Latvis Security Services

by Lexie Ray

  The interior decor perfectly matched Mads’ office. It was all antique furniture, expensive looking artwork, and rich reds and golds. He led Willow past an impressive-looking staircase and into one of the back rooms.

  “Wow. I’ve never known someone who actually had a study.”

  The room’s ceiling opened up to the next floor with a spiraling staircase connecting the two. Books lined the top floor, while the bottom was fitted with a large desk and two chairs placed before a massive fireplace.

  Mads crossed the room and settled into one of the chairs, watching Willow as she inspected the room. Small, identical frames circled the walls, lit with individual bulbs that made them look like museum exhibits. As she studied them more closely, she found that each frame contained a single, dried flower.

  “These are from the bouquets you buy your clients, right? The ones you give them when you close the case?” she asked as she marveled at the sheer number.

  “I always keep one.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “There are many things we have yet to learn about each other,” he mused.

  She turned from the wall to find him watching her. There wasn’t a shred of frustration or annoyance in his features. He simply sat there, patient and observant, waiting for her to gather her strength and to approach whatever had brought her barging into his home in the middle of his party.

  “You don’t seem too surprised that I know where you live.”

  “I assumed you just asked Jai.”

  “Why Jai?”

  Her nerves kept her from just heading straight to the spare seat. She angled her steps along the wall, taking the longest path possible.

  “Daren is too paranoid to give out that kind of information. Jamie would have given me a courtesy call. And Dwayne actively works to remain ignorant of everyone’s home address. He insists that it makes us more interesting.”

  Willow had taken her time, but she arrived at the free chair all too soon. She placed her hand on the high back and leaned against it, her fingers squeezing the material.

  “So.” She searched for something to say. “Elizabeth seems nice.”

  “I don’t know how you came to that conclusion,” Mads said with a hint of a smile.

  “That’s not a very nice thing to say about a friend.”

  “Elizabeth and I run in the same social circles. If I hadn’t invited her, word would have gotten back around eventually. Having her here was less troublesome than dealing with the social fallout.”

  “Is this something you do often? Dinner parties, I mean.”

  “When the mood strikes me.”

  She drummed her hands against the chair. “You never talk about it.”

  “It seems impolite to talk about something that would bore the people around me.”

  “Don’t you need to get back?”

  “They can survive without me. The cellist will fill any awkward silences.”

  “You hired a cellist?” she laughed.

  “It sounds better live.”

  “Of course, it does.” Rounding the side of the chair, she sat down. “Your game must be fun with people who actually know the songs. Who’s winning? Do you socially shame them if they get it wrong? Is it brutal?”

  The game, as he had once described it to Willow, was simple enough. His parents would play a musical piece and deliberately change a note or two. It was his job to pinpoint the mistake. He always spoke of it with such warmth and, no matter how many times Willow lost, he still tried to get her to play another round.

  Mads smoothed a hand over his pants. “You’re the only one that I’ve shared that with.”

  Willow was silent for a moment. “Really? Why?”

  He was quiet as his gaze drifted down to a point just above his knee. “Time isn’t forgiving to memories. I had years with my parents before they were gone. I have taken care to preserve each memory of them as best as I could, but it has proven impossible to keep the finer details from slipping away. The memories of playing that silly game with them are a few of the clearest ones I have left. As such, I’ve grown rather protective of them.”

  “You shared it with me.”

  “Yes, I did.” He blinked, as if coming back to himself, and turned to look at her. “I hardly think you came all this way to talk about my parents.”

  It was hard to keep the urge to flinch at bay. She hadn’t meant to poke at old wounds. They had known each other for years before she had even learned that he was an orphan. She still didn’t know any of the details and, while curiosity gnawed at her, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to ask any further questions. If there was anything she truly knew about Mads, it was that he would remain a mystery until he decided otherwise.

  “Can I take this to mean that you are willing to discuss what has been bothering you of late?” Mads broke the silence.

  “In part.”

  He rose his eyebrows in question.

  “It’s personal.”

  “I can keep a secret.” He smiled.

  Pulling her hands through her wavy hair, Willow slumped into her seat.

  “An old boyfriend is trying to get back in touch with me.”

  “And this is unfavorable?” Mads asked.

  As much as he tried to hide it, she noticed how his interest piqued, his attention becoming sharp.

  “Unfavorable but manageable.”

  “But you are still concerned?”

  “The relationship didn’t exactly bring out the best in me,” Willow confessed. “Have you ever had an intense relationship? One that you kind of lost yourself in?”

  “Not in a romantic sense. But I have experienced a certain level of obsession.”

  “Well, that’s what our relationship was like. I didn’t like who I was with him, but I couldn’t pull myself away.”

  “How did the relationship end?”

  “A friend intervened.”

  Mads crossed his legs. His body shifted, perhaps unknowingly, in clear demonstration of his increasing focus.

  “Are you approaching me to fulfill a similar role?”

  “Yes. No.” She laughed and melted back against the chair. “I don’t know anymore. Now that I’m saying this all out loud, I sound paranoid and pathetic.”

