“Because word was passed to me very quickly that they’d kill Aaron and my mom if I did.”
“Oh, wow,” Joslyn whispers, her eyes full of sorrow for Bebe.
“And so you gave up your life and your freedom to protect your son and your country.” It’s exactly as I suspected, but I had needed to know if I was right, and, more importantly, if she would be willing to put her trust in me to tell me. For all she knows, I could work for that black-hat group and I’m here to test her loyalty about keeping her mouth shut.
“I don’t regret what I did,” Bebe replies tersely.
“Why would you?” I ask with a smile. “It was the right thing to do.”
I cock an eyebrow at Dr. Ellery. “Do I offer her the job?”
“Yes,” she replies with a firm nod of her head. “I do believe you should.”
The smile I bestow on Bebe is genuine. “How would you like to get out of prison today and come to work for me?”
CHAPTER 8
Joslyn
I stare at Kynan as he sits in the sleek, leather captain’s chair on a private Leer jet after just having walked out of a federal maximum-security prison with one of the actual prisoners by his side.
My review of him is critical, searching for signs of some type of holiness because right now, I’m thinking he has some super powers I knew nothing about.
I mean… who in the hell has the ability to walk into a prison and come out with a prisoner?
“What’s his deal?” the woman who is sitting beside me asks.
My neck twists slowly, and I tilt my head at Bebe Grimshaw. She hasn’t said a word to me since the jet took off almost two and a half hours ago. We parted ways with Dr. Ellery, and she flew back to God knows where she was from. Kynan didn’t bother saying, and I didn’t ask.
I was afraid to ask him anything. Frankly, because I’ve so deified him since his miracle of springing Bebe from jail that I’m not sure I want to hear anything he has to say.
My gaze goes to Kynan, who is doing a good job ignoring us as he works on his laptop with headphones on.
“I have no clue,” I drawl in confusion. “I mean… I thought I knew. He does security and protection work. I hired him to protect me.”
“And yet, he has some pretty powerful connections,” Bebe muses. “He had my release from prison already pre-arranged. That only comes from extremely high up in the government, and I’m sure it’s off the books.”
“I almost feel sorry for my stalker,” I say in awe as I continue to stare at Kynan.
Bebe snorts. “What’s the deal with this stalker of yours?”
That direct question snaps me out of my thrall, and I turn in my seat to face her. The jet we’re on has four rows, two large captain’s chairs on either side. The first two rows face the rear of the plane and the second face forward. It’s how I’m able to stare at Kynan—in the first row—in miraculous wonder.
“A few years ago, someone started sending me creepy letters and gifts. When it escalated, I moved a few times trying to hide, but he always found me. Three days ago, he managed to break into my house and tried to strangle me, but the police got there before he could finish the job. I hired Kynan the next day.”
Bebe’s brow furrows. “No offense… but why would a man who has the power to spring a national security risk from prison help you? It’s sort of small potatoes.”
“No offense taken,” I reply with a smile. “We have a history together.”
Her face brightens in understanding. “I kind of got the sense something was there.”
“Oh no,” I insist, bringing both my hands up in denial. “Nothing there. We dated for about three seconds like twelve years ago.”
Bebe purses her lips. “It’s more than that.”
And she’s right. We had more than that. We were more than just a blip of time. But I don’t want to say that out loud because over the years, I’d been able to minimize my heart break. Time does indeed dull the pain. While I’ve never let go of the truth that Kynan was most definitely the love of my life, I have been able to let go of the fact we missed our chance.
“Doesn’t matter,” I say dismissively. “It was a long time ago, but I’m very grateful he’s taken my case.”
“Just as I’m grateful he sprang me from prison,” she murmurs thoughtfully.
“And gave you a job,” I add. I had sat there quietly while Kynan offered her an incredible salary to be his own personal hacker—the white-hat variety, of course—back at the Jameson offices in Pittsburgh. This put her in close proximity to her son and mother. Kynan promised to help set them all up in a house together if she wanted that. Bebe, who seems like an incredibly tough woman to have survived in prison for seven years, had started weeping.
