Chaos Remains: Greenstone Security #4

by Malcom, Anne

Nods.

  “Right, get back to your families, get to your jobs. I need to hug my fuckin’ kids after this,” he announced.

  Everyone got up.

  “Lance.”

  He knew it was coming even as he turned.

  Rosie winked at him.

  He sighed and sat down in his previous seat and the door closed behind the rest of the team.

  He waited for Keltan to speak.

  “This case, it’s different for you.”

  Not a question.

  Therefore Lance wasn’t socially obligated to respond.

  So he didn’t.

  Keltan wasn’t put off. “The woman, she’s different for you.”

  Again, not a question.

  Again, no answer.

  Keltan grinned, shaking his head with a knowing glint to his eye. “Fuck, it seems the men here never get it boring when it comes to this shit,” he muttered. Then he turned serious. “She’s got a kid.”

  Lance made a sound at the back of his throat. “Think I missed that part?”

  Keltan didn’t acknowledge this. “She’s got a kid, a good one. She’s a good woman that’s gone through a lot of shit, and even though I’m hoping it’s over, I’m thinking it’s not if you’re in the mix.” He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t fuck her around. Not a single mom who still has fresh bruises from the husband that beat her and kidnapped her kid.”

  Lance bristled, his blood simmered uncomfortably. He wasn’t used to the sensation. Everything he did was in cold blood. Therefore controlled.

  But since yesterday everything in him was reactive, the control he’d considered second nature was more difficult than anything.

  “I’m not fucking with shit,” he gritted out. “I’m doin’ my job.”

  Keltan raised his eyebrow, challenging him, as if he knew something Lance didn’t. As if he knew what this woman was doing to him.

  He guessed he had an idea since he was perceptive as shit and it was obvious as fuck that Lance was not acting normal.

  He gritted his teeth but didn’t speak.

  Keltan waited a beat, eyes still hard with his warning, but Lance could tell the fucker seemed amused at this whole situation.

  He clenched his fists and reminded himself that he was not prone to random acts of violence. Especially against his boss. And friend.

  “You gotta promise me you won’t touch Hudson,” Keltan said finally, all amusement wiped.

  Fuck.

  He pursed his lips. Lance never lied, and he never made promises he knew he couldn’t keep.

  Keltan sighed. “I’m serious, brother. I know you. And I know the look you get when you’re plannin’ on digging another grave. I get it. Fuck, thinking about my kids, thinking about that woman, seeing her face all bruised up.” Keltan clenched his fists. “It’s not comin’ easy to me to stay out of this guy’s life. It really fucking isn’t. And I know Rosie is the same. I can’t guarantee she isn’t planning on planting a fucking bomb in his house. But we made a promise to the client. She has her wishes. Beyond that, he’s the son of a fucking senator. A shady one, but that’s not surprising. So we need to tread carefully. Not because I’m afraid of the blowback on the business, we can handle anything. We’ve had worse people gunning for us. But Elena, she can’t handle that shit. I’ve got a feeling that senator even gets a whiff that she’s had any connection with his son’s death, he’ll ruin her fucking life. In ways we can’t protect her from.”

  Lance wouldn’t let that happen. “We kill him too then.”

  The solution was simple.

  Keltan leaned back in his chair, eyes wide. “Jesus Christ, Lance. He’s a fucking senator.”

  Lance didn’t reply. He was aware of his position and that meant exactly shit to him.

  “We’re not goin’ round killing people. We gotta do this smart. If not for our sakes, then for Elena’s.”

  Keltan hit his mark and he knew it.

  “Now go see her and that kid home,” Keltan said.

  Chapter Five

  Elena

  Lance had seen us to my car, stared at it with a stiff jaw as we got in and then informed me that he’d be following us home and taking the first watch.

  His sentence had not been as articulate as that, but I figured the rest out.

  I wanted to ask a lot of questions about this. About the logistics of such a thing, but my five-year-old was tired and hungry and needed to go home.

  I needed to go home, I was dead on my feet.

