Saving Grace (Watchdogs, Inc Book 1)

by Mia Dymond

  Saving Grace

  Title Page

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  EPILOGUE

  Saving Grace

  Watchdogs, Inc., Book 1

  By

  Mia Dymond

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2017 Mia Dymond

  Published on Smashwords

  Cover photo: Vishstudio|Dreamstime.com

  Cover by Rita Toews

  * * *

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to wherever you bought it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Lt. Commander Paxton Harvard Gray stood in the doorway of his commanding officer’s inner sanctum and attempted to deny the thought that the impending conversation would most likely be detrimental to his wellbeing. Unfortunately, the ice pack balanced on the other man’s left knee didn’t give him much hope.

  “You wanted to see me?”

  “About damn time.” Captain Cason Diesel Clark winced as he leaned forward in his chair.

  Frowning, Harvard folded himself into an empty chair in front of the massive, oak desk. In all the years he’d spent as a SEAL under the captain’s command, he’d never seen him acknowledge pain. The man was almost invincible.

  “Were you ambushed?”

  “Funny.” Diesel didn’t smile. “Actually, you’re responsible for my condition.”

  “Me?”

  The captain nodded. “You and the Drake case file.”

  Still at a loss, he attempted to gather facts without sounding like an idiot. “I don’t understand how I’m responsible.”

  “I needed the file.”

  He gave a silent nod.

  “It was in your office.”

  Another nod – it seemed the only logical reaction at this point.

  The captain released a hard breath. “Your office, the death trap of a maze where you claim to work. The least you could’ve done was clear a path. Every inch of space is occupied by … something. I don’t even know what took me down.”

  “Sorry about that.” He glanced at the other man’s knee and flinched. “I’m kind of a mad scientist.”

  “You need serious help, man.”

  He grinned as he glanced around the room. Of course his c.o. would think he was sick – nothing here was out of place. Everything in this office had an assigned space and remained there. In fact, the captain respected his label maker as much as his weapon.

  “I’ll clear you a path,” he conceded.

  “Too late. I’ve made an executive decision.”

  Oh. Hell. This was not good news. Diesel’s executive decisions usually caused someone pain and he was fairly sure that in this case, someone meant him. He swallowed hard as he realized his first thought of impending doom may have been correct. The conversation was headed south; detrimental, for sure.

  “I hired a professional. ETA, thirty minutes.”

  Grace Portland repositioned her tote bag on one shoulder while she smoothed the skirt of her dress with one hand and crammed on her sunglasses with the other. The blinding sunlight seemed ever-present in Hummingbird Bay, California, for which she was thankful. Sunlight always put a positive spin on things, and in her line of work positive made things proceed much more smoothly.

  She closed her car door, still intrigued by the phone call she received earlier in the morning. Very rarely did she receive emergency calls for her organizational services, but the caller had been extremely persistent and almost … angry. In fact, she was sure that the man who spoke did so through clenched teeth.

  She took a brief moment to mentally rewind the call, just in the off chance she’d missed something. Then again, there hadn’t been much to miss, the conversation had been relatively short. Her caller was emphatic about hiring her, almost ordering her to accept the assignment.

  She glanced up at the sign over the door of the building in front of which she’d just parked. Watchdogs, Inc. She didn’t know anything about the company, only that it had been in business for two years and provided various forms of security services. And, judging from the locked gate, security camera, and intercom she dealt with to enter the premises, the company was legitimate.

  Well, she was in the right place – time to solve the mystery. An electronic chime announced her entrance as she opened the door and stepped inside.

  “Good afternoon, Ma’am.”

  At the greeting from the man who stood just inside the door, she tilted her head backward to meet his gaze. The breathtakingly beautiful man who looked back at her nearly stole her breath while she took him all in.

  Although he wore his brown hair short, it looked as if he’d awoken and simply run his fingers through the layers – a sexy, tousled look that appeared natural rather than unkempt. In the depths of his bluish green eyes she caught a sparkle, one that she interpreted as curiosity and mischievousness. And then there was his voice. He’d only spoken two words, yet his voice, low and sexy, lulled her into a warm sense of euphoria.

  “Ma’am?”

  Realization that she gawked like a silly schoolgirl shook her free from his invisible hold and she quickly extended a hand.

  “Hello, I’m Grace Portland from Saving Grace. You must be Diesel.”

  “No.” A smirk split his lips. “Harvard Gray.”

  She frowned. She was sure that his was the voice that opened the gate. “You weren’t the voice on the intercom at the gate?”

  “No, but I’m the victim.”

