“Yeah. Yes. Of course. That’s fine. We’ll do that,” he said.
She thought she heard Hodges mutter, “You two are ridiculous,” in the background, but she couldn’t be sure. She definitely heard the car engine starting, and the squeal of tires as Hodges roared out of the garage in Moncton.
Chapter Two
David’s life was boring and goddamn that was great.
He stood at the door to the ballroom, looking over the planning for some charity ball, and attempted not to appear as bored as he felt. It wasn’t easy. It turned out extreme boredom could actually make your face go numb. He’d never known that before and filed it away as a cool new discovery. He wanted to learn everything there was to know about boredom.
He tried to appear harmless, standing with one hand clasping his other wrist, shifting his muscles in his face only enough to retain sensation. His gun was a comforting weight under his arm and hidden by a very nice suit that highlighted the width of his shoulders and broadcast that David wasn’t someone you wanted to fuck with.
Andrea, the twenty-year-old debutante he’d been assigned to watch over for the past two weeks, sat at a table in the middle of the room, surrounded by her girlfriends and ignoring everyone else present, including David. She’d called him Mike on the way here. David didn’t care.
It was a job. It paid obscenely well. His boss, Chance McCormick, was his oldest friend from back in the days when thousand-dollar suits and guns were just parts of their imaginary cops versus gangster games.
David missed those days, and not just because he’d been young and innocent and so very clueless about what being a cop or a gangster really meant. He missed them because they were exciting and free. Because they were never, ever boring.
Because holy fucking god, he was so bored.
This sort of mind-numbing inaction was exactly what he’d wanted when he’d quit his job at the Boston Police Department. Extreme monotony was the hope he’d clung to when the Superintendent of BPD SWAT had asked him to reconsider—had even gone so far as to tell David he was needed. It had hurt to walk away from that, but David had known the truth that he wasn’t willing to share with his superintendent or anyone else—no one was going to need him anywhere near the station, let alone his gun, if he couldn’t keep his shit together.
He’d seen too much. Done too much. It had been time for a change.
The issue had then become figuring out what the hell he was going to do with himself. At thirty-two, he was too young to retire and too old to completely start over. He’d always planned on being a cop. He’d gone to school at Suffolk University, around the corner from the police headquarters, and studied criminal justice. Hell, he’d even interned with the BPD. It was all he’d ever wanted. All he’d ever known. Until he’d realized he didn’t want it anymore—that he’d barely lasted a decade, and it was already time for something different. Something less exciting. More stable.
Like working in personal security for McCormick Associates.
The good news, aside from David having exactly what he wanted, professionally-speaking, was that he’d discovered he had an above-average aptitude for staying alert and vigilant through teeth-grinding levels of tedium.
In hindsight, this also explained his grade in statistics class.
He watched his charge make her way to the bar where no one was checking IDs and reminded himself it wasn’t his job to do anything about that unless her dad, Harold, who wrote the checks, added it to the list of things for David to monitor. Since dad was on the other side of the room, smiling at his pride and joy as she took the cosmopolitan from the bartender, David guessed his orders weren’t going to change.
At least Harold wasn’t likely to ask David to sleep with his daughter, which is more than could be said about his last client’s desires regarding his wife. Aside from being unprofessional—and possibly illegal—at eighty-seven, Doris was a little above David’s usual age bracket.
David smiled, then put on his sternest frown when he realized he’d garnered the attention of several people around him. Of course, the bad-ass look worked even better for some people. David was flattered, and the tall blond guy giving him the once-over was fucking hot in those slim-tailored slacks, but David was here to work.
Once he got off shift, his big plan was to go home, start a fire, reheat the leftover pasta from the night before, and make some fresh mozzarella to go with the tomatoes he’d buy at the Haymarket later this week.
He was so busy salivating over that idea, he almost didn’t notice the newcomer pop out of the kitchen. Almost.
Right hair color. No tray of samples like everyone else was hauling out of the kitchen. David leaned to the right to see around the line for the bar and was on the move as soon as he saw the man wasn’t wearing a hotel uniform.
He could be a manager. Or a guest who’d gotten lost. But none of those people would keep their face turned away from the room, or their shoulders up so high.
David wove through the tables, heading straight toward Andrea. She didn’t notice, but her father stood up, his eyes narrowing on David’s face before scanning the room.
David knew his instincts had been right when Harold jolted as if he’d been struck and whipped his head around to stare at David with wide-eyed alarm.
Oh joy. It seemed the troublesome ex-boyfriend had decided to pay a visit.
When David and Chance had first met with Harold and Andrea, all they’d shared was a name and a photograph, which meant all David had known for certain was that Prentiss Harrison the third sounded—and, okay, looked—like an entitled, spoiled douchebag. Chance had investigated further but found no criminal history. No school disciplinary actions on record. No gun permit. According to Harold, Prentiss was just “a jerk” who’d turn up where he wasn’t expected or welcome and sometimes make a scene.
David fervently hoped a scene was all that was about to happen. A scene he could handle and end quickly with the help of the hotel staff. But the itch at the back of his neck made him move a little faster. He could see the ex’s face now, and he looked completely different than in that picture. Pale and grim. And worse—desperate.
