by Dobbs, L. A.
No One To Trust
Rockford Security Mystery Series
L. A. Dobbs
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Also by L. A. Dobbs
About the Author
1
Free. I’m finally free.
Chase Evans walked out of the Southern Nevada Correctional Facility and into the chilly early-October sunshine. Funny how freedom felt an awful lot like being alone. Not that he’d expected anyone to show up for his release. Especially not Shane. Hell, his brother hadn’t visited him for months now and their last phone conversation had been over a week ago. Still, things were a universe away from when he’d entered the prison. Half a decade behind bars did that to a guy.
Not that he regretted his decision. Not for a second.
Collar turned up on his frayed denim jacket, Chase shoved his hands into the pockets of his faded jeans. With nothing better to do inside, he’d worked out like a fiend, gotten into the best physical shape of his life, even splurged on a few tats to go with his tough, new attitude.
If people were going to assume he was some kind of badass, he figured he might as well look the part. Yesterday, he’d had his thick brown hair buzz cut super short at the prison barber shop by a dude serving twenty years for grand larceny. He’d skipped the shave though. Stubble felt right these days. Made him look less fresh-faced kid and more hardened criminal. Not to mention the persona had saved him from a severe beating more than once behind bars.
He kept his head down and his eyes lowered as he strode across the asphalt tarmac toward the bus hut in the distance. With luck, he wouldn’t have to wait long for the next shuttle back to Las Vegas.
Sin City. The sin part was certainly right.
He’d paid dearly for those sins, even if they were someone else’s.
The dry desert wind whistled loud in his ears, and he hunched farther down into his jacket. Now that he was out, he had to find some way to support himself, get a new place to live, maybe a car or a motorcycle once he’d earned enough cash. Only trouble was, not too many people wanted to hire ex-cons, and his brief stint of college education wouldn’t help him much now.
Honestly. Who the heck wanted to pay an attorney who couldn’t even keep themselves out of the slammer?
No one. That’s who.
It figured his dreams of practicing law had fizzled, just like the rest of his shitfest of a past. The sacrifices he’d made might’ve been noble, but they sure hadn’t done him or—if his younger brother’s recent attitude was any indication—anyone else any good.
“You look like you could use a ride.”
Chase froze. The deep male voice came from his left. His gut clenched at the familiar tone, cool and slightly sarcastic. Blake Rockford. The last person he’d expected to see again.
Last he knew, the guy had retired from the Las Vegas Police Department and started his own security firm. He and Blake had worked some part-time security jobs together before Chase had gone off to law school and Blake had joined the force. Chase had even been willing to take a bullet for the guy once upon a time during a botched attempted robbery.
Too bad his hero days were long gone now.
He glanced up and saw Blake looking as GQ as he remembered, in his crisp suit and mirrored aviator shades. Not even the steady breeze dared ruffle the guy’s short, dark hair. Blake looked like he’d walked off of some espionage movie set.
Chase himself? Not so much.
Listless and exhausted beyond his thirty-five years, Chase sighed and shook his head, his voice low and monotone. “What do you want, man?”
“I want to talk to you.” Blake pushed away from the side of a navy blue sedan and crossed his arms. “I have a job proposition for you.”
“A job?” Chase scoffed. “What kind of a job could you possibly have for me?”
“You know I run my own security firm now, right?”
Chase didn’t answer, just stared at the man who used to be his closest friend, the man he hadn’t spoken a word to since he’d entered prison. Not that Blake hadn’t tried to contact him. But Chase couldn’t. He just couldn’t.
The guy reminded him of everything he’d lost.
“I want you to come work for me,” Blake said, slipping off the sunglasses so Chase could see the sincerity in his piercing blue eyes. That stare—nicknamed The Hurt—had caused many a woman to swoon back in the day, and many a crook to soil his shorts.
“Me?” He snorted. “You must be nuts, man. In case you haven’t noticed, I just walked out of a goddamned prison. I’m hardly security firm material.”
“You’re wrong, Chase. You’re exactly what I need.”
“For what? A janitor? No thanks.” He straightened to his full six-foot height and squared his shoulders, making himself as large and intimidating as possible. Another useful tool he’d learned inside. “I’m not interested.”
Blake didn’t blink an eye. “Cut the poor-me attitude, all right? You got a shitty deal in that trial, no doubt about it. But now you’re back in the real world and you deserve another chance, Chase. I’m here to offer you one. I need a bodyguard for the Bryants, the owners of the Lucky Ace Hotel and Casino. All my other guys are out on assignment and I need someone I can trust. Are you in?”
“What makes you think you can trust me?”
“Other than the fact you saved my life?”
“Whatever, man,” Chase said, shrugging off the accolade. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Considering I had the barrel of a Glock 9mm two inches from my nose before you blindsided the guy, knocked the weapon from his hand, and took a bullet in the process, I’d say it was exactly like that.” Blake stepped closer, several inches taller and broader than Chase despite his added muscle. “Jeez. Lawyers. You want to stand here and argue about the past or get on with your future?”
