Speed dating to her was just another way of meeting a bunch of unsuitable men in a much faster setting.
Of course, one could always sample Exhibit E—the cheater—which was the one she was most familiar with. He was the one who promised you the world, made you feel so freaking special, proposed to you during your senior year of college, and then ended up cheating on you during a drunken night.
The cheater was the worst of the bunch, Ashlen decided.
She shook her head as she walked from the entryway into the open living room/dining room/kitchen area of her ranch. It had been the only area that she had been able to remodel in her time as a homeowner. The 1950s-style ranch, which sat about forty minutes north of the city, had seemed to be a good buy at the time. It, unfortunately, was starting to turn into a money pit: a layout change to an open floor plan, a new kitchen, a new living room, a new dining room.
Her two-inch heels clicked on the refinished hardwood floors as she made her way to the kitchen without bothering to turn on the overhead lights. The clock on the stove read 12:05. Mentally, she cursed her long commute from the city. If she wasn’t self-employed, there would be no way for her to keep up a drive like that every day.
It was way too late to start writing the blog entry, so she moved right to the fridge for an open bottle of a California Pinot Grigio. Finding a clean wine glass in one of the cabinets, she poured herself a glass and said, “Screw it.” She had made a set of notes while she was at the event. The work could wait for tomorrow, she told herself.
She took a sip of wine, grabbed the glass, and headed off for her bedroom, not bothering to worry about the hall light. She passed the first two bedrooms that she subsequently used as office space and a guest bedroom. Chucking her set of notes into the office haphazardly without breaking stride, she continued toward her bedroom. She was almost about to pass up the bathroom when she suddenly stopped.
A smell that Ashlen had not noticed hit her nose. It was subtle, but it didn’t smell like any of the fragrances that should be in her house. She sniffed audibly around her before realizing what it was.
Man musk, she decided.
One of her speed dates must have had on too much cologne, and she had picked it up on her dress. Not willing to go to bed smelling like one of those losers, she made a turn into the bathroom instead.
When she flipped the light, the putrid mauve color of her bathroom tiles came into view. She groaned as she stepped inside and shut the door. Unfortunately, she had not had enough money in the original remodel to update the bathroom. Actually, if she had remodeled the bathroom, it would have been the second change to the room. Someone had decided to redo the whole thing in 80s pink: pink tile, pink toilet, pink tub, pink sink.
Ashlen had tried to embrace the idea by buying pink towels and pink accessories to try and add to the whimsy of the room. However, the extra pink just served to make her more miserable. Sometimes she thought the reason why she didn’t want to get involved with anyone seriously was the fact that she was ashamed to bring the guy home and have him see the pink throw-up of a bathroom.
Pushing the pink shower curtain back and flipping the shower on to heat-up, she kicked off her shoes and pulled the zipper down on her little black dress that she had worn for the event. She caught herself in the mirror as she fussed with taking off her bra and panties (yeah, she had pulled out the black lace set in hopes that she would find a decent guy tonight).
Seriously, why couldn’t she find a decent guy? It wasn’t like she was ugly. Most people she ran across said she was quite pretty. She had light blonde hair that fell straight down along her shoulders and back as well as light blue eyes. She was tall for a woman (five foot eight inches to be exact) and thin enough to wear skinny jeans and jeggings without feeling self-conscious. Yeah, she supposed her boobs could be a bit bigger, but she had blemish-free skin and a nice smile.
All in all, she was a pretty good catch. She attracted guys, but they weren’t the kind that she would date for long. She had hoped that she wasn’t being too picky or anything.
Was it too much to ask for a guy who had—like, let’s say—a job? Or perhaps, a personality? Or maybe he could not be a cheating scumbag?
She grumbled as she stepped in the shower and began rinsing down her hair and body. It was when she began lathering the shampoo that she heard something through the pounding water that didn’t sound right. She shut off the water and listened intently.
After a few minutes of waiting and no further noises, she decided that it must have been nothing important. Perhaps it was the furnace?
In Ohio, spring didn’t really begin until late April to early May, so it was not unheard of for the furnace to be running quite a bit in mid-April.
When she turned the water back on, it came out nearly scalding. She shrieked and jumped out of the way before quickly trying to adjust the knob.
Stupid 60-year-old plumbing, she thought.
Add another thing to her house renovation.
After adjusting the temperature to something tolerable, she continued her shower. As she readied her hair for conditioner, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander. What if the noise was from a burglar? Or an ax-murderer? Or a serial-rapist?
Any second now, someone could burst through her pink shower curtain and strangle her to death. She tried to imagine that scene as she readied the shaving cream for her legs. It would be comical in a way. Ashlen could imagine the headlines: Blogger Bludgeoned to Death in Mauve Mayhem.
She chuckled and began the ritual of shaving her legs. She always got this way in the shower. Perhaps because this was when she felt most vulnerable?
I mean, seriously, she thought to herself. What could be worse than getting axed while your ass is up in the air shaving your legs?
When she was finally done with her shower, she flipped off the water. She paused before opening the pink shower curtain, wondering what she would do if there was someone there. Realizing that this was a silly thought, she quickly ripped open the curtain.