  “I assure you that you sound neither,” Mads said.

  She contemplated the photographs in her bag and heaved a sigh. Receiving the mail at home had thrown her off. The shock had been enough to make her forget that she had checked with the prison already. He was still safely stuck within his cell.

  “You know what? I’m just going to head out.”

  “Willow,” Mads said.

  “I’m okay. Just saying it all out loud has helped. Maybe I just needed someone to know.”

  She got to her feet, and Mads followed suit.

  “Can I tempt you to stay? There is more than enough food.”

  Glancing down at her soil-stained jeans and T-shirt, she smiled. “I’m a little underdressed.”

  “Your personality will more than make up for your lack of fashion.”

  “That’s actually quite sweet.”

  Mads held her gaze without a hint of embarrassment. Time seemed to slow as the realization entered her mind. She didn’t want to go. But a sharp knock on the door shattered the moment, bringing Willow back to her senses and to an awareness of what she would lose if any of her past came out.

  Elizabeth opened the door just as Willow realized that she could barely breathe. She rushed out of the door and down the hallway, ignoring Mads as he called for her.

  Chapter Four

  Andrea pushed herself up onto her toes to look through her front door’s peephole. She let out a long sigh even as she bit back a smile.

  “What are you doing here, Dwayne?”

  She watched as Dwayne perked up at the sound of her voice. Even though he couldn’t see her, he began to wave happily at the door.

  “Hey, girl,” he grinned and, while still waving, held up a white t
akeout bag. “I thought we could have dinner.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  He pouted. “You’re not hungry?”

  Dropping down to her feet, she bit back a smile and opened the door. Dwayne grinned at her and shoved the bag of food into the gap.

  “I brought burritos. Do you like burritos? I can go get something else.”

  “Burritos are fine.”

  “Great. Can I come in? I don’t mind eating in the hall, but your neighbor has been giving me a weird look since I got here. Yes, Ms. Robinson, I mean you.”

  Andrea reached through the doorway, grabbed a handful of his shirt, and yanked him into her apartment. He made a show of stumbling in like she had actually caught him off guard.

  “How do you know my neighbor’s name?”

  She closed the door and watched as Dwayne look owlishly around.

  “I like your place. It’s a good mix between contemporary and general mess.”

  Andrea crossed her arms over her chest. “I may have let a few of the household chores slide. I’ve been organizing a show.”

  “I’m not complaining. Really clean places make me worry that a drill sergeant is lurking about somewhere.” He met her gaze with wide eyes. “There isn’t, is there?”

  She rose her eyebrows. “Is there a drill sergeant in my apartment?”

  “Yeah?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, good.” He shrugged his shoulders with relief.

  “My neighbor?” she prompted.

  “Right. That. We have to do background checks on our clients. You will not believe how many people forget to mention kinda important stuff.”

  “Okay,” she said slowly. “Still strikes me as a little creepy, but we’ll move along. What are you doing here?”

  “I brought dinner.” With a large grin, he dangled the bag in front of him.

  “I got that part. But I thought we established that you weren’t going to hit on me anymore.”

  “Who’s hitting on you?”

  “You are right now. Right at this moment.”

  “Am not,” he shot back.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. If you feel attracted to me, that’s your own fault. Your own completely understandable – and honestly, inevitable – fault.”

  He leaped over the back of her couch and bounced on the cushions. It was astonishing that the furniture didn’t break. Glancing over his shoulder, he patted the couch next to him.

  “The food’s getting cold.”

  Despite herself, Andrea rounded the couch, her arms still locked over her chest. She jolted with surprise. He had produced a file from God-only-knew-where and had already spread the contents out on the coffee table. It only took Andrea a second to realize that he had a photograph of everyone connected to the show. Not just her models, but also the stage personnel, makeup artists, and even the general guest list.

  “Okay.” He clapped his hands together. “All I know about modeling I learned from an ex and reruns of America’s Next Top Model. So, teach me. Who are these people, and what the hell do they do?”

  “You actually came over here to work?”

  “Do I detect a hint of disappointment?”

  She rolled her eyes. “No.”

  “Oh. Well, now I’m disappointed. Bummer. Burrito, ease my pain.” He dug into the paper bag and pulled out the foil-wrapped food. Peeling off a strip, he took a bite and lifted a random photograph. “Who’s he?”

  “That’s Mark. He works in lighting, I think.”

  Dwayne swallowed. “And he lights…”

  “The catwalk.”

  “I was just about to say that,” he said. “You really shouldn’t interrupt people.”

  A laugh escaped Andrea before she could stop herself. Shaking her head, she sat down next to him and grudgingly took the burrito he offered. She waited for him to make a move, like sliding closer or putting an arm over the back of the couch, but his attention remained focused on the photographs.

  Holding the burrito in his mouth, he held up two pictures at once. It was hard to keep from smiling as she told him about the two people whose pictures he had selected. She freed her own burrito from the wrapper and took a bite – ground beef with extra guacamole. For a passing moment, she wondered if she should ask how Dwayne had known her favorite, but then he asked a few more questions and she forgot.

