Latvis Security Services
Page 1
LATVIS SECURITY SERVICES
The Complete Series
L E X I E R A Y
Copyright © 2017
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
ROUGH RIDER
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
MODEL EXPERIMENT
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
HIDDEN LIAISONS
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
HOPE AND HYPOTHERMIA
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
HOME
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
ROUGH RIDER
Chapter One
Willow had been aware of his presence long before he even entered her flower shop, and he knew it, which made her insistence on ignoring him all the more insufferable. He stood by the counter, resisting the urge to drum his fingers as she stared at the newspaper splayed out before her. And she was just staring at it. He couldn’t imagine that an article about a truck driver who failed to gracefully navigate a turn, two coupons for local restaurants, and an advertisement for the arrival of a traveling carnival would hold her interest for this long.
Mads prided himself on his ability to withstand any measure of discomfort – a trait that had been both physically and mentally tested during his life – but being ignored by Willow Miller was something he still hadn’t built a resistance to, and it annoyed him to no end. Seeming to finally sense the eyes upon her, Willow glanced up over the rim of her large framed glasses.
“Oh, hey.” She pulled off the glasses and rubbed a weary hand over her face. “What do you need?”
Mads couldn’t resist looking around at the rows of flowers that clogged the small space. “Perhaps some flowers, if you would be so kind.”
She fixed him with a stare that said she would roll her eyes if she didn’t think that was more respect than his joke deserved and swiftly moved out from behind the counter. Mads followed her without a word, a small frown of displeasure tilting his lips. While Willow was never refined in her appearance, she was always presentable and neat, in her own variation of the term. Lately, however, he had noticed some slight changes.
It was normal for her to draw the thick mass of her wavy hair into a messy bun while at work. She never got all of it, and her half-hearted attempt would leave strands of her rich, brown hair to fall in twisting tendrils. Today, her hair was in further chaos, and he doubted that she had brushed it. Over the years, he had noted that she only did that after particularly sleepless nights. Her jeans were far more unkempt than usual, and her pastel, button-down shirt was the same one she had been wearing the day before. Most telling, though, were the dark rims that had formed under her eyes.
If it wasn’t for the sharp intelligence that naturally lay within her gaze, Willow’s russet brown eyes would have matched the rest of her features as being pleasant but unassuming. It was only her eyes that gave away the will of steel that lay under her skin, but lately that sharp edge had begun to dull. The frustrating thing was that, even knowing Mads’ profession and skills, she refused to even admit to him that something was weighing on her.
“You know, you can pick out your own flowers,” she said with a hint of annoyance.
“I prefer your professional input.” His soft smile was met with a roll of her eyes. “May I ask what’s wrong?”
She began to pluck different flowers from the numerous pots, bunching them together in the beginnings of a bouquet.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“I prefer omissions to lies.”
Even as she kept her attention focused on the flowers, her smirk was evident. “Then don’t ask questions you won’t like the answers to.” Before he could say anything, she abruptly turned to face him, holding his gaze as she walked backward a few paces. “You know what we can discuss? When, exactly, are you going to get a sign?”
Mads’ business occupied a few floors, all of which were above Willow’s ground-level establishment. There was a thin door that led to the elevator, but it was nestled to the side of the stone building and often overlooked. Because of this, people often came into Willow’s shop first, either asking for directions or assuming her store was some kind of front for Mads’ business.
“Is it truly that much of an issue?”
“Do you know how many people come in here thinking I’m your receptionist?”
He did. She made a point of telling him, and that was part of the reason he had never attempted to clarify the matter. There was something remarkably fascinating about Willow when she was frustrated, especially when she attempted to suppress it. Provoking her was a childish indulgence he would never admit to.
“Put up a sign, Mads.”
“But if I did, you would have significantly less business.”
She glared at him and pressed the bouquet she had arranged into his chest with more force than was necessary. He managed to maintain his polite and in no way amused smile as he thanked her. It didn’t stop her from heaving a long-suffering sigh and heading back to the counter. Half a heartbeat later, he followed.
“You know it’s not good for your particular
clientele to get lost. They’re already stressed out.”
“All the more reason for them to be exposed to your delightful company,” Mads said as he retrieved his wallet from his inner jacket pocket.
Willow hit the buttons on the register with more force than was necessary and looked stuck somewhere between rolling her eyes and glaring.
