Without Warning

by Reese Knightley

  “You’re right, I get more complaints about your smart mouth from the clients than any other team member. That’s one of the reasons I keep you busy,” Logan said smugly.

  So what if he didn’t pull his punches? Some of the clients were…well, the expression “thick as a brick” came to mind.

  “No,” he repeated, rubbing at the back of his neck.

  “Come on, Denver’s not that far. It’s a little over an hour drive from here. You need the money, don’t you?”

  Logan was right, the city wasn’t that far, but it wasn’t the distance that kept him away from Denver. It was the damned memories that came with the place.

  “You may have won this place in the divorce, but you still need to keep up the loan payments,” Logan pressed on, gesturing to his house and then waving a hand at the yellow envelope and papers on the wood pile.

  “Thanks.” He scowled and stalked into the kitchen, making a mental note to stop sharing personal shit with Logan.

  “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m just trying to keep you employed.”

  Through the opening provided by the kitchen bar, Ryder smirked at Logan.

  “You could just give me the money to buy this place.”

  “Done.”

  “Screw you.” Ryder huffed a laugh. “You know I won’t take it.”

  “I know.” Logan grinned. “So take the job in Denver. You need the money, and I need the help.”

  Fuck. He did need the damned money.

  “You got three complaints from Phillips,” he reminded Logan.

  “True, but I also got a call from him on my way over, and he had nothing but praise for your cutthroat tactics in catching the blackmailer.”

  He snorted.

  “Harrison’s father was a friend of mine from college. He passed away eighteen months ago. We lost touch, but when his brother called me, I couldn’t say no.”

  “Meh. I’ll think about it.” He chugged more milk and ate two more cookies before he replaced the jug in the fridge and the snacks in the cupboard. He came back to lean a shoulder against the door jamb and crossed his arms.

  “I need your cutthroat tactics on this one-” Logan’s phone buzzed, interrupting him.

  “Cobalt. Yes, I understand. I have just the person. We’ll be there first thing in the morning.” Logan hung up and stared at him. “Harrison was attacked an hour ago. They’re heading to the local hospital. If someone hadn’t interrupted, he might have been raped, abducted, or killed. Take the case, Ryder. They need someone like you.”

  Making a growl sound in his throat, he shoved from where he was leaning and prowled in stocking feet across the living room to the wide window that faced the mountains.

  Logan stood and trailed after him.

  “Harrison was almost killed two years ago. A disgruntled employee was out for blood. The perp was caught and killed, but Harrison’s bodyguard, Mitchell Anders, lost his life in the process.” Logan spun and headed to his luggage, pulling out a report. “Killed right in front of Harrison.”

  “I remember hearing about it.” He took the report and looked it over. Something like that didn’t go unnoticed in the bodyguard industry. Anders had been gunned down on the streets in front of the client.

  “Why weren’t we guarding him at the time?”

  “Harrison wanted to make his own decisions and hired someone else.”

  Ryder grunted but stayed silent.

  “He hasn’t had a personal bodyguard since,” Logan continued.

  “What do you want me to say?” He squinted at his boss and tossed the report on the small table in front of the couch.

  “The guy’s life is a fucking circus. The press won’t leave him alone. They’re dogging his steps every minute of the day.”

  “Putting me on the job isn’t going to make the press go away. It’s going to make it worse,” he pointed out.

  “True, but you know how to deal with them better than anyone I know, plus keep Harrison safe at the same time.” Logan returned. “Whoever is doing this will try again. It’s only a matter of time, you know that. I’d really like you on this case.”

  When he stayed silent, Logan went on persistently.

  “This guy only has his uncle and a stepmother, neither of whom can protect him. There’s nobody I’d trust more than you to handle this.”

  The divorce papers on the wood pile caught his gaze, and he sighed. “Jaxon lives in Denver. Why me?”

  “You’ve lived in a wealthy society, you know how we think.”

  Shit, don’t remind me.

  Ryder squinted at Logan. “Not everyone thinks alike.”