Nope. Nothing. Just a lot of pink tile.
Ashlen let out a sigh and grabbed a pink towel to dry off. Once her body was dry enough and her hair wasn’t sopping wet, she pulled on the cute black underwear that she had worn to the speed dating event and fished around on the floor for the thin gray tank top she had thrown there earlier in the day. Pulling it on over her body, she flexed her arm muscles in it and watched the pitiful display.
Yeah, I think I might need to hit the gym a bit more, she thought.
Her arms, though very thin, seemed to be a pathetic display of womanly strength. She shrugged and waved a hand in the arm, blowing off the idea. She’d go to the gym tomorrow, just like she had promised herself yesterday.
Automatically, she brushed her teeth and washed her face. Then, of course, she looked down to see her barely touched glass of Pinot Grigio.
Crap.
She had forgotten about the wine.
Eh, oh well, she thought. Toothpaste and white wine couldn’t taste that bad, right?
Wrong.
Ashlen cringed a little bit from the taste, but after a moment, she shrugged, picked up the glass, and started walking out of the bathroom. Some wine snob somewhere would probably have suffered a heart attack from her blatant ill regard for a cleansed pallet. But seriously, after her night, she didn’t care.
She left the bathroom with her glass and padded into her bedroom. She groped for the light switch and finally found it, flooding the room with light. The cream walls and cream bedding scheme were a little bit on the boring side, but she hadn’t gotten around to fixing up any of the bedrooms either.
It wasn’t until she had gotten closer to the bed that she saw the movement in the corner of her eye. There was a loud BANG as the door pulled shut, and the figure that had been standing silently behind it appeared. Ashlen lost her grip on the wine glass, and it crashed to the hardwood floor, bits of glass and white wine going everywhere. She let out a startled cry.
&
nbsp; There was a man dressed in black standing in front of her doorway. The shock of seeing someone who was not supposed to be in her house was crippling. Ashlen could barely breathe, let alone stand.
The man standing between her escape was devastatingly scary. His black hair and intimidating brown eyes stared intently at her. But it wasn’t the icy gaze or the intimidating stance in front of the door that scared her the most; it was the two scars that ran parallel down the far-right side of his face that made her shake. The two scars were accentuated with more scarring around the edge of his face and down part of his neck.
This man was dangerous.
The intruder was a large, lean man; he really did block the entire doorway. Even as tall as Ashlen was, she was not even close to his height and build. There was simply no way she could try to get past him. It was when she noticed a gun peeking from behind his opened jacket that she really started to tremble.
She was going to die. He was going to kill her.
Ashlen sank on the bed, pleading, “Please, please, please, don’t kill me.” Her heart was beating so fast that it felt like it would burst through her chest.
“I’m not going to kill you,” came the quiet response from the very masculine voice of the intruder.
In any other circumstances, it would have been a very sexy voice, but right now, it was horrifying.
She thought for a moment.
Well, if he isn’t going to kill me, then what?
She looked down at her lacey, black underwear and her thin gray tank top that was clearly showing her braless figure.
Oh my God! She thought.
He had come for something very different.
Ashlen began trembling violently as she sank deeper on the bed. There was no way she could fight someone like him. He must have almost doubled her weight in lean muscle alone, and he had a gun. She was on the pill; she could survive the attack without long-lasting percussions unless he had an STD, of course. Emotionally, however, she was not so sure.
“No, I’m not going to hurt you,” he said quietly. He stepped closer to her, his open long leather jacket revealing a rather large handgun sitting in a shoulder harness.
She eyed the gun and murmured, “I don’t believe you.”
It may have been a silly thing to say. He had looked calm when she had first seen him, but now he looked angry.
“Fuck,” he exclaimed loudly as he dug around in his coat.
He finally produced a cellphone and began dialing.
He held the phone to his ear, paused for a moment, and said, “You need to fucking fix this because we don’t have all fucking night.”
Ashlen was beyond the point of confusion. The scene of her murderer/rapist/robber calling someone on a cellphone in the middle of his deed didn’t seem real to her.
Her intruder chucked the cellphone at her, saying, “He wants to talk to you.”
She barely caught the flying phone in her trembling hands. The phone felt like a blessing. She could call 911. However, she felt the compulsion to shakily pick up the cell and answer the person on the other line. For whatever reason, it felt important.
When she was able to grip the phone from her trembling hand and place it to her ear, she was able to murmur, “Hello?”
“Hey, babe! I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all evening. I’ve got a little problem, and I think you might be in danger.”
Realizing who was talking to her, Ashlen exclaimed, “Uncle Pete!”
“Yeah, that would be me, so now listen to what I have to say…”
Chapter 2
28 hours ago
Miles Bryant smiled as he enjoyed Keira Amherst and Logan Slade’s wedding reception. The ceremony had gone wonderfully and now the reception was in full gear. The two newly-weds looked blissful, and he was happy for them. After what they had gone through, they deserved some happiness.