David had witnessed what desperation could drive people to do.
His heart rate kicked up another notch. He touched Andrea’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”
“What?” She spun in her seat, took one look at his face, and turned to search for her father.
David followed her gaze when she gasped.
Fuck.
Lover-boy wasn’t coming toward them, but was zeroed in on Harold. As far as David could tell, Prentiss-the-douchebag hadn’t even picked Andrea out of the crowd yet. David scanned the room. He was being paid to protect Andrea, but there was no way he could leave the father defenseless. Not when he could see a bulge in the back waistband of Prentiss’s pants.
A dude named fucking Prentiss should not be capable of being scary, but here they were. He scanned Andrea’s friends and picked one with her phone in her hand.
“Stand up, pretend to answer your phone, and walk toward the lobby. Keep your voice down and call 911. When you get to the lobby, tell the staff we have a serious security issue and they should also call the police. Do you understand?”
She stared at him blankly.
“Do you understand?” he repeated in a rough whisper while Andrea hissed, “Charlotte, do it. Hurry.”
With a quick nod, Charlotte jumped to her feet and walked briskly toward the door. She pressed her phone to her ear as she stepped out of sight.
David checked to confirm Prentiss was still focused on Harold. Prentiss was saying something, but David couldn’t hear what. Harold looked both alarmed and confused by whatever it was.
David put out his hand to stop a passing waiter.
“Sir?” the kid asked politely.
David made very intense eye contact with the poor guy, who had no idea what he’d walked into. “We have a serious security concern unfolding. No, do not turn around.”
> The waiter gaped at him. “Okay?”
Prentiss was still not paying them any attention. Andrea’s father shifted to his left, forcing Prentiss to turn his back to them.
Good man.
David focused on the waiter again. “I want you to lead Andrea here to the kitchen,” he said, gesturing at his charge. “Walk quickly, do not run, to the closest exit once you’re out of sight.” The guy nodded, his eyes bugging out. David turned to Andrea. “Pretend you’re going to the bar until the last possible moment, then dodge through that kitchen door. Once you’re clear, go straight to the Boston PD.”
Andrea’s expression was mutinous. “I’m not leaving here without my dad.”
David sighed. He couldn’t even blame her. Fuck, he almost liked her. “Okay, then find a closet or an office, lock or jam the door handle, and stay away from the door. Text me your location. Do you understand?”
She grabbed his arm. “You’ll help my dad?”
“Yeah,” David said with a grim smile, “that’s the plan.”
Andrea nodded once and started walking, without question and without hysterics, though her hand shook as she nudged the waiter ahead of her. The whole family was far braver than he’d given them credit for.
It was always nice to have his faith in people affirmed before he pulled his gun on someone.
He turned to the rest of the table. “Get up and walk out one at a time. Do not run and do not leave as a group. Once you’re somewhere safe, text Andrea where that is. If you know someone else in this room, text them and tell them to find you in the lobby, without giving any details, if you must. Otherwise, get the hell away.”
Without waiting to see if they understood, he turned to face the other side of the ballroom. All his detailed instructions would be moot once he or Prentiss pulled a gun.
Then the running and screaming would start, and that part always sucked.
For now, David kept his gun holstered for precisely that reason. Prentiss wasn’t paying attention to anyone but Harold. People had moved away from them, giving them space for what was probably perceived as an extraordinarily awkward conversation. The clusters of people forced David to slow his approach.
Finally, he was close enough to hear.
“You took her away from me. Poisoned her mind against me! We were meant to be together forever!”
David bit back a sigh and vowed to search Amazon again for the book titled Creepy Shit Stalkers Say. It had to exist. Otherwise, how could they all work off the same damn script?
He cut left to circle the last table, knowing it might put him in the perp’s peripheral vision, but taking the calculated risk. The kid most likely didn’t have a clue what he was doing, operating on impulse and adrenaline. Not like the time SWAT had been called to the home of a fellow officer.
David shoved aside everything that went along with being the one who’d pulled the trigger on that job. He needed to stay present. It was bad enough his dreams succumbed to that call as often as they did.
Harold, who’d done a decent job ignoring David until now, let his gaze drift over Prentiss’s shoulder. Prentiss spun, his eyes widening when he saw David. He could only hope Prentiss had no idea who David was or what he was doing there.
He decided to test that theory. “Everything okay here? You sound pretty upset,” he said with an apologetic smile. He kept his eyes on Prentiss, not willing to indicate he had any idea who Harold was. Not yet.
Prentiss looked increasingly distressed, his gaze flicking back and forth between David and Harold as David worked his way around the last of the tables and drew closer. He was about to insert himself between them when Prentiss snapped.
David would later admit he hadn’t thought Prentiss could pull his gun that fast.
It took less than five seconds for someone to realize what was happening, and for the screaming and running to start, right on cue. David kept one eye on the rush of people fleeing the room, but he was more concerned with how his heart pounded disconcertingly hard against his ribs. How his palms sweated. He’d been trained for this, he reminded himself sternly. Seen worse. And it didn’t have to go wrong.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, why couldn’t this have stayed boring?