  Which Lance obviously noticed because he put his hand to the driver’s door to stop me opening it after I’d strapped Nathan in his seat in the back.

  I stared at the corded and muscled arm, it was one of the most attractive arms I’d ever seen up close. Sure, Robert worked out, but it was hard to appreciate muscles used to beat the shit out of you.

  I didn’t doubt that Lance beat the shit out of someone, but I had the distorted certainty that it was people who deserved it and certainly not women.

  I had a sense about the man.

  Beyond that, Keltan would not employ a man who hurt women.

  “You good to drive?” he clipped.

  I blinked, looking up at his empty eyes. I wished that one day someone would fill them. It was a strange wish to have for a practical stranger—albeit a hot one—but it was sincere to my bones. I guessed it wasn’t strange to wish the man who helped bring my son back to me be rewarded with something to light up his life.

  I got the feeling it was pretty dark.

  “Good to drive?” I repeated.

  He nodded once. “You haven’t got shit for sleep in twenty-four hours. Barely eaten.” He looked to the back seat. “You even think you’re not good, you tell me now. Not havin’ you take risks.”

  It was the most words I’d heard him say since I’d met him.

  And from what I understood, they were words of concern for the safety of my son and myself. Not spoken kindly, but the meaning behind them was.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat.

  “I’m good to drive,” I said with confidence. “I think I’m still on adrenaline or something, because I feel tired emotionally, but not physically.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “I wouldn’t just say this to be independent or whatever. If I wasn’t good to drive, I’d frickin’ say so. I wouldn’t drive in the first place.”

  He inspected me. Like he was rooting around inside my head, throwing out junk he didn’t find useful and looking for the good stuff. It was violating. That stare. Uncomfortable. Addictive.

  His eyes cleared and he nodded again, seeming to find what he wanted.

  He opened the door for me.

  Robotically, I got in, throwing my purse on the passenger seat. It was then I realized that a pair of panties were hanging off the edge. I’d stuffed my dirty clothes in there earlier, complete with the panties because Polly had made sure to include them.

  And now, my bright red donut panties that were not a lace G-string were poking out the top of the bag that had been on my shoulder the entire time Lance was standing right in front of me.

  Heat bloomed in my cheeks and I gripped the steering wheel, willing him to walk away so I could comfortably die of mortification.

  He didn’t.

  He stayed, keeping the door open with his arm. No way could I fight him trying to get it closed.

  I didn’t speak.

  Neither did he.

  His eyes did not move to the passenger seat. Maybe he didn’t see the panties. No, this was not a man who missed anything. I was pretty sure his job required him to notice everything. Not just his job. Something inside him, the intensity of his presence told me that he needed to control his environment and in order to do that he had to know everything that existed in his environment. Including my dirty, totally unsexy granny panties hanging outside of my cheap and worn purse.

  Nathan was having a conversation with Feebo in the back. He had no idea what kind of emotional and physical mortification his mother was going throug
h.

  What did I do here? Did I swallow the shame and act like I meant to have my panties hanging out for the world to see? Ignore it all completely? Slyly move over and tuck them back in? But that option wouldn’t work with Lance’s glare gluing me to my frickin’ seat.

  “I like donuts, okay? And the cotton is more comfortable than lace. Practical too,” I blurted out, unsure of what kind of sickness I had but pretty sure that I needed to be medicated for just saying what I said to possibly one of the hottest men to walk the earth.

  I wanted to sink into my car seat and never emerge.

  “Are we getting donuts for dinner?” Nathan said from the back. “Because I want one with sprinkles. Like that one.”

  I didn’t need to turn in my seat to know his chubby little hand was pointing at the large donut with sprinkles that took up the ass of my panties.

  Someone fucking save me.

  “Can I get a sprinkles donut and a chocolate one, Mom?” Nathan continued, unaware that he was contributing to possibly one of the most mortifying moments in my life.

  I made a mental note to punish him for it later in life, kiss him straight on the mouth on his first day of high school or something like that.