  “Please, Ryder.”

  Logan put his hands together like he was praying. Damn it, the guy knew how to turn on the charm. Logan Cobalt was one of the nicest men he knew. The guy was also the wealthiest. Which put holes in his belief that all rich people were assholes. No, Logan was the exception to that theory.

  The following morning, sun glinted off the glass of the high-rise building reflecting back the Denver skyline. Massive silver letters across the front boasted Trudel Industries.

  He’d done his homework the night before. The company was on the cutting edge of a new surveillance software program that had taken the country by storm. Trudel Industries had single handedly shut out the competition by handling both the application software and installation of real time camera placement for their customers.

  Entering the front double glass doors, the overly decorated lobby looked expensive.

  Using money on useless shit. His lip curled. The place dripped with wealth. Even the people walking around smelled like Saks Fifth Avenue perfume and fresh-off-the-rack Armani clothes.

  Ryder eased his leather jacket open for the security guard to scan him for any additional weapons. He and Logan were then both presented visitor badges with a sticker that gave them the okay to keep their firearms.

  “Clip those to your jackets the whole time you are in the building, and keep those tucked away.” The head of security, who’d introduced himself as Brian Sanders, handed them back their weapons. The heavily muscled man in his mid-fifties wore what looked to be a permanent scowl.

  “Get the feeling he doesn’t like his territory encroached on,” Ryder murmured, sliding his gun back into his shoulder holster as they stepped into the elevator.

  “He can’t protect Harrison at home.”

  “Doesn’t the guy have surveillance cameras at home?”

  “That’s something you’ll need to check and determine.”

  “His company produces cutting edge security video surveillance,” Ryder pointed out.

  Logan gave him an irritated look on the ride upward. Which wasn’t long, the elevator shot like a rocket to the top floor.

  “What have you gotten me into?” Ryder growled, stepping into a luxurious reception waiting area.

  “Just meet Harrison. Come on,” Logan said and led the way to the front desk where they met a woman with a lanyard that identified her as Marty Baker.

  “Right this way,” she stated and hurried across the wide room to one of the office doors.

  He and Logan were ushered into an executive-type office. The view from here was spectacular and it took a moment for him to yank his gaze away to study the people and the room.

  It was the tousled-haired young man sitting in a lounge chair that suddenly and completely held his attention.

  Windblown dirty-blond hair swept away from a face that would make any red-blooded man or woman sit up and take notice. He could only think of one word that described the whole package.

  Elegant. Great, the day couldn’t get any fucking worse.

  Harrison Trudel, his new client, was fucking eye candy. In the slim fingers of his left hand, Harrison clutched an incident report with a Denver police department emblem stamped to the upper right corner. On a small table to his left sat papers from a Harbor General emergency room visit. A forgotten first aid kit sat tucked between two chairs near his size nine shoes
.

  A red-haired larger man sat in a chair next to the client. The guy’s lanyard lay turned around, with the blank side facing out.

  “You’re being difficult,” an older man with thick, salt and pepper hair said and then turned when they entered. “Oh, thank god you’re here.” The lanyard identified him as Dean Trudel, his face, filled with worry, creased with wrinkles near his eyes, along his cheeks, and around his mouth.

  One half of the company’s CEO pair, Dean ran the company alongside of his nephew. The man had been with the company for the last three years. Dean hadn’t received any shares of his deceased brother’s company. As far as Ryder could tell, it was through the grace of his nephew that he remained on staff.

  “I’m Dean, Harrison’s uncle,” the uncle introduced himself.

  Ryder shook the guy’s proffered hand, but remained in the doorway. Logan, ahead of him, stepped further into the room.

  After shaking Logan’s hand, Dean spun back to the room.

  “Toby, get back to work!” Dean snapped at the man sitting next to the client. Toby stood up but kept his eyes on Harrison.

  After a brief once over of the red-headed sidekick, Ryder turned his attention back to Harrison Trudel.