Kynan is bringing Bebe to California with us since he wants her to help set up a new security system at my house and do an audit of my own computer and internet system.
“I’ve got some clothes you can wear when we get to my house,” I offer Bebe, and she blinks in surprise. “I think we’re about the same size, although you’re a few inches taller than me.”
“That’s not necessary,” she grumbles, her face flushing as she glances at the khaki shirt and pants she’d been wearing when she left the prison. She also had a box with a few books, but it was mostly filled with letters and drawings from her son, Aaron.
“I don’t mind,” I assure her. “Lord knows I’ve got way too many clothes to begin with.”
“That’s nice of you,” she mutters, ducking her head to stare out the window. Then she adds, “Thanks.”
Smiling, I turn my attention to Kynan, only to find him watching me curiously. He still has his headphones on so he couldn’t hear what we were just talking about. Not that it was a matter of national security.
Although if it was, I bet he’d already know about it. Given his impressive connections and all.
♦
I wondered what I’d be feeling when I pulled up to my house, having last left in a police car. They took me down to the precinct station about two miles from my house for a detailed interview. I refused medical attention, despite the fact I’d already had extreme bruising around my throat. I just wanted to get the interview done, so I could get to the airport and head to Vegas and Kynan.
As Kynan shuts off the rental car we’d picked up at the airport and I open the passenger door, Lynn comes out of my house. When I’d talked to her yesterday from Pittsburgh, she assured me she’d have the house ready for my arrival.
I knew what that meant. Not only would she have the place cleaned and the guest rooms freshened up with new sheets and towels, but she’d have all evidence of my attack erased. Broken glass from his entrance and black fingerprint dust would be eradicated so as not to distress me. Lynn was much more than a manager to me. She was my friend. She’d go above and beyond to make my homecoming as easy as possible.
Lynn comes off the porch and down the short, curved sidewalk that connects to the driveway. She’s fifty-seven years old, rounder than she’d like, and wears her silvery-gray hair in a short cap. Her arms open, and I step into her embrace. “Glad to have you back, honey.”
“Thanks for handling everything.” I give her a hard squeeze before I pull away.
Turning to my new guests, I introduce my manager. “Lynn… this is Kynan McGrath and Bebe Grimshaw from Jameson Force Security.”
If Lynn is flummoxed by Kynan’s insanely gorgeous looks or by the fact Bebe is in a prison uniform, she doesn’t show a hint of discord. She smiles, shakes hands, and then motions us into my home.
It’s a shame, really. I had hoped this house was going to be my last purchase until I was perhaps ready to retire. It was my third move in two years, attempting to throw my stalker off my trail. I bought it under a blind trust so my name wouldn’t be associated with it at all. I had my realtor sign a non-disclosure as well as the movers I’d hired. Even my utilities were under an alias.
And still… he found me.
�
�I took the liberty of ordering some food for all of you,” Lynn says as she opens the front door and leads us in.
This place really was sort of my dream home. Just under five thousand square feet and a Santa Barbara zip code, it sits in a prime location with views of both the mountains and the ocean. It’s bright and airy with wood beam ceilings, expansive windows, and French doors in every exterior room that leads to private balconies.
Oh, and it has a panic room, which was very appealing to me.
We follow Lynn into the French-country style kitchen I adore. She called my favorite catering company, and the counter is loaded with a variety of salads, grilled kabobs, fresh fruit, and mini key lime pies.
“Thank you so much, Lynn,” I say as I walk over to a cupboard and pull out some plates. When I turn around, Kynan is letting his gaze roam around while Bebe has her hands clasped tightly in front of her, appearing incredibly awkward.
“What do you guys want to drink?” I ask as Lynn heads to the fridge. “I’ve got water, soda, beer, or wine.”
