training pants. His father had always been indestructible in his eyes, so it was both strange and alarming to see the great Noah Mandeville so frail and unrecognizable. It made him feel even more disconnected from a life that no longer fit.
Belatedly he remembered to offer up an answer. “I wound up flipping her.”
“Oh?” Noah’s glance went to the bandage on his neck before settling back down in the chair Gideon always thought of as his father’s throne. “Really had her at your mercy, did you?”
For a full second Gideon considered lying. Wouldn’t Noah be surprised to find Sara wasn’t the paragon of badassery he seemed to think she was? “I also head-butted her. If she was supposedly as perfect as you seem to think, I should never have been able to touch her.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth, kid. I believe she’s good, not perfect.”
“Not being perfect in her line of business can get people killed.”
“It’s nice to know you’re so worried about me. I was
beginning to think you might not remember you care about anything.”
Guilt warred with a frustration that never seemed to ease as Noah’s words jabbed at one of his many wounds, and blindly he looked away to the mantel holding a fleet of family photos. The last thing he needed now was to be reminded he wasn’t capable of being the jovial, happy son Noah had always known and loved. In the place of that man was the person he was now. And who was that, really?
A caricature of what he’d once been. A shell. Empty.
No wonder his father looked at him with such dark eyes. The poor man was mourning the death of the son he knew. Gideon only wished he could give him some comfort, but there was none to be had. The man he’d once been had died face-down in the middle of a faraway, dusty road.
“Are you thinking of when that picture was taken?”
Gideon blinked before turning a blank gaze to Noah. “Sorry?”
“You were looking at the photos.” His father pushed to his feet to pluck the framed photo in the center off the mantel. He looked down and smiled at it before handing it to Gideon. “I can’t tell you how often I’ve looked at that photo, remembering the last full day you were here. That was quite a going-away party, wasn’t it?”
“Unforgettable.” The word came out on autopilot, while he studied the photo he hadn’t even known was taken. The day before he’d been deployed his father had surprised him with a barbecue at Gideon’s place, with invitations going out to just about every person he knew. That was where he’d met Sara for the first time, so perfect and somehow regal in a sundress that had butterflies all over it, her hair up in that habitual high ponytail and a shy smile that stopped him dead in his tracks.
The photo must have been snapped soon after they’d met. They were sitting beside each other at a picnic table, laughing at heaven only knew what as he tried to feed her. That hadn’t gone over well with the independent-minded Sara, who wasn’t about to sit still and be pampered by anyone. Her hand rested on his as if she didn’t trust him to hit the mark of her mouth, while looking into his eyes as if he were the most interesting man in the world. For his part, he was looking at her mouth, ostensibly to feed her, but he could remember what he’d been thinking at that moment—that he’d lose his mind if he didn’t know what those lips felt like under his.
He’d found out. God almighty, he’d found out. And the memory of what transpired between them had become the one and only thing that kept him from losing it in a world gone mad. Now that he was home, he wished he had a raging case of amnesia that covered the entirety of his tour, if only to go back to being what everyone wanted him to be—a good man who did everything he could to save the lives entrusted to him. A hero.
Gideon swallowed, the taste in his mouth unbearably bitter as his brain forced him to remember what a bastard he truly was. His blinders had been ripped away; he now knew he wasn’t worthy of being in the presence of the people around him. That stone-cold fact led to another—he could not allow anyone to be near his ugliness. Even if he had to shove every last person as far away as humanly possible, he’d do it to keep from contaminating their unsullied, pristine lives with what he really was.
If they knew the truth about him, they’d thank him for it.
Noah tapped the frame. “Do you remember that moment, Gideon? Do you remember what it is to relax and to laugh? To enjoy life?”
“This was a lifetime ago.” Gideon handed the photo back to his father and headed for the door, the emotionless rejection absolute. “The past is just that—the past. What matters now is the present, and making sure you stay alive. I’m not convinced Sara Savitch is the way to make that happen, so if you think I’ve given up on kicking her off of bodyguard duty, you’ve got another think coming.”
Chapter Three
The sounds and smells at Lynchpin’s basement gym were pretty much like any gym in the world. The monotonous, upbeat drone of techno music thumped from speakers hidden in the gray concrete walls and kept up a jackhammer pace to move, move, move. The metallic crash of free weights often echoed through the cavernous, well-lit space, and grunts of exertion, as loud as any attention-seeking pro tennis player on the Grand Slam circuit, punctuated maximum effort. The whir of overhead fans helped disperse the odors of sweat and warm human flesh, along with the ever-present ammonia undertone of cleanser that the housekeeping staff used after the security company’s agents honed themselves into the lethal weapons they needed to be.