  The son and heir to the Trudel fortune reeked of money and prestige in the expensive suit and lavish surroundings. The silk tie sat tightly notched around Harrison’s graceful neck.

  He’d probably drop to the floor like a marionette doll if it were loosened.

  Ryder smirked at the thought, and across the distance, Harrison glared at him. The slicing glance of anger from crystal blue colored eyes drew him up short. Ryder squinted, crossed his arms, and planted his feet apart. He pushed aside his personal feelings about spoiled rich men.

  It was only a job, he reminded himself, and put on a bored look.

  Having had the night to research, Ryder had taken the opportunity to read up on Harrison. Twenty-five, single, gay, and not much of a partier. Considered one of Denver’s most eligible bachelors, he was the darling of the tabloids and newsworthy. The guy couldn’t take a piss without some reporter breathing down his neck. Harrison Trudel never stayed with one man for long, which fueled the stories. There had been a recent exception—Harrison had dated one man exclusively for three weeks, and it had ended two weeks ago. Ryder suddenly wanted to know why the relationship had only lasted three weeks.

  The Trudel financial statements Logan had shown him were impressive. Harrison Trudel was considered to be part of the one percent and that added to his newsworthiness. The man had gone through several security firms and bodyguards before Mitchell Anders, but none since.

  Harrison had inherited twenty-five percent of his father’s fortune when he’d turned twenty-five. He stood to inherit the remaining seventy-five percent, but under some fucked up shady circumstances.

  What kind of man forces his son to marry, via the grave no less? Harrison risked losing most of his fortune if he didn’t marry by the time he turned twenty-six, in eight months’ time. There were rules and stipulations to go with that, but Ryder had gotten the gist of it. He hadn’t read through everything yet.

  One thing was for certain, Henry Trudel’s last will and testament had forced his son to hunt for a husband.

  And that may have brought a stalker into Harrison’s world.

  Harrison Trudel stood to become beyond ridiculously wealthy. Yeah, and hadn’t earned a penny of it. He scowled. Men like that irritated the hell out of him. This was the part of the job he hated, interacting with self-entitled rich people.

  Of course, he hadn’t always felt that way about the wealthy and powerful, but he’d paid the price. Refusing to follow that fucked up train of thought, he put a halt on thinking about his ex-husband and turned his attention back to the room where the uncle and the friend were vying for Harrison’s attention.

  “Harrison, why do I need to leave?” The friend’s voice softened, clearly not wanting to be overheard.

  “We don’t pay you to stand around, get back to work,” Dean said with more force.

  Harrison opened his mouth as if to say something, but then hesitated and gave a nod.

  “Toby, please.” Harrison’s voice was a soft, rich baritone.

  Other than the brief flick of those blue eyes, Harrison hadn’t looked at him again. Ignored as if he were beneath the man’s notice and it annoyed him.

  Screw this.

  He was turning down this job once he got Logan alone. There was no way in hell he was subjecting himself to being treated like trash. Logan would need to understand he was asking too much of him.

  Toby spun around and squinted at him and Logan before stalking toward them at the door.

  Ryder kept his gaze flat, unreadable. He was taller than the guy, but they shared the same muscle mass.

  With a bullish expression and flexing of muscles, Toby stalked closer, clearly posturing. Reaching the doorway, the man shoved past and shoulder checked Ryder hard.

  A company employee marking his territory? Well, well, isn’t that interesting.

  Ryder braced and returned the shoulder check with enough muscle and force to bounce the other guy off the opposite doorjamb with a satisfying grunt.

  Before the guy could respond, Ryder gripped the office door in his fist and shoved it closed, just barely missing the guy’s broad back.

  Okay, he might have closed the door with more force than necessary by the looks he received from the room.

  Oh the fuck well.

  Harrison

  The showdown at the door had been intense. And it was a showdown, of that he had no doubts. His stomach dipped and swirled at the savage display of muscle. Surprise held him mute.

  Had the guy just shoved one of his friends into the doorframe?