  It was easy to fall into a rhythm of question and answer. She had worked with the same group of people for a few years now and knew most of them pretty well. Or at least enough to know their jobs.

  It almost evolved into a game, and she found herself telling Dwayne more personal opinions than keeping strictly to names and occupations. She pulled her legs up onto the couch and leaned back against its cushions. Every now and then, he would take a break to flirt with her, and it was getting harder not to flirt back.

  Dwayne’s eyes lit up as he lifted the paper bag again. “I brought marshmallows.”

  “You’re confusingly proud of that.”

  “If you have coffee, we will have deliciousness.”

  “You put marshmallows in coffee?”

  “Only when I don’t have candy corn.”

  Andrea cocked her head to the side. “How do you have your body?”

  “I was born like this.”

  “You were born with a six pack?”

  “The nurses were super impressed.” He grinned as he jumped over the back of the couch and bounded into the kitchen.

  “Do you have a phobia of walking around things?” she snapped.

  “That’s a real thing, and you shouldn’t shame me for it,” he bellowed back.

  She sat back for a moment until she realized that Dwayne was unsupervised in her kitchen. It just didn’t seem like a good situation. Scrambling up, she darted into the kitchen to find him rifling through her cupboards. Already, the kitchen was a complete mess. Each jar was open, and flour had spilled out over the counter.

  “What did you do?”

  “No irreversible damage, that’s for sure.” A smile grew across his face as she narrowed her eyes on him. “I’ll replace it.”

  “What’s it?”

  “Nothing.”

  Before she could ask for clarification, Dwayne found the coffee. Humming happily, he started the machine and went in search of mugs. She got them out before he could do any more damage.

  “So, how did you get into this line of work anyway?” Dwayne asked. “Were you just like, ‘hey fashion’s cool, and I’m cool. Let’s put these two things together?’”

  “You think fashion is cool?”

  He swept his hand out to indicate his outfit, which looked to be a layered mix of old jeans, frayed shirts, and a hoodie.

  “Obviously.”

  “You’re not exactly trending,” she smiled.

  He gasped loudly. “I am very trendy. The style I was going for was guy-too-cheap-to-buy-an-outfit.”

  “In that case, you’re nailing it.”

  “Thank you,” he smiled. “But, again, I ask, why fashion designer?”

  “I like being creative, and clothes are fun,” she shrugged. “It’s just always been my passion.”

  Dwayne grinned at her while the coffee finished brewing. With far more attention than was probably needed, he began to fix the coffee. While her instincts told her that this would probably be a horrible concoction, she had to admit that it smelled pretty good.

  “What about you?” Andrea asked.

  “Huh?”

  “How did you get into this line of work? I’m not even sure what to call what you do.”

  “It’s an awesome story. Mads came up to me and offered me a job where I could travel the world, rescue people, and beat up bad guys. I’m living the dream.”

  “What were you doing before this?”

  “Air Force.”

  “You had a job where you had to follow orders?” she asked with a disbelieving smile.

  “Hey, I still do. I happen to be very good
at following orders. On occasion. When I’m in the mood. And Jupiter is ascending. And there is some other stuff about celestial bodies, but I won’t bother you with all the details.”

  He held out a mug to her, and she took her first tentative sip. She didn’t fight her grin.

  “This actually tastes pretty good.”

  “Of course, it does. I made it.”

  He jumped up onto the counter and began to swing his legs, his heels thudding against the cupboard doors. He cupped the mug with both hands, making it look tiny by comparison. Gingerly, he blew on the steaming liquid.

  The soft movement was enough to make his muscles bulge, and Andrea noticed again just how big he was. Each muscle was perfectly formed and looked to be chiseled out of marble. They rippled with his every movement, giving him a grace that a man his size shouldn’t have had.

  She studied his face. While he kept his clothes in disorder, his beard was neatly trimmed and his hair was soft. Even while calm, his eyes were alert, and she had a feeling that he was aware of a lot more than he was letting on.

  “You’re actually quite attractive,” she said.

  “And you have a fantastic butt,” he replied instantly. “What are we doing?”

  “I was assessing you as a model for the job you’re about to undertake.”

  “That makes what I said sound pretty inappropriate,” Dwayne said before taking another sip.

  “Would it be okay if I shaved you?”

  “Do you mean if I shaved, or if you straddle me and sit with your perfect butt on my thighs, your face inches from mine, and shave me yourself? Because I like one of those options a lot more than the other.”

  “I can tell.”

  “Aw. You get me.”

  “You weren’t subtle,” she said. “And I meant for the show. Changing everything for your measurements is one thing, but accommodating the beard is another.”

  “I’m willing to dye it.”

  “Are you willing to shave it?”

  “I don’t think you’ll like that.” He spoke to the mug, his nearly constant smile fading into a deep frown. “I’ve got a few scars under there. Got a little too close to some fire.”