by Sidney Bell
Bad Judgment
By Sidney Bell
Embry Ford was a quiet, ordinary guy—until tragedy ripped his life apart. Now he’s living under the radar, desperate to hide his identity and determined to learn the truth behind what happened. Even if that means working for—and bedding—a man he loathes.
As a bodyguard to a shadowy arms dealer, Brogan Smith knows distractions can kill as easily as a bullet. But when he sets his eyes on his client’s sexy assistant, he can’t get him out of his mind. Even more unnerving: the closer he gets to Embry, the more Brogan starts to suspect he might be protecting the wrong man.
Embry was sure nothing but vengeance would satisfy him—until Brogan offers him something far more tempting. Now Embry must choose: punish the people who nearly destroyed him or fight for a future with the man who has become his entire world.
This book is approximately 115,000 words
Dear Reader,
I write these letters months in advance, so when reading this, you’re thinking about September weather, but while writing it, I’m still trying to survive May’s downpour. That means that sometimes I miss the opportunity to tell you about the cool things we’re doing until months later.
The Carina Press Romance Promise is one of those things. Implemented this past June, the promise is simple—we’re promising an HEA or HFN on our books tagged with the Carina Press Romance Promise in the book’s description. While we firmly believe in the necessity of a romance ending in an HEA, we also realize that in today’s publishing world, others may sometimes call a book a romance, but then the ending might not always deliver on the most important of romance reader expectations. So the Carina Press Romance Promise doesn’t mean we’re doing anything different with our romance, just that we’re reaffirming our commitment to you, the reader, to deliver an HEA or HFN in our romance books. Visit our website if you’re curious to find out more about this promise.
This month, we have a variety of romance to kick off your fall, including one debut contemporary romance author with two back-to-back releases. Take one young fallen starlet, add one older Sexiest Man Alive costar and you have the makings of a Hollywood Hot Mess by Evie Claire. And since we know how agonizing the wait for book two in a duology can be, the very next week we’re giving you the second part of Carly and Devon’s story, where they’ll have to overcome ruthless Hollywood execs, a blackmailing show-mance fiancée and merciless tabloids in what could be a Total Trainwreck before they get to their happily-ever-after.
Historical romance author Amanda Weaver brings another Grantham Girls tale this month with A Reluctant Betrothal. Grace’s last chance at a respectable marriage is about to be thwarted by her betrothed’s best friend, and as she fights for her engagement, she finds herself falling in love with the wrong man. Don’t miss the other books in this series, A Duchess in Name and A Common Scandal.
This September, we have three fantastic male/male contemporary romances to share, including one debut author! Annabeth Albert introduced you to the #gaymers in Status Update and Beta Test. This month she wraps up the trilogy with Connection Error. When a snowstorm strands a video game designer and an injured navy SEAL together at an unfamiliar airport, the two bond while playing games, but when the heat between the pair starts rising, they must work to decide if there’s a future together or if it’s game over on this fling.
Can childhood best friends Marc and Anthony make a real relationship work after eight life-altering years apart? Find out in Say It Right, from fan-favorite male/male romance author A.M. Arthur.
And introducing debut author Sidney Bell with her absolutely fantastic male/male romantic suspense novel, Bad Judgment, in which bodyguard Brogan Smith is drawn into a maze of murder and illegal guns when he falls for his dangerous new client’s gorgeous, secretive boyfriend.
That wraps up September but don’t forget we have a significant backlist of more than 1,000 titles across romance, mystery, science fiction and fantasy to help carry you through the chilly fall nights! Check out some you may have missed, including contemporary romances Chain of Command by HelenKay Dimon and Second Position by Katherine Locke, historical romance The Fighter and the Fallen Woman by Pamela Cayne, erotic romance One Cut Deeper by Joely Sue Burkhart and romantic suspense Blamed by Edie Harris.
As always, until next month, my fellow book lovers, here’s wishing you a wonderful month of books you love, remember and recommend.
Happy reading!
Angela James
Editorial Director, Carina Press
Dedication
For my husband, who didn’t hesitate for even a heartbeat when I said I’d like to work on a book instead of getting a new job. Your willingness to be really poor means a lot. As does the way I found you lurking outside of the office, trying to listen in, when I got “the call.” None of this would’ve happened without you.
Contents
Part One: Brogan
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
Part Two: Embry
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Part Three: Brogan
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Epilogue
A sneak peek of Sidney Bell’s new series
Acknowledgments
Also by Sidney Bell
About the Author
Part One: Brogan
Chapter One
“There are men you wouldn’t mind dying for, Brogan,” Timmerson said, his gaze distant, as if he were daydreaming about one of the good presidents. Lincoln, maybe. “Then there are men like Joel Henniton.”