“I’ll take a soda,” Bebe replies eagerly, and I wonder what it will taste like after seven years of prison food and drink.
“I’ll be back,” Kynan says. He disappears into the dining room, which leads into a formal living room.
I set the plates down, intent on following him, but Bebe shakes her head. “Let him check your place out. It’s his job.”
A bolt of fear hits me in the gut like a sucker punch. I almost double over as I realize… my stalker could actually be in my house right now. We all assumed he’s off hiding and licking his wounds, but he’s also bat-shit crazy so why wouldn’t he be here, waiting for me to return?
“It’s already been secured,” Lynn says, and Bebe and I both turn to her. “Kynan had some of his folks from Vegas out here yesterday. They were updating the security system. A woman named Rachel is still here. Or rather, she’s at her hotel right now. She’ll be by later.”
My jaw drops slightly, amazed by Kynan’s foresight. But really, why should I be surprised? Of course he’d have had this place scoped out before he brought me here. This is the man who performs prison breaks with a wink of his eye.
He’s Kynan McGrath, and he’s going to be one step ahead of my stalker at all times.
I immediately experience that sensation of warmth and security again, trusting in the man who I hired to protect me. I’m safe here.
He’ll protect me.
I have nothing at all to worry about.
CHAPTER 9
Kynan
Having grabbed a bottle of beer out of the refrigerator, I make my way through to the back patio that’s accessed from the formal living room. I’d patrolled the grounds earlier—almost a full two acres surrounded by a combination of fencing and hedges but still plenty of places to sneak in—and found them to be incredibly beautiful. The house has quieted as both Joslyn and Bebe made their way to their bedrooms about an hour ago. Most of the evening I’d spent with Bebe, getting her up and running on a brand-new laptop I’d had Rachel buy per Bebe’s specifications.
I step out onto the patio, moving past a large wrought-iron table that seats six and overlooks the pool. Cutting to the right, I walk up five steps to a smaller patio that has a cement banister around the edge covered with flowering vines. From this vantage point, had the sun still been in the sky, I’d be able to clearly see the Pacific Ocean. As it is, I can barely see the moonlight glinting off the water but not much else. The rest of the valley is twinkling with lights.
Joslyn certainly has done well for herself, but I’m not surprised. From the first time I saw her on stage when she was just nineteen and bringing down the house in Vegas, I knew she was destined for big things.
Since we broke up, she’s won multiple Grammys, filmed successful movies, and performed concerts in venues all over the world. She’s an A-lister in Hollywood known for her triple threat of acting, singing, and dancing. Her last major success was a year on Broadway with a Tony award to prove her success there.
Yeah, I’ve followed her career and I’ve always wondered “what if”. What if we’d stayed together? Would I have been traveling the world with her, riding on the coattails of her success? I feel safe in saying I wouldn’t be doing what I’m doing these days had I gone with her. I would have let Joslyn have her chance to shine, and I would have been by her side for the long haul.
But that didn’t fucking happen because for some unexplainable reason, she decided she wasn’t in love with me and left without giving me a clear understanding of what was going through her head.
I was bitter for a long time.
Years, actually.
But then I moved past it.
Sort of.
I wouldn’t let myself get trapped by a relationship again, always reserving a healthy dose of skepticism over a woman’s motives. Joslyn and her abrupt way of breaking things off made it incredibly easy to keep every other woman at arm’s length. It was merely safer that way.
The last few years, I’ve rarely thought about her. When I would see something on TV or her name in the news, more often than not, I might even have a fond memory of her. Certainly, the bitterness had ebbed away like a low tide.
Which is why it bothers me that I’m so on edge around Joslyn now. There was initial anger she reached out to me, but damn if that didn’t go ice cold when I found out she’d almost been killed by a stalker. Since then, I’ve been fueled by determination to keep her safe and hopefully have a bit of a face to face with this douchebag so I can make him regret putting his hands on her.