  He jumped when the dark-haired man slammed the door. Lifting a hand to his throbbing head for a moment, he closed his eyes. Thankful at his uncle’s insistence, he’d made a trip to the emergency room the previous day, but his head still ached dreadfully. The ER doctor confirmed he had a slight concussion, rewrapped his hand, and told him to take it easy for a few days.

  The noise and lights were making him nauseous. What he really wanted to do was return home, crawl back into his bed, and sleep the day away.

  “He’s around too damned much and not doing his job,” Dean bellowed at him.

  “Please stop yelling.” He held up a hand. “If not for Shelby and Toby showing up, the guy might have raped me.”

  His uncle raked his hands through his bushy black hair with a gasp and growl.

  Oh boy, here it comes.

  “You’re too damned reckless,” his uncle said, but at least this time he kept his voice down.

  “How the hell is walking to my car being reckless?” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

  “Where’s the hospital papers and incident report you filled out yesterday?” His uncle held out a hand and Harrison handed both to him.

  “Looks like your friend’s got a bit of an anger issue,” the big man standing near the door spoke up and Harrison’s eyes narrowed. He’d been avoiding looking at the giant after that first look. Of course, now he glanced over ready to defend his friend only to be caught off guard by the man’s intense dark eyes.

  Dark hair lay rumpled around his head as if impatient fingers had thrust through it, leaving the strands in an attractive mess. Stubble covered a strong jaw, showing the guy either didn’t know what a razor was or didn’t care to use one regularly.

  Harrison glanced down and flicked a piece of lint off of his cleanly pressed pants before sparing the bodyguard a dark look.

  “Who asked you?” he said tartly. The guy knew nothing about his friends. Not only did having Toby around make him feel safe, but the guy was good at keeping people away. Harrison stood five feet ten inches, and it helped to have larger friends. Too bad Shelby and Toby hadn’t arrived earlier in the parking garage to prevent the attack.

  Harrison fought back a shudder and angled his head s
harply away to hide the tears swimming to the surface.

  Shit. Don’t lose it in front of this guy.

  Still feeling the attacker’s breath on his neck sickened his stomach and turned the taste in his mouth foul.

  “Be polite. These men are here to help,” his uncle chastised, and heat filled his cheeks with embarrassment, but at least the tears were kept at bay.

  He opened his mouth to apologize when he caught the dark-haired man’s amused smirk. Harrison straightened his spine with a snap and turned on his uncle.

  “How are they going to help?”

  “I told you I called Logan. I hired you a bodyguard.”

  “Good grief,” Harrison groaned, rubbing at his shoulder as exhaustion set in.

  “Hello, Harrison, my name is Logan Cobalt and I own Cobalt Security. This is Ryder Freeman, he works for me,” Logan said, stepping forward.

  Harrison offered Logan a brief smile and shook his hand. Logan turned and took the police incident report from his uncle.

  “They can protect you,” Dean insisted.

  “Look,” he told his uncle, trying to keep his voice polite and clasping his hands in his lap, “I appreciate your help, Uncle Dean. I really do, but I am more than capable of hiring protection on my own.”

  The silence felt suddenly awkward, but he refused to feel guilty. He’d rather call rent-a-cop than have that bodyguard anywhere in his vicinity. The guy already rubbed him the wrong way with his stupid smug face.

  “It’s already done,” Dean said with finality.

  “Of course it is,” he muttered, grinding his teeth at his uncle’s insistence. No matter how many times he’d asked Dean to stop acting like his father, the man wouldn’t listen.

  Dean let out a frustrated sounding sigh. “Logan, can I speak with you in my office?”

  “Of course.”

  His uncle and Cobalt left his office, but the one called Ryder stayed.

  “You can go with them,” he snapped, refusing to let his gaze linger on the muscles that bunched and corded beneath the bodyguard’s shirt or the way the dark leather jacket perfectly fit his wide shoulders. Ryder’s hands were massive, knuckles scarred.