Protector (Copper Mesa Eagles Book 3)

by Roxie Noir

  “If I were smart I would have,” she said.

  “I don’t believe you for a second,” Garrett teased.

  “You don’t even know me,” Ellie said, but she was smiling.

  “I know you well enough to know that trouble is like catnip to you,” he said. “The second you saw that note you were out for blood.”

  “That’s not true,” Ellie protested.

  “So you’re here because of some other reason, then?” Garrett said.

  She frowned. Garrett grinned at her, and after a moment, her frown softened.

  “I’m not giving into terrorists,” she said. “I’m in the middle of all this trouble because I have to be, not because I want to be.”

  Garrett just raised his eyebrows.

  “Catnip,” he said.

  Ellie sighed.

  “It’s not true,” she said. “I’m a perfectly reasonable person who weighs risks and rewards carefully and chooses the best course of action.”

  Garrett opened his mouth, but Ellie put one finger on his lips.

  Fire jolted down his spine, and Garrett nearly fell over.

  “Don’t say anything,” she told him. “Just give me everything you have.”

  Garrett swallowed, and she took her finger off his lips.

  Everything in his entire body was screaming at him to lean forward and just kiss her on that perfect, full mouth. He could barely breathe, thinking about it.

  Then Ellie broke the spell, her eyes flicking back to his computer screen.

  “Perfectly reasonable,” Garrett said, and stood.

  * * *

  For hours, Ellie sifted through everything that Garrett had: piles and piles of documents, business licenses, surveillance tapes, even courtroom testimony. She didn’t ask how he’d gotten any of it, and Garrett didn’t volunteer.

  He suspected that she knew some of it hadn’t been precisely legal.

  He microwaved frozen burritos and they ate quietly, Ellie on the floor of the living room, surrounded by paper and Garrett’s spare laptop. He had two spares, actually.

  “Okay,” she finally said, and stood. It was almost three in the afternoon, and she stretched, reaching up and then touching her toes.

  Garrett watched, fascinated. He was at the kitchen counter, maps spread in front of him.

  She didn’t mind when I touched her earlier, he thought. I could offer her a back rub, and then we could get on the couch and I could...

  He blinked and looked at the counter again.

  What are you, fifteen? He thought. A back rub? Come on.

  “Okay what?” Garrett asked.

  She picked up two pieces of paper and walked over to where he was sitting. They were both barefoot, and she leaned on the counter, smiling like she’d cracked a code.

  “The owners of a business registered in a foreign company aren’t actually secret when a company is registered in the United States,” she said.

  “You found a name?” Garrett asked. “I’ve been trying to find a name for months.”

  “Not yet,” Ellie cautioned. “I’m just saying that there’s a name, and I think I can get it.”

  Her eyes crinkled at the corners.

  “Are you going to tell me how, or do I have to drag it out of you?” Garrett said.

  He leaned forward on the kitchen counter.

  “I’d like to see you try,” said Ellie, nearly laughing.

  “I have techniques,” he said.

  He was so close that he could feel her body heat, and he felt himself stiffen.

  Garrett fought away a vision of Ellie on the counter, his face between her thighs as she moaned.

  Ellie swallowed, and then straightened up. Garrett forced himself to focus on the matter at hand.

  “For everything that gets registered as a business in the United States, there’s a local office that has a lot of paperwork,” she said.

  Her cheeks turned a pleasing pink, and suddenly, she couldn’t look Garrett in the eye.

  “For example, the clerk in Mistin County, Delaware,” she said. “Which is where BTSV is registered. Nobody in Washington is going to give us what we want. It’s not even on a computer, it’s probably in a vault right now, and there’s someone whose job it is to just retrieve paperwork. And whoever has that job, at the federal level, knows damn well that they’re not supposed to be telling anyone what’s on that paperwork.”

  “But not the clerk in Mistin County?” Garrett asked.