Brogan Smith sighed. He’d been working for Security Division for three years now and this was the first time he’d heard his boss—polite, reserved Pete Timmerson—willing to bad-mouth a client.
“By that you mean...”
Timmerson reluctantly admitted, “He’s a dick.”
“And I’ve worked with dicks before,” Brogan said, resigning himself to another detail of annoying client behavior. Then he realized exactly what he’d said and added, “That’s not how I should have phrased that. Sorry.”
Timmerson’s lips twitched. He was tall and dark-skinned, with ears that stuck out and a low, soothing voice that he put to good use calming down people on the verge of violence. He could make joining the circus seem rational, which might be why Brogan kept showing up for work even though he spent most of his time following around assholes. Predictably, Timmerson was using that voice now.
“Joel Henniton is the COO here at Touring Industries.” Timmerson gestured to the room—and the building—at large. They were sittin
g in one of the tastefully appointed offices that Touring had set aside for Security Division’s temporary use—large windows, expensive mahogany furniture, fresh-cut roses in a glass vase resting on top of the low bookcase that housed thick tomes of classic literature that no one would ever read. Beyond the closed door, Brogan could hear the bustle of his colleagues in the big conference room they used as a base of operations.
Timmerson continued, “Henniton’s responsible for the day to day operation of the entire company, which manufactures armament. Mostly light arms for the military, until recently. Touring’s trying to grow their customer base, but they’re competing with defense contractors that’ve been around for decades and have way more money.”
“So they’re playing rough to catch up,” Brogan inferred, and Timmerson nodded.
“Henniton’s made some enemies in the process, and a few months ago, he received some death threats. That’s when Oriole Touring—the CEO—contacted me. Technically, the company is the client, but the threats target Henniton alone, so he’s the only one getting protection for now.”
“Sounds straightforward,” Brogan said, frowning. “On the surface, anyway.”
“The problem is that Henniton’s made very few concessions with his schedule and he refuses to call the cops.”
Brogan’s eyebrows flew up. “No cops? Oh, that’s not suspicious at all.”
“I’ve been told that they’re working on a project that’s vulnerable to industrial espionage and they’re unwilling to take the risk of leaks. We’re a precautionary measure only, and Touring Industries expects this situation to resolve itself as the project progresses.”
“I can’t decide if that’s naive or shady.”
Timmerson’s exhale seemed equally unsure. “Henniton’s given me next to no information, so I can’t even have my own investigators look into who’s behind the threats. Henniton hit the roof when he realized I was having the standard background research done into the employees here to find likely suspects, so that got nipped in the bud. He wants to be safe and he wants his secrecy, which is making my life hell, as you can probably imagine.”
“What about the CEO—Touring? He’s going along with this?” Brogan asked, shifting to sit up straight without thinking about it.
“So far. There’s been no violence and no signs that Henniton’s being followed, which leaves me without a leg to stand on. So right now we’re remaining vigilant while respecting his wishes. But that could change at any time, and I don’t expect that Henniton will handle the shift with any aplomb.”
“Ah. That’s where I come in,” Brogan said. “Okay.”
“I trust your judgment, Brogan.” Timmerson leaned forward, adding some heavy eye contact to his weighty tone of voice. Touring was a big client for Timmerson’s company—there was a lot of money at stake, in addition to the lives of the men and women on the detail. “I know you won’t let Henniton bully you into taking unnecessary risks. The fact that you won’t punch him in the face for trying is also a plus.”
Which explained why Brogan had been transferred from his post in Portland down to Salem.
The shift in location wasn’t an inconvenience—since Security Division had offices in both cities, Brogan had bought a house in Woodburn, roughly halfway in between. He liked Salem more, anyway.
That didn’t mean he was looking forward to the assignment. While the confidence his boss had in him was nice, Brogan couldn’t help thinking it might be time to start throwing some tantrums just to get an easy case for once.
Without any intention of doing so, Brogan had gotten a reputation for being drama-free and hard to rattle. A deserved reputation, if he was honest—after the way he’d been raised and six years of military service, petty concerns about clients rolling their eyes at him or who drank the last of the coffee seemed awfully...well, petty. However, that usually stuck Brogan with the nightmarish clients. His boss really needed a better reward system.
“If they want everything done their way,” Brogan asked, “why don’t they have us train their current security staff in personal protection techniques? I mean, I saw plenty of armed guys on the drive in, and they aren’t amateurs.”
“I suggested that. Mr. Touring repeated that this situation is temporary. He doesn’t feel it’s necessary for the company to develop a permanent protection department.”
“So...money.”
“Money,” Timmerson agreed.
“Makes sense, assuming he’s right about that whole ‘temporary’ thing.” Brogan lifted his eyebrows. “Is he right?”
“God, I hope so,” Timmerson said heavily. “Henniton’s only part of my headache. Ford’s...well, he’s his own brand of challenging.”