The reminder of his previous career aspirations stung. He’d loved the law and had envisioned a future for himself defending the underprivileged. Fighting the good fight, like some kind of cape-wearing, Justice League, court-appointed superhero.
God. What a naïve bastard I was.
Time and circumstances and even his own family had taken his dreams and run them through the shredder. No Hallmark moments there. Not like the Rockfords. He remembered spending time with Blake and his large, happy clan when they’d worked together. He’d thought families like that only existed in movies or fairy stories for kids, but no. The Rockfords were the real thing—genuine, gigantic, and generous to a fault. They looked out for one another, took care of one another.
His chest ached with want for what he’d never had, what he’d never have now that he’d screwed up his life. Sighing, he shifted his feet and rubbed a hand over his face.
Dammit.
It wasn’t like opportunities were knocking down his door, but this felt too easy.
Too right, if he was honest. These days, right scared him. Right had gotten him into this whole mess in the first place. He met Blake’s steely gaze direct. “What about my criminal record? Most folks aren’t keen on having an ex-con guard anything valuable, especially
their lives.”
“The Bryants trust my judgment. If I vouch for you, they won’t question it.” Blake arched one dark brow and gave Chase a visual once-over. “What? You got a better offer waiting?”
No. I got zero offers waiting.
When Chase didn’t answer, Blake continued. “Listen, I’ll pay you good money, which you can use to save up for a place of your own. Can’t have you sleeping on my sofa forever.”
“Your sofa?” Chase crossed his arms. “I’m staying at a halfway house. It’s part of my parole.”
“Not anymore.” Blake stared Chase down. “I talked to your parole officer and worked it out. If you take my job offer, you can stay with me until you find your own place.”
Chase did his best not to squirm under the intense scrutiny. Blake had been a good friend once, and people weren’t exactly lining up to hire him. How the guy would be as a boss, he didn’t know, but it couldn’t be any worse than some of those sadistic asshole prison guards.
Besides, it wouldn’t be forever. If he didn’t like it, he could always move into the halfway house and find other employment. Not to mention the fact he didn’t have to hide his background from Blake. The guy knew almost all there was to know about him—the good, the bad, and the downright heinous.
“Fine.” Chase exhaled and stared out into the endless desert landscape surrounding them. Nothing but dust and cactus and desolation as far as the eye could see. Beneath the blazing sun, the asphalt had warmed quickly and now shimmered with heat. “When do I start?”
“Now.” Blake grinned, all white teeth and confidence. He jabbed a button on his key fob and the locks on the car doors clicked open. “Get in. I’ll give you the details on the way to my house.”
2
Two days later, Chase walked into the Lucky Ace Hotel and Casino on Fremont Street. The place reeked of Old Vegas charm—burgundy leather chairs and matching solid burgundy carpet, green felt card tables, faux chandeliers and twinkle lights on the ceiling to mimic a starry sky.
He futzed with his suit jacket for the umpteenth time then straightened his tie. He felt like a trained monkey in this getup he’d borrowed from Blake’s closet, but his new boss insisted on professional dress for this particular assignment. Chase gazed around the area, searching for the information desk. His meeting was supposed to be with Warren Bryant, the hotel’s owner, and Owen Rockford, Blake’s cousin and head of security for the Lucky Ace’s casino floor.
Now, if he could just find their offices he’d be all set.
Before he took another step, an attractive, dark-haired woman who looked about Chase’s age approached him from the left. Dripping with jewels and designer duds, it appeared she could buy and sell the place twenty-times over.
“Are you the new bodyguard?” Her voice could have frozen an eskimo. She assessed him from head to toe with a possessive green gaze, her eyes heavily lined and mascaraed. “Hmm. I suppose you’ll do. I’m Katherine Bryant, by the way.”
She held out a perfectly manicured hand for him to shake.
“Chase Evans. And yeah.” He coughed and did his best not to stare at the way her low-cut sweater showed off all her assets. “Yes, I mean. I’m the new bodyguard.”
“Good.” She slid her pricey handbag over her arm and waved for him to follow her out the door. “Hurry up. I’ve got a lot of errands to get done today. I need to hit Neiman’s and Barney’s and Chanel, if there’s time. Then there’s my appointment at the salon this afternoon and—”
“Um.” Chase dug in his heels despite her decisive commands. “I’m supposed to be meeting with your husband and the head of casino security in a few minutes.”
“What?” She gave him an irritated look, then a dismissive wave. “Oh, don’t worry about them. I’ll just text Warren and let him know you’re with me.”
As she pulled out her phone and thumbed in a quick text, Chase took a deep breath. He was thankful to Blake for the job, really he was, but the last thing he wanted to do these days was babysit some rich airhead with diamond baguettes for brains.