  “Maybe not the clerk,” Ellie said. “Right now it’s almost five on the east coast, and I bet that Nate Plotkin just wants to go home.”

  She grabbed the laptop off the floor, and Garrett saw that she had the Facebook page of one Nate Plotkin pulled up: a smiling, slightly overweight man wearing a polo shirt.

  Ellie held her phone up, dialed, and winked at Garrett. He could hear the phone ringing, and then a man’s voice answering.

  “Oh, thank goodness you’re still there!” Ellie exclaimed. “It’s Linda, from the clerk’s office in Chesapeake County? Over in Maryland?”

  There was a pause. Then Ellie giggled into the phone.

  “I’m so sorry, I’m sure you don’t remember me. We met at the inter-county softball tournament, and I guess I just remembered your name, even though we hardly talked at all. You had that red shirt on, didn’t you?”

  I’d definitely fall for this, Garrett thought.

  “Well, your potato salad was just killer,” Ellie said. “Anyway, I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to keep you on the phone but I’m wondering if you could just scan a page of something for me? It won’t take you but a minute.”

  A pause.

  “It’s the registration documents for some company called BTVS. Maybe BTVS incorporated? I finally just got the fax that I requested from the document office a couple of weeks ago, and it’s mostly great but the first page is just so light that I can’t hardly read a thing.”

  As she listened, Ellie ran her tongue along the underside of her upper lip.

  “Listen, Nate, I really don’t mind requesting it again, I just hate creating all that work for everyone again when I just need this one page, you know? I had to use the 540UG form, and then because there were stakeholders with a dividend compliance issue there’s the BNF1050, and you know what a pain that one is, and it always takes an extra week because a judge has to sign off on it...”

  Ellie listened intently.

  “Please, no, I’m sure the bad copy is just an accident, don’t get angry with anyone on my account. I’m sure it was an honest mistake.”

  Suddenly she looked Garrett in the eyes and held his gaze for a long moment.

  Then her face broke into a smile.

  “Would you?” she said. “Thank you so much, you wouldn’t believe how much easier you’ve made my day. Yeah, sure, here let me get you the fax number — “

  She rattled off a string of digits.

  “Listen, Nate, if you need anything at all from Chesapeake County, just give me a ring and let me know. I’d love to help you out.”

  She listened, and for a moment, Garrett felt a twinge of jealousy that she was sweet-talking someone else.

  Not that she’s sweet-talked me, he thought. I think it might be the opposite, actually.

  He didn’t mind. Then Ellie giggled again, and he frowned.

  “Absolutely!” Ellie said. She gave Garrett a thumbs up. “Can’t wait until the next softball game, slugger! Of course. You got it. Talk to you later.”

  Ellie pulled the phone away from her face, hit the red button, and grinned at Garrett.

  “You look like the cat that ate the canary,” he said.

  “That canary was delicious,” she said. “What are you frowning about?”

  “I’m not frowning,” Garrett said. “Is that how you get information? Call men ‘slugger’ and tell them they make amazing potato salad?”

  Ellie put her head on her hand and looked at Garrett, tapping her cheek with one finger.

  “You’re
jealous,” she said.

  Garrett snorted.

  “That you tricked some poor sap into giving up information?” he said.

  “That I called him slugger and said he had great potato salad.”

  “No way,” he said.

  “You want me to call you slugger?” Ellie teased.

  “I’m not jealous,” Garrett said, trying to frown. He could tell it wasn’t quite working. “You just flirted with some guy on my behalf. Why would that make me jealous?”

  “You tell me, slugger,” Ellie said.

  Garrett opened his mouth again, but the laptop chimed, and he turned to look at it.

  Line by line, a scanned document came up on the screen.

  Chapter Six

  Ellie

  Don’t flirt with your client, Ellie reminded herself.

  Is he really your client? She thought, watching the dimples sink into Garrett’s face as he teased her. You’re in his apartment, breaking the law to help him out.