“Who?”
“Henniton’s executive assistant. I kind of like the guy, actually—he’s exacting, and he’s extremely good at his job. But Ford’s also very sharp-tongued and he doesn’t suffer fools. There have already been several altercations with Ark.”
Brogan made a face. George Ark was not his favorite coworker—the guy was eighty-percent ego, and a raving homophobe to boot. “What happened?”
Timmerson smirked—it wasn’t an expression Brogan had ever seen him make before. “Let’s just say Ford has a deft hand when it comes to criticism.”
“Made Ark see stars, did he?” Brogan asked, trying not to sound like he wished he could’ve been there to see it.
Timmerson would never talk shit about employees, but he couldn’t hide the twinkle in his eye as he said, “Ark will be taking over your old post in Portland.”
Timmerson rummaged through a drawer. “Look, Henniton’s going to treat you like furniture unless you annoy him. Ford, on the other hand, will notice every single thing you do. Neither one of them is easily appeased. Watch your step and don’t take anything personally.”
“Sure,” Brogan said, resigned. Laid-back or not, he suspected he’d be spending the next few months trying not to punch people. Hell of a way to kick off the new year.
“I’ve got you scheduled as backup escort for this first week so you can get used to everything without having to take lead. You’ll be shadowing Mario today, but this afternoon I want you to familiarize yourself with the layouts of both of Henniton’s properties.”
Timmerson handed Brogan a ring of keys and a thick sheaf of paper held together with a large binder clip. “Client packet. It’s got the usual—addresses, floor plans, and what little info on Henniton’s staff, family, friends, competitors and suspects I was able to scrape together before he shut that down. The Touring NDA is a bit draconian—I’ll give you a few minutes to read and sign it. Join us in the morning briefing next door when you’re done. You can leave the form on the desk.”
“Okay,” Brogan said. Timmerson clapped a hand on his shoulder as he headed out, and then Brogan was alone. He took a minute to half-heartedly consider the pros and cons of getting a job at Best Buy or something, but as much as Brogan disliked drama, he loved his job—and the all-important feeling of being needed that he got when he did it well. He resigned himself to a few shitty months, and flipped back the cover of the packet to find a series of photographs of the client.
Joel Henniton was in his midforties, fit and good-looking in a slick, capped sort of way, but in most of the photos he was either glaring or wearing a sharp-toothed smile. With his golden tan, confrontational blue eyes, and red-blond hair, he looked like one of those pompous rich guys who lounged around country clubs playing tennis and bullying the wait staff. Not that Brogan had ever been to a country club.
Brogan turned the page and began reading about all the awful things Touring would do to him if he shared company secrets. It didn’t faze him. Non-disclosure agreements were very common. Bodyguards saw a lot of shit that clients wouldn’t want shared, and whether it was personal, embarrassing, or downright illegal, if it was covered by the NDA,
it was one hundred percent confidential. Brogan signed it without thinking twice.
It was part of the job.
* * *
When the morning meeting broke, Brogan headed for the equipment cage. He swapped his personal firearm—a Colt 1911 A1, a .45 that he had a permit to carry concealed—for an M9 Beretta registered to Security Division. He preferred his own weapon, but if he had to shoot someone, it would make his life a lot easier if he was using one of Timmerson’s. He knew the M9 from his time in the army, so it was no hardship. He grabbed an earpiece and radio, too. There was a button on the cord that could be toggled to activate the mic clipped to his lapel, allowing for constant hands free use, or so it only picked up what he said while he was pressing the switch.
He depressed the switch. “Buenos dias, Mario,” he said, which was officially all the Spanish he knew.
“You’re supposed to say ‘testing,’ idiot,” Mario said into his own mic from across the room. Brogan was unconcerned by Mario’s complaints. Their conversations often had an air of Mario playing the exasperated older brother, even though Brogan was only a year younger—something he rubbed in with pleasure now that Mario had hit thirty—but Brogan liked it. Brogan had spent his childhood raising his younger siblings, so it was nice having someone boss him around for a change.
Mario was a mixed bag of genetics. He said that if you went back far enough he had a relative from every country in Europe and more than a few in South America as well. He wasn’t exactly handsome—his chin and cheeks were a little too round—but women loved him anyway. Mario said it was because the blood of a thousand sexy conquistadors thundered through his veins. Brogan said it was because he looked like a chump.
They met at the elevator to head upstairs, bullshitting as they went. They’d been friends since his first day at Security Division, and they worked well together. Once on the twenty-first floor, they entered Henniton’s personal reception area, a large alcove lined with small couches and low tables that gleamed from the attentions of some devoted janitor. Financial magazines were posed on a wooden rack in the corner, and an older woman sat typing behind a big desk. The night shift guys filled them in then took off, and Mario entered Henniton’s office quietly.
