An old war horse with a voice seasoned with piss and gravel, Colonel Carl Garrett was a legendary figure at Fort Benning. Despite having more than thirty years under his belt, he clearly had no plan to retire at any point in the near future. Huck envied him so much in that moment it hurt. Garrett had purpose, knew his place, had been able to adapt from strapping young soldier to mature commander seemingly with ease.
Furthermore and most importantly, if the man wanted to make a suggestion regarding his future, Huck would be a fool not to listen.
“Certainly, sir.”
“I knew the moment I’d heard of your unfortunate injury that we’d lost you, Major Finn. As you so aptly put it, you’re a man of action.” Garrett smiled. “Men of action don’t typically do well chained to a desk or tethered to a classroom.” His gaze drifted over the cane across Huck’s knees. “It’s our loss, of course, because despite knowing what I know, I still think our up-and-comer’s could benefit from your expertise.”
Be that as it may, Huck thought, he wasn’t changing his mind.
“Nonetheless, when I heard that you’d been injured, I knew you were on your way out. As such, I took the liberty of forwarding your information to some friends of mine. They’re former Rangers like yourself, based in Atlanta--Ranger Security,” he said, quirking a bushy brow. “You might have heard of it.”
Every sense went on point. As a matter of fact, he had heard of it. Jamie Flanagan, Brian Payne and Guy McCann were legendary at Fort Benning, and their success in the security business post military was equally famous amid his counterparts on base. Come to think of it, he’d actually gone through a special ops training class with Brian Payne and Danny Levinson, a fallen comrade who paid the ultimate price for Uncle Sam. Levinson had been a good friend of all three men and their exit out of the military was rumored to be somehow related to Danny’s death.
Though he’d never actually considered contacting them, something about the idea of working with them--with men from his world--made his gut clench with hope and his spine prickle with anticipation.
He cast a glance at his ruined knee and mentally watched the idea disintegrate. Hell, who was he kidding? Sure, he could walk--had forced himself to run as well though it hurt like a sonofabitch--but even a security specialist would have to pass certain physical assessment tests and he knew damned well he’d never make the cut.
“They’re aware of your injuries, Finn,” Garrett said, using that uncanny ability to read his mind. “They’re still interested. You have a job waiting for you should you wish to accept it.”
Huck blinked, stunned. “Waiting for me? Without an interview? Without assessing my physical ability to do the job?”
Garrett merely smiled. “Your record combined with my recommendation is more than enough.”
“But what about my knee? I can’t--“
“The only thing you can’t do, Major Finn, is jump out of airplanes anymore. You are more than physically capable of joining Ranger Security and taking on the cases you’ll be assigned.”
Ah... So that was the lay of it. His gaze hardened. “I won’t be anyone’s pity project, Colonel, regardless of--“
“Only a fool would pity you, Major,” Garrett interrupted. “I merely hate to see your talent and training squandered. I thought it would be a good fit, sent your file along with my own comments regarding your character, which has not been injured.” He shrugged. “The rest is up to you. Take it or don’t, the choice is yours. It’s a plan, at any rate, and I’m guessing that when you came in here today, short of getting me to sign your release papers, you didn’t have one.”
At that Huck had to grin. Garrett more than likely had more enemies than friends, but the old bastard sure as hell knew how to read a man. What else could he see? Huck wondered, shooting him an uneasy look.
“Nothing firm, sir,” he finally admitted.
“Give it some thought then,” Garrett told him. “What have you got to lose?”
At this point...nothing, Huck realized, releasing a pent-up breath. His career was blown right along with his knee. In fact, right now the only thing he was at risk of losing was his mind.
* * *
“You can’t be serious,” Sapphira Stravos breathed, staring at her father. Trixie, her Maltese and perpetual companion shivered in her lap, evidently feeling the chill in the air despite the balmy ninety-degree heat they were enjoying out by her father’s pool in Atlanta’s elite Buckhead area.