  The computer chimed, and she turned to look at it.

  I hope I get paid for this, though, she thought. I’ve still got bills, no matter how sexy my problems are.

  With incredible, excruciating slowness, the form on the laptop screen resolved.

  “Is your internet two tin cans strung together?” Ellie asked.

  “It’s Mistin County, not me,” Garrett protested.

  Before she could say anything else, it came through. Even though she’d only wanted one page, Nate Plotkin had sent all fifty pages of the document, so Ellie waded through it, scanning names quickly.

  “You really got this dude wrapped around your little finger,” Garrett muttered, but Ellie tapped the screen with one finger before he could get any further.

  Under Principal Shareholder, there was one name.

  “Pierce Boudreaux,” Ellie said out loud.

  Silence. She turned to look at Garrett, who looked back, his face a blank.

  “Nothing?” she asked.

  He just shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “I’ve never seen that name before.”

  They stared at each other.

  “Shit,” Garrett finally said. “What if I’m wrong? What if this is all... weird coincidence, and no one’s really after my family?”

  “It’s a lot of coincidence,” Ellie said.

  “How can this guy be a total mystery? Are you sure that’s the right paperwork?”

  Ellie scanned through it all again.

  “BTVS, Dutch Antilles,” she said. She spun the screen so it faced Garrett. “Is that all right?”

  He read slowly, the screen lighting his face.

  “Yeah,” he finally said. “That’s it.”

  Ellie felt deflated. She’d hoped for something big from this name, the name of the man who was chasing Garrett and his family, and instead there was nothing. No ‘aha!’ moment, just the two of them wondering, who’s that?

  Quit it, she thought. This happens every day. Fucking Google it.

  * * *

  Three hours later, Garrett stood, rubbed his eyes, and ran his hand through his hair.

  “What time is it?” Ellie asked.

  He looked at the microwave clock.

  “Six fifteen,” he said. “You hungry?”

  “I could eat,” Ellie said, then drew a finger slowly along the countertop.

  “I need to go home at some point, too,” she said.

  “No,” said Garrett, crouching in front of a cabinet, pulling a pot out.

  “Excuse me?” Ellie said.

  Garrett stood and put the pot on the counter.

  “It’s dangerous,” he said. “Someone broke into your office. What if they break into your apartment?”

  “I can take care of myself,” Ellie said, bristling a little. “There’s a gun in my purse right now. You may remember it from the time I pointed it at you this morning.”

  “I promise I haven’t forgotten,” Garrett said. “But by now, they — this Boudreaux guy and whoever’s working with him — they know you’re here, which they’ve figured out means you haven’t stopped working on the Monson case.”

  “I can’t stay here,” she said.

  “I’ll sleep on the couch,” Garrett said. “It’s fine.”

  “What about tomorrow?” Ellie said. “I don’t live here. I have a business to run, I have other clients, I don’t even have clean clothes.”

  What have I gotten myself into? she wondered. Is it too late to just... back out?

  She thought of the note in her desk drawer again, and the fury rose inside her again, hard and sharp.

  I am not backing down, she thought. We’ll figure this out, and then life will go back to normal.

  She looked at Garrett, filling the pot with water in his sink. Even though he was just wearing a black t-shirt and jeans, he looked good standing at his kitchen sink, the curves of his muscles just below the fabric. The way he had dimples when he smiled.

  Maybe when this is over we can actually go on that dinner date, she thought.

  “Let’s take a break from this,” Garrett finally said, pouring salt into the water. “We’ll just have dinner and not think about all this for an hour, and then we’ll get back to it, fresh.”

  He leaned against the counter across the kitchen from her and flashed his dimples again.

  “You’re right,” Ellie said, and stood.

  “You like pasta?” he asked.

  “I do,” she said.

  “Well, tonight you get the Garrett Monson Special,” he said. “Pasta, olive oil, garlic, and a bunch of whatever vegetables I’ve got in the fridge right now. And an egg on top, if I’ve got eggs.”