Bryant ran a company called Gray Tower, Incorporated. It was a private military company that did anything from security detail to bodyguard services to off-the-books ops for the United States government. Keira and Logan were employees of his. Logan was head of staff training and development, while Keira was Miles’s second in command. They had both met on an op and had fallen in love, though it had almost killed Logan when he had tried to protect Keira.
Miles had created Gray Tower as a reaction to the murder of his daughter, Jasmine, eleven years prior. She had boarded a plane that had crashed in the middle of the Atlantic when a planted bomb had exploded. Miles knew that he had been the one targeted for assassination. Due to a change of plans, it was only Jasmine who had gotten on the private jet.
However, he had found out that an organization called the Conglomerate had been responsible. The bombing had been a warning when Miles had been working on a prototype armor with another company. That had been during his old life before he had sold off his shares in his previous company, one that was in the defense industry. The Conglomerate had wanted it and had attempted to do whatever it took to get Miles away from his projects.
It had worked too.
Miles had spiraled into depression and eventually sold off his old company.
He had formed Gray Tower a few years later as a reaction to his daughter’s death. His goal for the company was to make up for her untimely death by taking out the worst of the worst and helping those in need. Creating and heading Gray Tower allowed him to do so unconventionally. As he had learned after the investigation into her murder, going through the proper channels didn’t always get the results needed.
Miles had learned to pull the right strings and was now operating the most lucrative private mercenary company in the world. He hoped that he would eventually bring those responsible for Jasmine’s death to justice with the resources of Gray Tower.
He sighed, glancing over at his wife who looked radiant in a pale-yellow spring-time dress, her hair pulled back into one of those fancy ponytails. They had recently gotten back together after a long separation, though they were still living on opposite sides of the country. They were seeing each other more and were thinking about getting a house together closer to Gray Tower Headquarters, a huge complex that housed a good chunk of Miles’s employees.
Miles glanced up to see Jack Hunter and Katherina Langely looking just as happy as the bride and groom. They had just gotten back from a mission that had almost killed Jack, but it had solidified their intel on the prototype armor that was the reason behind Jasmine’s death. It gave Miles at least a sense that they were moving in the right direction.
The Conglomerate was still hanging over their heads, but he knew they would deal with the organization and eventually take them down. He had to avenge his daughter’s death.
Miles looked down at his phone that was clipped to the belt of his suit. It was on silent for the wedding, but the thing was still lit up from a call. Even though Miles had promised himself that he wasn’t going to do any work, he couldn’t resist looking at who it was.
He frowned.
That was strange. Peter Cole was calling. He had been a college undergrad friend of Miles back in the day. They had kept in touch ever since then, but their contact was few and far between.
He glanced at his wife, wondering if she’d get too mad if he stepped out for a moment. Miles was trying hard not to be a workaholic anymore—for both of their sake. However, it was tough going when he was running a large and growing company like Gray Tower.
Candice shrugged and waved him away when he pointed to his phone. Well, at least she wasn’t too ticked. Maybe she was adjusting to this new life too?
“Peter, it’s been a while,” Miles answered, getting up from his chair and walking out the door of the reception area so that he could have some privacy. The room was loud from all the chatter from the wedding guests.
“Hi, Miles,” Peter began. “I hate to call you like this, but I’ve got a problem.
Of course, you do, Miles thought. No one ever calls me unless there’s an issue.
Miles wa
s now the go-to for all his friends and former colleagues. He didn’t mind helping people—that was the whole reason he had started Gray Tower. However, it would have been nice if every once and a while someone would call him just to say, “Hi.” Was that too hard to ask?
“What’s the problem?” Miles asked with a sigh, bracing himself for another mess that he’d have to clean up.
“I’m in a bit of trouble. I need your help.”
“What kind of trouble? You’re being pretty damned vague.”
“Big.”
Miles shook his head and rubbed his temple with one hand.
“Just tell me what’s going on?” Miles asked, mildly annoyed.
There was a pause at the end of the line before Peter said, “Well, you know me, I made a bad deal and need to lay low for a bit until I can get it sorted out.”
Miles sighed.
He knew Peter didn’t exactly do things that were legal all the time. Miles had chosen to ignore that character flaw in Peter—as long as it didn’t interfere with Gray Tower or hurt others. However, Miles wasn’t going to bail his friend out.
“Look, I appreciate you calling me, but I’m not going to help you with this one. You’re going to have to deal with the consequences of your actions.”
“Sure,” Peter said. “I will, but it’s not me I’m concerned about. My niece was threatened by some shady people. I would like to hire Gray Tower for bodyguard services. I’ll pay whatever your rate is. I just can’t stand to see her hurt because of me.”
Suddenly, Miles was a lot more interested in Peter’s problems. He knew intimately how someone’s business could affect your loved ones.
“I’ll get you what you need,” Miles said, his voice soft. “How old are we talking about here? Little kid? High school?”
“She’s twenty-six and pretty independent. I’m sure she’s going to have a hell of a time accepting help, but I need her protected right now.”
Uh-oh, Miles thought.
It was just what he needed: a young woman in need of help. Knowing his guys, they’d end up shacking up. His mind spun as he tried to think of who was available and who would keep it professional.
Perilous Games (Gray Tower Book 3) Page 2