“Now that we’ve engaged in some banter, do you feel prepared to tell me what’s bothering you?”
“I did. Your refusal to make a sign that will take you all of five seconds of effort.”
He turned to look at the empty space of her windowed storefront, “And yet you don’t take that five seconds to put one up yourself. Obviously, it doesn’t bother you as much as you wish me to believe.”
“Or I don’t want my store to be ugly.”
He put the money on the counter but refused to lift his fingers from it until she met his gaze. Willow sighed and freed the money with a sharp tug.
“You are aware that some problems can be resolved without your involvement,” she teased.
“So, there is a problem.”
“One that I’m solving without you.” A small smile spread across her face as she watched him. “That really drives you nuts, doesn’t it?”
“I have no idea what you could be referring to.” His tone came out far more defensive than he would have liked.
“Your hero’s complex is showing,” she teased.
“Wanting to be of aid to a friend is hardly a complex.”
“Friend is a strong word. I’d define us as more of acquaintances.”
“Or, perhaps, work colleagues.”
She narrowed her eyes, and it took a great deal of effort for Mads not to smile.
“I’m not your receptionist.”
“You’re also not my psychiatrist.”
“I know. If I was, you’d be way more stable and far more pleasant.”
Mads’ spine straightened slightly. “I may suggest that you are perhaps the root cause for my perceived shortcomings in both of those areas.”
“Well, aren’t I just important,” she laughed.
Before he could say anything more, the front door opened. They both turned to see a woman lingering in the doorway, a small girl standing in front of her. The woman’s sleek, black hair caught the light, carefully styled and arranged. However, even the light array of makeup and her naturally dark skin tone couldn’t counter the visible strain of what must have been countless sleepless nights. The little girl was an obvious close relation, with many of the same facial features emerging as she lost her baby weight. Her hair was split into two pigtails near the crown of her head, her crinkly hair spilling out to create a thick halo.
“I’m sorry to interrupt y’all,” the woman said, one arm protectively wrapping around her daughter’s shoulders. “I was wondering if you knew how I get to the private agency upstairs.”
From the corner of his eye, Mads noticed the smirk Willow threw his way. Pulling a business card from his pocket, he let a pleasant smile settle onto his face. Careful not to edge too close – some found his six-foot stature intimidating – he greeted her and handed over the card.
“Mads Letvis,” the woman read aloud.
“You pronounce it ‘mass,’” Willow said with a hint of amusement. “You know, like a coherent body of matter with no definite shape.”
“Your name is Mass?” the little girl asked as the woman tried to hush her. “Did your parents not like you?”
“It’s a Dutch name,” he said with practiced ease.
“Why did they give you a Dutch name?”
“Because my mother was Dutch.”
“What about your daddy?”
“He was Lithuanian.”
Her nose scrunched up. “Where’s that?”
“Europe.”
“Is that why you talk funny?”
“Sophie, hush,” the woman said before she turned her attention back to Mads and Willow. “I’m sorry. She doesn’t mean any harm. I’m Rebecca Jones and this is my daughter Sophie. I was hoping you could help me.”
Mads bowed his head without breaking eye contact, “Of course, Ms. Jones. If you would like to accompany me to my offices, I have some time now to discuss your case.”
“Sure. But look, I just need to be direct, because time is a factor. We work as part of a traveling carnival, and we’re only in town for three weeks,” Rebecca said. “Is that enough time for you guys to catch this freak, or should I look elsewhere?”
Retrieving the bouquet from the counter, Mads joined Rebecca at the door. His smile was courteous but confident as he gestured out to the street. “We are superb at what we do. Come. Let’s not delay. We have much to discuss.”
Chapter Two
Mads Latvis wasn’t exactly what Rebecca had been expecting when she had envisioned a personal bodyguard. She had imagined that he would look like the men she saw on TV and in magazines following around celebrities: maybe a towering man with a stock black suit, shoulders like an ox, and a sour expression. The elevator ride was short, and she tried to use the time to size him up. He had the height she had expected but it was hard to tell his true strength under his perfectly tailored, three-piece suit, the pattern on it not actually screaming covert. Actually, along with his sharp cheekbones, close shave, and immaculately swept-back hair, he looked like the last person you would back in a fight. Too prim, too proper, and far too dignified.