  I didn’t dare look at Lance. “Sure, we can have donuts for dinner,” I said, deciding to roll with it and give my five-year-old all that refined sugar before bed. Partly because I was willing to forgo my strict no sugar on weekdays routine to get the fuck out of this situation but mostly because at this point, I was ready to say yes to anything my little boy asked me.

  “Do you want to have donuts with us for dinner, Captain?” Nathan asked Lance.

  I still didn’t look at him. “Lance does not get muscles like that eating donuts, honeybun,” I said, not even knowing what it meant until after I’d vomited the words out.

  Oh my god, now he knew I noticed his muscles.

  But that wasn’t bad, it’s not really something you missed about the man.

  “Okay, well, I don’t want donuts either,” Nathan decided.

  I turned and gaped at my son, because him deciding, on his own, that he didn’t want sugary treats for dinner on a Thursday was enough to shock me out of whatever shame-filled paralysis I’d been experiencing.

  “Just like that, you don’t want donuts?” I said.

  He nodded very seriously. His eyes went behind me. “Because I want to be big and muscly like a superhero and donuts are just stupid if they aren’t what superheroes eat.”

  Oh sweet Lord.

  “What do you eat for dinner, Captain?” Nathan asked.

  I turned back in my seat. There was silence for a beat, and Nathan was waiting expectantly for Lance to give him a detailed rundown of his nutrition. I didn’t think this inarticulate hot guy was going to do so and I didn’t want to let my son down. I also saw this as my chance.

  “He likely eats a lot of vegetables, green ones, like broccoli, spinach, carrots and yummy things like lentils, chickpeas and things full of protein and nutrients,” I answered for Lance to help my efforts at dinnertime and to save my son from being hurt when his new hero treated him with the same loaded silence I was.

  For my son’s sake, I braved a lot at Lance, giving him a look. “Right?”

  He waited a beat, holding my gaze hostage before moving his eyes to Nathan. “Right.”

  The single word was enough for Nathan, and he beamed. “Let’s go to the pro-teen and nutree-ant store then, Mom,” Nathan decided, stumbling on the words he hadn’t heard before.

  I grinned.

  “Okay, buddy, we’re going,” I replied, then I looked back to Lance pointedly trying to communicate with my face he was the one stopping me from leaving due to his entire muscled form in my door.

  “Seatbelt,” he grunted.

  I jerked in surprise.

  I was always one to wear a seatbelt, of course. If we crashed, no way did I want to go flying through the window, leaving Nathan. And kids learned by example, always.

  I had planned on putting it on, once Lance had left my presence and I regained normal brain function.

  But it seemed that Lance was not going to leave the vicinity until I buckled up.

  I did so, fumbling with the buckle three times.

  Because of course I had to finish this encounter with more mortification and awkwardness.

  Once I was buckled, Lance was satisfied. “Wait here ‘til I get my bike. I’ll follow you.”

  I raised my brow. “Bike?” I repeated.

  He nodded once.

  My ovaries were toast. The man rode a motorcycle.

  I hated the things because of the horror stories I’d heard about crashes, I’d already told Nathan that motorcycles secretly made your pee pee fall off and that was why he could never own one or ride on one.

  But the thought of Lance’s thighs straddling a motorcycle, watching the man ride it... yeah that was hot as balls.

  Luckily, I managed to keep those thoughts to myself and just waited for him to close the door.

  Still, he didn’t. This was torture. Was I being punished for something? And my child, who was usually the best way out of a boring situation, was annoyingly patient right now.

  “Need your affirmative,” Lance clipped.

  “My affirmative?” I repeated.

  Great, I’d gone from talking about my underwear and his muscles to just repeating everything he said.

  Granted, I wasn’t fluent in badass speak. Pig Latin, yes. My son’s imaginary language he created before he spoke real words, totally. But hot guy speak? Nope.

  “That you’ll sit your ass in this car, doors locked, wait for me, then leave,” he expanded, sounding seriously pissed at my lack of fluency in his language.