  “If you gave it a French name you could sell it for sixteen dollars,” Ellie said.

  Garrett laughed.

  “Consider this a freebie, then,” he said. “I’m taking you to dinner, finally.”

  “Hey, you’re still a client,” Ellie said. “I don’t fraternize with clients.”

  “Oh, come on,” Garrett said. “You’re in my apartment. You saw my weird wall with red string.”

  “You’re still paying me,” Ellie said.

  “Okay, fine,” Garrett teased. “I’m just making you dinner, not taking you to dinner. That make it better?”

  “More cooking, less talking,” Ellie teased back.

  “I’m already barefoot in the kitchen,” Garrett said. “What more do you want?”

  Ellie just laughed. She had to do something to cover up the wonderful, squishy way that Garrett made her feel inside.

  * * *

  When they were finished eating, she leaned back in her chair and pushed her plate away.

  “That was actually really good,” she said.

  “You doubted my cooking?” Garrett asked.

  “Not your cooking, exactly,” Ellie said. “But you’re a bachelor who sublets apartments for a few months at a time, so I wasn’t super confident, either.”

  “So you stereotyped me,” he said, putting his empty fork on his plate. “And look where it got you.”

  Ellie rolled her eyes.

  “Quit it,” she said. “I know plenty of guys who’re wonderful cooks. My brother makes the world’s best cupcakes, and my sister-in-law burns toast.”

  “Older or younger?” Garrett asked.

  “Older,” she said. “Just the two of us.”

  Garrett nodded, and for a moment, his face went blank. Ellie screwed up her courage.

  “Look, Garrett, I’m not sure it’s any of my business, but since this is specifically about your family...” she said, trailing off.

  How the hell do I phrase this? she thought.

  “Why haven’t I talked to my brothers in years and years?” he asked, filling in the blanks for her.

  “Right,” Ellie said.

  Garrett took both the plates, stacked them, and pushed them away.

  “There’s not a good reason,” he said. “Just a lot of little, stupid things, and they don’t add up to a
real reason.”

  He stared at the tabletop, tapped it once with his fingers.

  “I always hated Obsidian,” he said. “God, I hated that place. It was in the middle of nowhere. Two hours from the closest grocery store, and it was beautiful, but when you’re a kid you don’t want scenery, you want something to do.”

  “I felt that way about Grand Junction all the time, and we’ve got four grocery stores,” Ellie said.

  “Ever since I could remember, I just wanted out,” he went on. “I got really good grades, I played football in school, and even as a freshman I started looking for scholarships, anything that would let me leave Obsidian. And then my parents died.”

  “And you couldn’t leave anymore,” Ellie said.

  “I mean, how could I?” Garrett asked. “Seth was just barely keeping everything together, working all the time, so as soon as I graduated I got a job working nights at the gas station outside town just so I could help. There weren’t a lot of cars, but I started writing down all the states they came from, and when it was two o’clock in the morning and there was nothing to do, I’d get out an atlas and make up road trips around the United States, looking at all those places the cars were from.”

  Ellie felt a lump in her throat, and she squeezed her fingernails into her palm to keep herself from tearing up again.

  “Even when I was home, Seth was always gone, and Zach was just... he was there, but he wasn’t, you know? We each dealt with shit differently. Seth became kind of a dick, and Zach just spaced out. I think he spent most of his time smoking pot on the roof or watching cartoons. So I decided I was going to leave,” Garrett said. “I saved up enough money for a car that wouldn’t crap out on me, and I told them I was taking a road trip for two weeks to clear my head. On the way out of town I stole the atlas from the gas station.”

  He looked up at Ellie, his honey-colored eyes burning into hers.

  “And you haven’t seen them since?” she asked.

  “Nope,” he said. His hands were on the table in front of him as he held her gaze.

  Ellie held her breath, and then, slowly, she put her hands on his.