I try to focus on that. I really do. But when I’m in Joslyn’s presence, it’s difficult to think about anything other than how beautiful she is, or how soft I know her skin to be, or how amazing it was when I was fucking her.
Some would say it may have been the blush of my first and only real love, but it’s not. Joslyn is just the best fuck I’ve ever had. Every single thing about her from the smell of her hair to the way her tongue would slide against mine, or even the taste of her pussy… there’s never been better.
And goddamn it all to hell… I fucking want it again.
And badly.
It would be completely inappropriate for me to act on as she’s my client and paying me good money to do a job for her—one that does not include sex and orgasms.
Besides that, Joslyn hasn’t given one indication she thinks about me in the same way. She’s not tried to flirt or dress provocatively—the sexy sleep outfit last night doesn’t count as she wore it to bed without ever intending for me to see it—and she’s been very much held in reserve around me.
For a man of thirty-eight years who has always been incredibly confident and sure of himself, the fact she’s got my stomach all churned up is really pissing me off. I hope to fuck I can lure this maniac out quickly, dispatch the fucker, and get back on to my new life in Pittsburgh.
I crack my beer open and take a long pull, considering my game plan to lure Joslyn’s stalker out into the open. It’s ballsy and full of risk, but I believe we can pull it off. I don’t see any other way unless Joslyn were just to go back about her life and wait for the guy to strike again. That’s not even an option really. Who could live like that?
I know I sure as fuck couldn’t.
The sounds of the French door opening behind me causes me my spine to stiffen and I glance over my shoulder to see Joslyn walking out to join me. I knew it would be her. Sensed it. Felt the vibe. Prickled with awareness. Whatever the fuck it’s called, I felt her coming before I saw her.
While the patio lights are off, there’s enough landscape lighting around the hedges and in the bushes to easily see she’s got a glass of wine in her hand as she walks my way. I bristle at the thought she’d want to join me out here for a relaxing drink because nothing about Joslyn inspires relaxation.
I don’t say a word, though, as she comes up the steps and strides right up to the banister to stand beside me. She bends at the waist, puts her forearms on t
he cement top, and gazes out at the horizon silently.
“You should get some rest,” I grumble before I take a sip of my beer. I move a step to the left to put some distance between us.
“I know,” she replies quietly. “I tried, but I just can’t. I usually come out here when I can’t sleep. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“It’s your house.” My reply is curt and assholish. “Do what you want.”
“I will,” she snaps, showing a very brief glimpse of the sass I used to appreciate so much about this woman. But instead of turning me on, it pisses me off more, because that sass isn’t being offered to amuse me.
It’s not for my appreciation and respect.
It belongs only to her and never to me.
“You really should get your ass to bed, woman,” I growl.
“Why are you being such a dick to me?” she demands. There’s a landscape light just below her in the flowering vines, and her face is illuminated enough to see the flash of anger in her eyes. “I don’t deserve it.”
“You don’t deserve it?” I sneer. Clearly, the bitterness I’d thought I’d let go of is sneaking back out. “You honestly don’t think you deserve it?”
“No,” she yells, her hand holding the wineglass shaking terribly in her fury. “I don’t deserve it. I never did a thing to warrant this, and I have to wonder what happened in your life that turned you into such an asshole.”
God, that makes me fucking laugh. Doubled at the waist, I laugh, incredulous she would ever think to point a finger. I straighten, lean toward her, and taunt, “You’ve got some fucking nerve, Joslyn. You leave me high and dry twelve years ago without a goddamn explanation… and you’re curious as to why I’m being an asshole to you?”
Joslyn’s eyes narrow and spark with fury. Leaning into me, she practically hisses, “You were fucking cheating on me, you sanctimonious prick. I didn’t owe you anything except a goodbye.”
I’m so stunned by her allegation I step backward as if she’d slapped me in the face. “Excuse me?”
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