“I’m dead serious. I’ve received two threats on your life. To ignore another would imply that I am foolish or don’t care about your welfare, neither of which is accurate.”
Not if you asked her, Sapphira thought with a mental eye roll. Did Mathias Stravos care for her? Sure. He cared for her in the same way he cared for his prized Thoroughbred horses, his vintage Bentley, the prime piece of real estate they currently sat on.
She was a possession, not a daughter.
Sapphira swallowed and ran her hand over Trixie’s slim back. She hadn’t been a daughter since the moment her older brother, Nicholas, had committed suicide four years ago. Rather than risk the emotional upheaval of losing another child, her father had re-compartmentalized her role.
He’d moved her out of the column of “family” and inserted her into “belongings.”
No doubt the same fate would have awaited her mother, but she’d left the minute the funeral was over and Saphhira rarely heard from her. “Sapphira’s as good as dead, too,” she’d heard her mother tell him. “You’ll kill her the same way you murdered my Nicky.”
Not true, Sapphira knew, but she wasn’t so certain her father did. Had her father pushed Nicky? Expected a lot out of him as the heir-apparent to the Stravos fortune? Certainly. But that hadn’t been what had driven her troubled brother over the edge. Though Sapphira had her suspicions, Nicky had taken that secret to the grave with him.
And, God, how she missed him...
Funny how life could change in the blink of an eye. She’d been one week away from graduation, had already accepted a position--one that she knew she’d earned though she knew there would have been rumblings to the contrary at Stravos Industries--when Nicky had taken enough tranquilizers to drop an elephant. In one fell swoop she’d lost her brother, mother and father--her entire family--and any future she had of making a genuine career for herself.
Convinced that he’d driven Nicky over the edge, her father had promptly killed the job--despite her railing and her tears--then had made it clear that he would professionally annihilate anyone who hired her--and he had the clout to do it. He’d immediately put her on salary, though she had no title and no particular job. The only thing that had saved her was her charity work, and she’d had to keep that as low profile as possible or risk his wrath.
Fearing she would crack as well, he didn’t want her to do anything.
“You’re an heiress, dammit. Go shopping. Go to the spa. Tour Europe. But you’re not going to work. I’ve worked hard so that you don’t have to. Not taking advantage of the wealth that you’ve been given is a direct insult to me--and I will not be insulted.”
At any rate, Sapphira knew her father cared for her out of obligation now and not out of love. It would be easier to resent him if she didn’t understand, but unfortunately she did. Nicky’s death had paralyzed her father with grief, had emotionally bankrupted him. Every once in a while she’d catch him staring at her brother’s picture--the one he kept on his desk--and the haunted look of pain on his face was enough to bring tears to her eyes. In his own misguided way, she knew he was trying to protect her--didn’t want to push her the way he had Nicky. He treated her as though she were one of his prize-winning rare orchids--lovely to look at, delicate and frail.
Regardless, hiring a bodyguard for her due to couple of newspaper-clipping-and-paste threats was ridiculous.
“Daddy, don’t you think you’re going a bit overboard? Why would anyone possibly want to hurt me?”
Her father gestured to Rosa, hi
s personal servant who dogged his every step, for another drink. “You don’t achieve my level of success without making a few enemies, Sapphira.” He shot her a dark look. “Furthermore, I’ve heard rumblings about your recent activities--“
A dart of panic landed in her chest. He couldn’t have-- She’d been so careful--
“--and Cindy Ward’s father, in particular, is displeased.”
Sapphira felt a tremulous smile of relief slide over her numb lips. So he didn’t know about her work. Thank God. “Cindy’s a vital asset to Belle Charities,” she told him. “She’s got a wonderful way of making people open their wallets for a good cause.”
He snorted. “That way is called blackmail, Sapphira. She threatened to out her own brother, for pity’s sake.”
Too true, she knew, feeling a grin slide across her lips. Cindy Ward was the perfect Atlanta socialite. A proud member of the country club, she shopped at all the right stores, attended all the right parties and kept up with every bit of dirt.
On everybody.