Embarrassingly, David didn’t have to try too hard to look alarmed for Prentiss’s benefit. He hoped the shock on his face would make up for the fact that he wasn’t raising his hands. Harold followed his lead and didn’t either, which was good. McCormick should have this family give their other clients lessons.
“What can we do to end this peacefully?” David asked in a calm voice.
“Please, Prentiss,” Harold added, “we can talk about this.”
Prentiss didn’t waver.
“How about you put the gun down,” David said, “and we can all walk out of here.”
“Boston PD! Drop the weapon and put your hands up!”
David sighed and lifted his arms. So much for that plan.
Prentiss glanced nervously over his shoulder, where David’s former coworkers were helping the last of the scream-and-run crowd from the room. As soon as they were gone, the officers pointed their guns at Prentiss. Too bad they’d hit David, and possibly Harold, if they missed.
A bead of sweat rolled down Prentiss’s cheek, and David hoped like hell the dumb kid didn’t get himself killed. He needed help, and possibly life-long supervision, but not death.
David didn’t know what he’d do if he had to witness the life drain out of another body. Another kid. The idea scared him. The idea of what he might become absolutely terrified him.
The next time Prentiss glanced over his shoulder at the cops, David took advantage of his mistake. He ran straight at the kid, shoving the gun toward the empty half of the ballroom and wrapping Prentiss’s wrist in a death grip as David crashed into him.
They fell into a table with a jarring thud and the gun went off. David didn’t look to see where the shot had gone, didn’t shake his head to rid his ears of the ringing. He focused on getting Prentiss to the ground and the gun from his grasp. It took a matter of seconds, but David’s heart didn’t beat for any of them, only exploding back into a gallop when the police took over.
David rolled off Prentiss and sat on the floor for a minute, trying to catch his breath.
Fucking hell, that sucked.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but Harold, of all people, crouched at his side and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. His client forced him up and into a chair and handed him someone’s glass of ice water. David drank it.
His former colleagues congratulated him on a job well done, and he nodded vaguely, wishing he was still standing at the side of the ballroom, bored witless.
The process that played out over the next few hours was familiar, but there was no comfort in it. He should have been separating curds from whey and stretching mozzarella, but he was stuck in the hotel ballroom, and then down at the station, in an endless reaffirmation that he’d made the right choice to leave all the goddamn paperwork behind. That shit was the wrong kind of boring.
Hopefully, his new gig would go back to being the right kind of boring really fucking soon.
Chapter Three
As much as Reese loved to travel and still had dreams of seeing more of the world, he fucking hated to fly. Just seeing the tiny airplane on the tarmac had been enough to tie his stomach into knots.
It wasn’t rational, it wasn’t sensible, it wasn’t helpful or reasonable, and god knew it wasn’t convenient, but it also wasn’t something he could control.
He and Hodges were the only passengers on the flight they’d chartered out of Moncton, jammed into seats that were clearly designed for people with far shorter legs. Reese owned at least three cars with larger interiors than this glorified tin can. And if that weren’t bad enough, Hodges passed most of the flight watching Reese with increasing alarm. Reese was ignoring him, perfectly aware that it couldn’t be good for his heart to beat this hard for so long. Sweat trickled down his face and stu
ck his shirt to his back, but he wasn’t flapping his arms to help keep the plane in the air, so as far as he was concerned, he was doing a fucking awesome job.
The plane dipped and juddered in another gust of wind, and Reese foolishly looked out the window.
Why were they so close to the ground?
The pilot’s shout answered that. “We’ll be landing in a few. It’s going to be a rough one—the wind is bad today.”
Reese could feel the blood draining from his face. He jumped when Hodges curled a hand over the fist he had clenched on his leg.
“I’m fine.”
Hodges nodded. “You are.”
“I’m not freaking out.”
“You’re lying, kid, but that’s okay.” Hodges patted his hand.
“Don’t patronize me. And don’t call me kid,” Reese said, for possibly the hundred millionth time in his life. They were only fifteen years apart.
Hodges smirked. “Yes, sir.”
“Ugh. Don’t call me that either.”
The plane did something that should have been reserved for the exclusive use of amusement park rides. Reese swallowed back a yelp.
“Mati’s going to be fine.”
Reese snapped his gaze back to Hodges. “Yes, she is,” he said with absolute conviction. He had to believe that.
“I’ve got a car waiting for us at the airport. We’ll be home in forty-five minutes.” It was still way too long. Reese eyed Hodges’ smile with suspicion. “And then you can see your sweetheart. Or was it your love?”
Reese crossed his arms over his chest. “Shut up.”
Hodges snorted, immune to Reese’s glare.
“They were extreme circumstances,” Reese said tartly.
Hodges rolled his eyes. “For Christ’s sake, you two are ridiculous.”
“You keep saying that. I don’t know what you mean.”
Hodges laughed. “That’s what’s ridiculous!”
Reese threw up his hands. “You’re always muttering about idiots and insinuating I’m clueless, yet you never explain yourself.”
Breaking Out Page 3