  She gave his hand a squeeze and then released it, a little unnerved that there were two voices that seemed to be lethal to her libido. “I promise it won’t hurt.”

  “Where would you like to start?”

  “I was told we’d be working in your office. Let’s start there.”

  “Sure. Follow me.”

  Grace walked behind him while she practiced great self-discipline to keep her gaze from roaming the very evident hard planes of his body. For once, her five-foot height gave her a satisfying viewpoint and as hard as she tried, she couldn’t resist checking him out.

  His lean back muscles rippled beneath his tight gray t-shirt with each step. And lower – like any warm-blooded female, she snuck a quick peek – his denim jeans hugged an incredible tight, toned backside that tempted her to reach out and touch. Just a soft swipe of her palm would do. She sw
allowed hard and balled her fists. Something told her this job would be quite a challenge.

  He finally stopped in front of an office and gestured at a man who sat behind a desk. “This is Diesel,” he told her.

  The other man stood and limped around the desk and then held out a hand. “Miss Portland?”

  “Grace,” she said as she returned a handshake.

  “I see Harvard has introduced himself. Good luck with the project.”

  “Thank you.” She nodded and stole a quick glance around the area, analyzing both the man and the room.

  Obviously, sex appeal was a prerequisite for the members of this company. Like her client, this man was attractive and … big. He, too, was well over six feet tall and she was forced to strain her eyes so that she wouldn’t appear too obvious by looking upward once again. He wore his black hair a bit longer, collar-length, with yet again the just-out-of-bed style, and a matching neatly-trimmed beard clung to the surface of his cheeks and skin. But his eyes are what drew her attention. Not in an attractive, sensual sort of nudge, but one of mystery. If she wasn’t mistaken, the deep, chocolate brown gaze held a distinct note of danger.

  Biceps the size of tree trunks bulged beneath a light blue, button-up dress shirt and black, denim jeans covered his slim yet muscular lower body. Between his appearance and his smooth, authoritative voice, something told her that no one crossed this man.

  She moved her gaze from him and over his office, impressed by his obvious knack for order. Everything appeared to be in an assigned area; even the papers on top of his desk were filed in colored file folders. The floor was free of clutter and a large white board hung on the wall behind his large, severely organized desk. From her first impression, this man did not require her services.

  Harvard’s voice penetrated her silent analysis. “My office is down the hall.”

  “Great! Let’s get started.”

  Once again, she followed Harvard and hoped to high Heaven she could remain professional throughout this assignment. She allowed herself a small grin. She may not be able to act on her desires, but nothing said she couldn’t fantasize.

  When they approached what she assumed was Harvard’s office, he blocked the entrance and turned to face her.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Don’t worry,” she reassured him. “I’ve seen it all. I’m here to help.”

  He shrugged and stepped to the side.

  As soon as her gaze rested on the interior, she suddenly understood Diesel’s phone call. Nothing in the office was in its’ proper place. Loose papers lined the top of his desk, piles of folders rested on the floor, and thumbtacks poked through wads of paper and pierced the walls. A tan sofa occupied one wall, separated from an executive’s desk by a black mini-refrigerator. Two mismatched chairs sat in front of the desk.

  She took a deep breath and stepped inside, careful of her reaction. “Have you been ill?”

  “No.”

  “Are you in the process of moving?”

  “No.”

  “Was there an accident?”

  “No.”

  “Really? Because your friend appears to be in a fair amount of pain.”

  “Really.”

  “Your office looks like this on purpose?”

  “Sure.”

  “And you function normally?”

  “Absolutely.” He released a confident smile that made her thighs tingle. “I know exactly where to find anything I need.”

  She paused in an effort to word her response carefully without insulting him. He might be able to function in this environment, but she highly doubted he did it efficiently. And if he did do it efficiently, there was a whole lot more to the story.

  She painted a confident smile on her face. “We just need to make a few slight changes. Don’t worry, I can fix this.”

  Braced with his legs apart and his hands folded across his chest, Harvard took one look at the tiny, raven-haired stick of dynamite and mentally cracked a smile. She talked a pretty good game with her organizational goals, but could she walk the walk? In no way did he question her ability – no, she exuded professional success. The true test, though, was teaching an old dog new tricks. Namely, him.

  The woman was a looker, that was for sure. Dressed in a red dress with thin straps that wrapped around both shoulders and a skirt that brushed the tops of her knees, she flashed him a very desirable view of the pale, creamy skin of her chest, shoulders, and legs. Cut in a heart-shaped pattern, the bodice squeezed her slender waist and breasts. 36C in his best estimation.