She was stubborn, opinionated, big-hearted and generous. She was also one of the best friends Sapphira had ever had.
“You’re not going to change my mind about this, Sapphira. I’ve already contacted an agency and have arranged for your care. A security specialist will be arriving first thing tomorrow morning.”
She gulped. “Tomorrow morning?”
“That’s right. I’ve contracted Ranger Security. They’ll be looking into the matter, tracing the source of the letters, and will provide twenty-four hour security.”
Twenty-four hour security? Surely he didn’t mean-- “What do you mean twenty-four hour security?” she asked, a big ball of dread bouncing in her gut. They’d have to file reports with her father, chronicle her comings and goings. She swallowed the nausea creeping up her throat.
“Exactly what I said,” he told her, frowning. “Round the clock care.”
“A round the clock baby-sitter? Because of two little letters?” she said, her voice escalating with outrage. She reached for her hand-sanitizer--aka her fix--and vigorously rubbed it into her palms.
“You’re the intended target of those two little letters.”
She had to admit when she’d seen them she’d gotten a bit of a chill. Your daughter’s in danger. Sapphira’s not safe. Still... A twenty-four hour bodyguard?
“For how long?”
“As long as it takes, Sapphira. I’ve researched the local security companies. Ranger Security is at the top of their field. Every agent is a former Ranger. They’re smart, competent and trained in lethal force. You’re completely safe in their hands.”
She wasn’t worried so much about being safe as she was being watched. If her father had gone to the trouble to hire a bodyguard, no doubt that bodyguard would be making regular reports to her dad.
Not good.
She’d worked hard to cover her tracks, to make sure that her father hadn’t found out just have far she’d taken Belle Charities. He was under the impression that she and few friends got together over manies and pedies and doled out a small portion of their allowances. If he had any idea that she’d turned it into a multimillion dollar charitable organization--complete with an underground staff she managed--as well as her regular trips into the inner city to mentor unwed mothers, he’d not only freak, he’d cut her off.
The realization made her stomach lurch.
She had too many people depending on her to let that happen. Programs in place that provided scholarships, food, medical care--the things she personally financed with her so-called salary. She couldn’t let them down.
Wouldn’t.
Furthermore, what about Carmen? She was due any day now and Sapphira had promised to be in the delivery room with her. How was she supposed to attend OB visits and birthing classes with a freaking bodyguard in tow? She rubbed more sanitizer into her palms. Good grief, what a nightmare.
Though she’d tried to stay focused on providing help and keeping an emotional distance, something about Carmen Martinez had inexplicably tugged at Sapphira’s heartstrings. Petite yet fierce, Carmen was smart and hard-working, resourceful and funny. At seventeen she was awfully young to be a mother, but despite her circumstances looked forward to it all the same. There was a maturity in her that one didn’t often see in one so young, a wry but resigned wit at her dire circumstances. No family--her foster parents had kicked her out when they’d discovered the pregnancy--no support and no boyfriend. Evidently the college boy--one whose family Sapphira knew rather well--who’d positively adored her before her pregnancy suddenly remembered he had a girlfriend and couldn’t be burdened by a baby.
Too bad, Sapphira thought, eyes narrowing. There was nothing to be done at the moment, but the instant the baby was born, she planned to make sure the father was named in a paternity suit. In fact, she planned to personally cover the attorney’s fees.
When she’d first decided to mentor, Sapphira knew it had been her way with coping with her own unplanned teenage pregnancy. Though it seemed like a lifetime ago and though she’d lost her baby early on, she’d never completely gotten over the paralyzing fear of being pregnant at such an early age and losing her baby...
Losing her baby, despite the wrath and ridicule she would have faced from her parent’s, had broken something inside of her. She’d been seventeen, in love in only the way a teenager could be--wide-eyed, whole-heartedly, head over heels to the point of destruction. A whispered promise, a bottle of wine and an “I love you” later, she’d parted with her virginity without protection and month later both her period and the boyfriend were MIA. She’d been so panicked, so ashamed, but so hopeful over her baby. She might have been young, but she’d loved her baby from the minute she’d seen the positive sign on her home pregnancy test.