The ammonia scent was the most prevalent in the mornings, permeating the hangarlike space buried beneath the smoked-glass offices of Lynchpin Security International. And the mornings were Sara’s favorite time of day to work the finely tuned machine that was her body. She had a specific routine that had evolved over the years. To warm up, yoga was her regimen of choice before doing a quick five-mile run on the treadmill. By that time, Marcel usually wandered into the nearly deserted gym, and that’s when the real workout began.
“This is pathetic.” Haitian, tall enough to make her feel petite, and devoted to her family after her grandfather had died while protecting him from his demonically possessed brother, Marcel Baptiste was a second father to Sara. He snarled at her from over his sparring gloves, his mouthguard a shocking shade of lime green. “Perhaps you are not awake yet? Shall I try to awaken you?”
At the last second she managed to avoid his roundhouse, then flowed with the momentum and tried for a spinning kick. All she managed to do was fan him. “It’s the sight of your beautiful face that’s got me distracted, Marcel. You know that.”
“Flattery, eh? You must be feeling desperate, little one.”
Her lip curled back over her neon pink mouthguard. He knew how she hated to be called that. “Stand still so I can knock you into next week, old man.”
“Ah, would it not be wonderful if all your opponents would docilely stand still while you took care of them? Sadly, this will never be the case.” He jabbed, feinted, jabbed again, his ageless body a never-ending symphony of movement that searched for a weakness. “Your heart doesn’t seem to be in it today, little one. Is your new assignment distressing you, or are you suffering from some dread disease that makes you move like an old granny with bad bones?”
“Oh, so now it’s your turn to bring the flattery? How sweet.” Again she went for a kick, this time managing to catch him just under the protective elbow he kept tucked against his ribs. A satisfying expulsion of his breath made her grin. “I didn’t sleep well last night, if you must know.”
“Is there any reason as to why this happened?”
“Yes. Insomnia.”
“Smartass.” A gloved fist snaked out and tagged her headgear, hard enough to rock her back on her heels. “Come. Tell Marcel all about it. You’re worried for your father’s friend, oui?”
“Of course I’m worried. Until the authorities get a bead on whoever or whatever is killing off the recipients of the donated organs, Noah Mandeville isn’t safe.”
Marcel’s bare feet whispered on the sparring ring’s mat as he tried to dance around to her left side. “Will it be a difficult job?”
“Doubtful.” Aware that Marcel had high aspirations of squirming around to her weak side, Sara pivoted with him while distracting him with a shot to the throat, which he blocked. “Noah is getting on in years and doesn’t gad about as much as he used to, and he’s no party animal. Though by no means am I taking this assignment lightly, I have had tougher gigs.”
“Then what is the problem?”
“Your imagination’s more active than your right jab. Who said there was a problem?” She launched a flurry of combinations to cut the conversation short, because the fact of the matter was her new assignment had kept her up last night. Or, to be more specific, thoughts of her new client’s son had kept her up, and she was as surly as a bear with a sore paw because of it. Despite their history, she didn’t really know Gideon Mandeville. One day spent together didn’t mean a damn thing. Nor did it mean anything that by the end of that single day, she’
d wound up knowing him in the biblical sense. When it came right down to it, she had no idea what type of man Gideon was. It was irrational to feel disappointment that he was such a chauvinist pig it was amazing he didn’t oink when he talked.
But that didn’t seem like the man she’d met a year ago. If she’d had any hint Gideon was like that, she never would have allowed him to touch her. Or kiss her. Or pull her into the darkened garage that smelled vaguely of exhaust and rubber tires and push her up against a wall. Or bunch up her dress and slide her panties off so he could thrust into her so hard she wondered how she’d ever managed to go through life being that empty—
A blurring sweep kick came out of nowhere. Before she knew it she was on her back, staring up at the halogen lights high overhead and wondering how she got there.
The culprit leaned over her with an expression of profound disgust. “I used that move to take you down when you were five years old. It hasn’t worked on you since that time. Until now.”
“Crap.” Well aware Marcel had every right to be insulted, Sara grimaced in her shame. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Be better. Be as you were born to be—magnificent.”
Easier said than done. Freshly showered an hour later and in her usual Lynchpin uniform of black slacks, white silk button-down blouse and black leather jacket, Sara couldn’t seem to get her frown turned upside down. A day ago she would have accepted that she was one of the best at what she did. That wasn’t conceit; it was a hard-earned fact that there were very few who had as much knowledge as she did when it came to weaponry, tactical training and hand-to-hand combat.
Though judging by her performance today, she had no doubt she wouldn’t be able to hold her own against a grumpy kindergarten class that had missed its naptime.