Rebecca pulled Sophie closer as she sharply reminded herself that she needed to keep an open mind. She was quickly running out of options, and even someone incompetent watching her back had to be better than being left on her own. If it could help her protect Sophie, it was worth giving Mads a shot. Besides, she told herself sharply, he ran the company, so he probably didn’t do much of the actual legwork himself.
The elevator pinged and opened with a whoosh to reveal an office of large windows and pristine silver. The scattering of desks looked almost sterile, a stark contrast to the men who were hanging around them, talking amongst themselves. They all looked to be in pretty good shape, but only one had the build she had been anticipating. They all turned to the sound of the elevator, eyes quickly assessing her and Sophie, but attention undeniably upon Mads.
She couldn’t believe it when Mads actually clasped his hands loosely behind his back and slightly tilted his head to look at her. He looked like was an extra from Pride and Prejudice.
“Please understand, Ms. Jones. Normally, I would conduct the initial interview privately, but as time is a factor, I will have to insist that my team is present.”
Sophie tilted her head back to meet Rebecca’s eyes and whispered, “What?”
A loud burst of laughter cracked from the crowd, and the large man she had noticed earlier separated himself from the group and hurried closer. Next to him, Mads look small, both in height and width. The man also had a more rugged look to him. His jaw was covered with a short, thick, black beard, his skin was tawny, and a thin, pale scar severed his left eyebrow in two.
He crouched down, somehow managing to fold his impressive bulk until he was almost eye to eye with Sophie. A boyish grin turned him from an intimidating man into an overgrown child.
“He talks weird, don’t he?”
Sophie scrunched up her face. “What’s with your beard?”
“What’s with your face?” he shot back with the same childish indignation.
“Dwayne.” A far shorter man with a soft British accent gave a longsuffering sigh but never left the tables. “Don’t insult children.”
“She started it.”
Mads cleared his throat to regain Rebecca’s attention. “My apologies. He’s actually very good at his job.”
“I’m sure he is.”
Keeping one hand behind his back, Mads lifted the other to indicate a door not too far down a short hallway to the left of the elevators.
“I would like to start the interview now, if that is agreeable with you. Will it be necessary for Sophie to be p
resent? If not, Dwayne has a few video games that he could occupy her with.”
“If you don’t mind gratuitous violence against zombies.” Dwayne grinned at Sophie’s immediate cheers.
She turned around, balled her little hands into Rebecca’s jacket, and begged to be allowed to go. Caught up in the moment, Dwayne joined in, mimicking the young girl’s words. Rebecca looked to Mads and he nodded.
“She is safe here, I assure you.”
The second she gave her approval, the two were racing to one of the desks at the back of the room. It only took a few seconds for the sounds of gunfire and groans to fill the air. Every now and then, Sophie would gleefully shriek about how gross something was, and Dwayne would try to subtly push her chair away from the controls.
“That’s cheating!” Sophie snapped when she had to stop playing long enough to pull her chair back.
“There are no rules in the apocalypse,” Dwayne instantly snapped back.
“I believe they’re both sufficiently distracted,” Mads said. “Shall we?”
Mads gracefully moved to the side and opened the door he had indicated earlier. Most of the space in the room was taken up by a long, beautifully decorated mahogany desk. Rich leather chairs were carefully placed around it, and paintings lined the walls in elaborate frames. One glance was all it took to know that Mads had been the decorator. The room gave the same impression as the man: welcoming, refined, but oddly distant. He took the chair at the far end of the table and motioned for her to sit next to him.
Even the buttery soft leather wasn’t enough to ease the twist in Rebecca’s gut as the men silently entered the room behind her. This whole situation with Sophie had put her on edge. She was a lot more aware of the people around her than she had ever been. And more suspicious, too. Through the open door, she could still hear Sophie giggle, and it helped her relax a little.
The three men took their positions without question or debate. The British man she had noticed earlier – the one with Indian heritage that turned his hair into a mass of tight ringlets – sat down opposite her. He dressed like a sitcom dad and seemed practiced at making people feel comfortable with just a look or a smile.
Beside her sat a man that looked to be the living embodiment of Prince Charming from every fairy-tale ever. His golden hair was even long and feathery enough to sway with his every movement. It took her a moment to notice the last man.