Even hopeful and afraid, she’d felt alienated from everyone. Telling her parents would have been a nightmare and facing Ella, her beloved nanny, heartbreaking. Nicky? Out of the question. Unfortunately, she’d lost the baby--it had been Ella who’d found her, weeping and bleeding on the bathroom floor...and her life had never been the same.
Mentoring had been her way to help, to manifest the change she’d gone through as a result of that experience and Carmen... Well, Carmen reminded her a lot of herself.
“I don’t have a problem with the security, Dad,” she finally said, careful to keep the panic out of her voice because he was so shrewd he’d surely recognize it. “But I don’t want a stranger spending the night in my home.”
“You’re welcome to move back into the main house--where I can protect you--until the threat is neutralized,” he offered, knowing full well it was out of the question.
The sprawling Greek Revival mansion her father had built in honor of their heritage had always been too big and impersonal to her. In fact, from the time she’d been a little girl she’d hated it. Even her room had felt too large and many a night she’d dragged a pillow and blanket into her walk-in closet and spent the night on the floor. They’d always made a joke of it, but Sapphira preferred intimate spaces.
Frankly, she’d preferred her nanny’s quarters and had spent more time at Ella’s than at home. She’d loved it so much her father had built a replica of Ella’s small cottage for her next door to her beloved friend after Nicky had died. The older Cajun-French woman had always been more like a grandmother to her than hired help and Sapphira knew Ella loved her regardless of her paycheck. True, Ella had been reimbursed for caring for her day to day needs when she was growing up, but Sapphira knew she’d genuinely cared for her all the same. She’d always been able to draw comfort from that, to know that she was loved unconditionally.
When she’d gotten too old for a nanny and had heard her parents discussing the need to let Ella go, Sapphira had become inconsolable. She’d always had a strong bond with her nanny, one that she knew her mother had resented. Clarise Stravos had kept insisting that Ella had to go, but thankfully her father had taken pity on her and kept Ella on in a household m
anagement capacity.
Her mother had never been particularly...motherly. She wasn’t affectionate, didn’t want her clothes being mussed with hugs. She’d always kept her children at a polite distance, preferring to take them out to show them off during dinner parties, then eagerly shooing them away the moment the ooo’ing and ah’ing had subsided. She might have been her biological mother, but she’d never been truly there for her.
She’d never been a Momma.
No, Ella had been and was her rock, had nursed her through the chicken pox, scraped knees, first heartbreak, second heartbreak, and even third heartbreak, Sapphira thought wryly, not to mention the miscarriage. She’d been a soft shoulder to cry on when she’d lost Nicky and the rest of her family. “Come here, ma cher,” she’d said. “Everythin’s gonna be all right.”
And she was the only person who knew exactly what she did with her time and money. And why.
“Ella’s right next door,” Sapphira pointed out, knowing it was a weak argument.
Her father snorted. “Ella’s an old woman. She can’t protect you.”
“We live in a freaking fortress,” she told him, exasperated. A ten foot stone fence surrounded their estate, as well as a gate at the only entrance to the property. Her father had a top-notch, high-tech security system complete with motion detectors and closed-circuit cameras. “Short of a person parachuting onto the grounds, I’m safe here, Dad.”
“You’ll be safer with a bodyguard. End of discussion, Sapphira,” he said, picking up his newspaper. And just like that, she might as well have vanished. She felt her jaw ache and narrowly avoided grinding her teeth.
Furthermore, it might be the end of the discussion, Sapphira thought, bristling at his oh-so-gallingly-familiar autocratic tone. But it sure as hell wasn’t the end of the battle. She might not be able to change her father’s mind, but she could certainly play the spoiled debutante to the point that her bodyguard would want to quit. If there was one thing she’d learned as a Stravos captive it was how to outmaneuver a master.
Men Out of Uniform: 6 Book Omnibus Page 47