“Okay.” Katherine shoved her phone back in her bag and hailed the doorman over to summon her car. Moments later a sleek black Bentley swerved up to the curb and Chase found himself ensconced in rich leather and pure luxury. Hell, this ride was probably worth more than his entire life thus far. The thought made his flagging hopes for his new position shrink even more. Blake had talked up the job, made it sound like a fresh start, a way to make a new name for himself, a chance to begin again. But from the looks of things now, the only thing he’d be called for the foreseeable future was glorified nanny to the somewhat rich and almost famous.
The next few hours passed in a blur of endless racks of clothing and shoes and purses. Then came the salon. If the barbers back in prison could’ve seen this racket, they’d have creamed their shorts. Jesus, they even served him top-shelf champagne while he waited for her royal highness—as he’d come to think of Katherine already.
Not that he’d slack on his duties, of course. He’d remain vigilant during his boredom, keeping an eye out for any suspicious lurkers or potential danger.
Finally, primped and teased to within an inch of her life, he and his new assignment made their way back to the Lucky Ace in the rarified world of the Bentley. She sat on one end of the long bench seat while he occupied the opposite corner, staring silently out the window. Small talk had never been his strong suit, and now… Well, now that he had a record, he couldn’t imagine anyone would care what he had to say anyway, so he kept his mouth shut.
Not that he had to worry about dead air. Katherine hadn’t shut up once since they’d headed back to the hotel. She rambled on endlessly about her new purchases, then gossiped about her friends who Chase had never met and didn’t want to after the awful things she’d said about them. Mostly though, she ranted about her neglectful husband and how he didn’t pay any attention to her anymore. Considering Chase now worked for the guy, he didn’t want to hear anymore. Maintaining his distance was crucial to protecting these people. If he got too close to any of them he couldn’t stay objective. And he had to stay objective.
People’s lives might depend on it.
The car pulled up to the hotel and Katherine exited, leaving Chase to deal with her trunkful of purchases. Laden with bags hanging from each arm and boxes piled high enough to obscure his vision, he followed her inside the Lucky Ace then to a private elevator in a secluded hallway near where the corporate offices were located. Despite his full arms, he managed to look over and spot Warren Bryant’s office a short distance away in the secluded hallway. Good to know, for future reference. The elevator dinged and they climbed on board for the short ride to the Bryant’s private condo on the top floor of the hotel.
From over the top of the boxes he gazed around the condo’s interior and thought it fit Katherine to a T—sleek, modern, and edgy. The dark color scheme of grays, blues, and browns was interrupted here and there by a splash of white and he wondered briefly if that’s why Warren Byrant left his wife alone so much—did she try to dominate him like she dominated their interior design?
“Thank you so much for bringing all of these in,” Katherine said, tossing her designer bag onto a side table then directing him to follow her down the hall and into a spacious master suite with a large attached travertine-tiled bathroom. “Just toss them on the chaise over there, please. You are such a sweetheart.”
Her tone turned low and husky, so sticky sweet it made Chase’s teeth ache. He did as she asked, then turned and straightened his tie once more. “Well, okay then, Ms. Bryant. I guess I should get back downstairs so I can have my meeting with Mr. Bryant.”
“What’s your hurry?” Her full lips curved downward into a pout and she stepped closer. “I was hoping we could get to know each other better.”
Chase did his best not to sneeze as the heavy, cloying scent of her spicy perfume tickled his nose. From the gleam in her eye and the finger she traced over his jaw and down his neck, she was
n’t inviting him to afternoon tea. Shit. He took a deep breath and stepped away. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I have other obligations.”
“Ma’am?” She winked and once more closed the small distance between them, pressing her generous curves against him. “Aren’t you just too adorable?”
Her wandering hand traced down his chest and toyed with his tie before returning to cup the back of his neck. His posture stiffened. He hated people touching the back of his neck, reminded him too much of the way his mom used to punish him when he was growing up.
Katherine apparently mistook his revulsion for hesitation because the fingers at his nape drifted upward into his hair, her long nails stroking and massaging his scalp, scratching hard enough to hurt as she leaned in to whisper into his ear. “Relax. My husband won’t mind. We’re separated.”
He didn’t want this, didn’t want her. She wasn’t his type at all. Katherine was too forward, too demanding, too high-maintenance for his taste. He wanted someone sweet and kind and generous to warm his lonely bed at night. But he also didn’t want to lose his job, especially not on the first day, and he was pretty sure sleeping with the client's wife, whether they were really separated or not, was not in his job description.
Chase placed his hands on her shoulders and attempted to move her aside. “This isn’t right, Ms. Bryant.”
“Maybe not, but being bad is so much more fun.” Before Chase knew what was happening, Katherine's hands skimmed down his flat belly to cup his crotch. The movement startled him and she must have taken the jerk of his hips as a 'yes'. She wrapped her lacquered nails around his belt and tugged pulling it free from his trousers. “I can make you feel so good, Chase. Let me make you feel good.”