  She couldn’t have stood much over five feet tall, but her shapely legs didn’t go unnoticed. No, they were perfect – perfect for wrapping his hips in the heat of passion. Suddenly, accepting her help seemed like a brilliant idea.

  He shifted his weight to one side. He wasn’t opposed to changing his methods, in fact that might possibly be a positive experience. He got the distinct impression that the very beautiful woman who stood opposite him with one hand on a hip could whip things into shape in a matter of minutes. The problem was that it had been his experience that efficiency easily morphed into insanity.

  “I’m sure Diesel will pay you for your time even if I don’t buy into this project.”

  When she moved her hand from her hip and crossed both arms under her breasts, he damn near swallowed his tongue at the newly-created valley of cleavage that demanded his attention. Smooth, creamy like the rest of her skin, and tempting. So damn tempting.

  “You don’t want my help?”

  He immediately snapped his gaze from her breasts back to hers, partly because he shouldn’t have gawked but mostly because his cock would poke a hole through his zipper if he didn’t.

  “It’s not that—”

  “Then what is it?” she pressed.

  “I’m just not a very organized kind of guy.”

  “Obviously.” She gave him an eyeroll. “That’s why I’m here, to teach you.”

  She tightened her arms and gave those perfect breasts an eye-catching bounce. Ah, hell. The woman obviously had an arsenal of secret weapons. He took a minute to consider options. If he refused to cooperate Diesel would make his life a living hell. Then again, working with Grace could actually be a satisfying experience – for both of them. The decision was a no-brainer, he concluded. Keep the piles, keep Grace around.

  “Fine. I’m yours.”

  He braced himself for her I-knew-you-would-cave grin and then almost fell over when she frowned instead.

  “Why?”

  He gave her a matching frown. “Why what?”

  “Why did you agree?”

  “Because you convinced me?”

  “Did I?”

  Suddenly he wondered if he made the right choice. “Yes?”

  “Look, Mr. Gray—”

  “Harvard.”

  “Harvard. It will be a waste of both our time and effort if you don’t agree because you’re vested in the project. Don’t do it because I convinced you, do it because you really want to improve your organizational skills.”

  “You and I both know my idea of organization is piles on the floor. If you can get me past that, I’m vested.”

  She smiled and he locked his knees to keep from falling at her feet. “I can re-work your system. Would you like to begin now?”

  He shook his head in the negative. “Walk with me.”

  “Where?”

  “I’d like to give you a tour of the compound.”

  She hesitated while her teeth worked her plump, bottom lip. Desire pushed him to pull her close and soothe the poor lip with a tender swipe of his tongue. Instead, he pushed that thought to the side for the moment.

  “You don’t want to see the place?”

  “I’m not opposed,” she said finally, “it just wasn’t mentioned earlier.”

  “I’m sorry, you probably keep a tight schedule.”

  “No – yes,” she answered as her eyes widened. “I mean, yes, I do normally keep a s
trict schedule but today, I have free time.”

  He grinned. “You’re not too crazy about working outside the box, are you?”

  “Not really,” she admitted.

  A wave of encouragement rolled over him. Another reason for her to stick around. “Well, maybe I can help you with that.”

  She smiled. “I’d like that.”

  He led her out of his office and down the hallway, pointing out the file room, conference room, and kitchen. He then opened a set of French doors in the very back of the building.

  “This is the first of two pools.”

  “Two?”

  He nodded. “We use them to train.” He gestured with his head at a door near the deepest end. “The other is through that door.”

  “I see.” She paused for a split second and then poked a piece of her hair behind one ear. “It would really help me to know a little more about the company.”

  Hot damn. Lady Luck had just smiled on him. “How about a cup of coffee?”

  “That sounds nice but—”

  “It’s not on the schedule?”

  The smile that split her lips told him she enjoyed his gentle teasing. “Funny. I have an appointment this evening.”

  “Twenty minutes.”

  For the second time, she worried that bottom lip with her teeth. He licked his lips to keep his tongue busy.

  “Twenty minutes,” she agreed finally.

  “There’s a fresh pot in the kitchen.”

  Once they entered the kitchen, he grabbed two clean mugs, filled them with coffee, and then handed her one.

  “Cream or sugar?”

  “No, thank you.”

  He nodded and gestured with one hand to a small room off the back of the kitchen. “We can talk in the interrogation room.” He then led her into the room and placed the mugs on a rectangular coffee table that rested in front of a black, leather sofa. “Make yourself comfortable.”