  “Oh, ten four rubber ducky,” I replied, doing a little salute.

  Kill. Me. Now.

  Something ticked in his jaw, probably utter annoyance that he was stuck with a woman who seemed like she was experiencing some kind of brain injury that made her act like a total dork.

  He held onto my eyes and my sanity for a moment longer before he stepped back and closed the door.

  I exhaled.

  But he was still standing there, waiting for something.

  Oh, the locks.

  Only when I did lock them did he walk away.

  * * *

  “I got him,” a voice said from behind me.

  I jumped because although I’d heard, seen and drooled over him pulling up behind me in my driveway, illuminated by the streetlights, I didn’t expect him to be right behind me, close enough for his breath to tickle my neck.

  I hadn’t expected him to move from the bike. He didn’t seem like he enjoyed my company and since my son was unconscious, it was just me.

  He was meant to be ‘surveillance’. I didn’t know what the heck that meant, I’d watched cop shows. Wasn’t that just sitting in an Escalade eating snacks?

  But he didn’t have an Escalade, he had a Harley and no way a man who looked like that binged on any kind of processed snacks.

  Or maybe he did, he could just have a monster metabolism.

  So that’s what I did, sat in my driveway thinking about what Lance snacked on while staring at him sitting on the bike. That was until I realized exactly what I was doing and the fact that Lance was watching me and likely wondering what in the fresh hell I was doing sitting here staring while my son was in the back, head in that unnatural and uncomfortable looking position all kids adopted when they fell asleep in cars.

  That’s when I jumped out of the car, scolding myself for making my son sleep with his chin touching his chest, possibly damaging his little neck and sitting in a cheap car seat while I perved at a man I had no chance with and no business perving at.

  And somewhere in my journey around the car where I forced myself not to look in his direction, he’d managed to get off his bike, walk up my driveway and stand behind me just before I was about to lift Nathan and take him inside.

  I turned, taking in Lance cover
ed in shadows. He was wearing a leather jacket.

  I was not allowed to notice or think about how frickin’ hot he looked in that leather jacket.

  “You don’t have to,” I said, my voice lowered only slightly because Nathan could sleep through a small pipe bomb going off. “I’m used to it.”

  “Didn’t ask if you were used to it, said I got him.”

  The words were harsh, just like his profile. His presence.

  Was I really gonna let a guy that spoke with that harshness, embody that harshness, carry my son in his arms into my frickin’ house?

  I stepped aside.

  Apparently I was.

  I was officially a terrible fucking mother.

  But my heart melted at the tender and gentle way he picked up my son, somehow natural.

  With a tight throat, I closed the door for him, starting to dig for my house keys from my purse and walked toward the house.

  * * *

  “Do you want coffee? Tea? Water? Grape Kool-Aid? I’m sorry, I don’t have beer, or bourbon, or whisky, or any kind of tough guy drink. Or any alcohol at all, really,” I babbled, not quite sure to do with myself standing awkwardly in the middle of my living room with the hottest guy to ever exist standing right in front of me.

  I wished I had alcohol in the house. I needed it. But I couldn’t even afford the cheap wine for another two days. Whoever said that they didn’t drink being a single mother was a liar or a frickin’ saint.

  I needed something to dull the edges, and the cheapest red at the supermarket didn’t exactly go down smooth but it worked well enough.

  Karen and Eliza were always ‘accidentally’ buying my favorite red when they only drank white.

  It embarrassed me, but I also accepted it. Because I wasn’t going to let the wine go to waste and I knew that Karen and Eliza had good hearts and wanted to help.

  Lance just shook his head to my offer.

  Shit.

  “What about a snack?” I offered, immediately regretting it thinking of the lack of anything that would be acceptable in my pantry to serve to an Adonis. “I mean, I mostly have kid stuff, but I can make you peanut butter crackers. Nathan loves them. His friends do too. Not that I’m saying that you’re anything like a bunch of five-year-old boys but everyone likes peanut butter, right? It’s protein.”