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Texas Marine Mayhem
Brotherhood Protectors Series
Big Branch, Texas Series
Cynthia D’Alba
Dedication
To Elle James. Thank you for developing Brotherhood Protectors AND for pushing me to get this book written.
To Ruth Smithson. You are such a valuable member of my street team and I wouldn’t have gotten this book finished in time without your help. Thank you for giving up your Sunday to read and give me comments. I appreciate all you do for me.
To D’Alba Diamonds. Thank you. Day or night, you’re there to answer my questions, or give your opinions, critique a potential cover, tell me a joke or just chat when I need an ear.
To my readers. Thank you for your notes and messages of encouragement. Thank you for your honest reviews. I appreciate each of you more than you know.
Chapter One
Vanessa Britt studied the early 1990s white two-story house, a feeling of dread coating her stomach. Fresh, green, spring grass was beginning to push through the brown of winter. Robins tweeted from the tall oaks on either side of the large, upsloping yard. A swing hung on one end of the porch while two rockers moved in the light, Texas breeze. A pair of white columns held up an arched roof over the porch furniture. Such a lovely setting for what she feared would be the biggest mistake of her life.
“I’m sorry,” she said into the phone, “but the more I think about this, the more I believe we are making a major mistake. Hell, Hank, I might kill him myself.” Even though no one was with her in the car to see the action, she shook her head with determination. “I have never refused an assignment, not now and not in the military, but asking me to take the job as bodyguard to my lying, cheating, ex-husband is a bridge too far.”
“I know,” said Hank Patterson, the boss and owner of Brotherhood Protectors. “I wouldn’t ask but…”
When he paused, a familiar voice spoke into the phone speaker. “Nessie, you’re the only one who can do this.”
She cussed under her breath. Mike Devlin, her ex-brother-in-law, only one of her favorite people in the world.
“Mike, man, you know I still love ya like a brother, but asking Hank to assign me to protect your brother? My ex-husband? I can’t help but think this is a bad idea.” She sighed loudly. “But since I’m currently parked outside his house, I’ll do what I can.”
“Hank gave you the folder of threats that Craig has received, right?” Mike Devlin’s voice was grim.
She picked up the clasp envelope from the seat. “Yup. Got it right here in my hand.” She pulled out the sheaf of papers.
“You can see that early on the messages were mostly ‘You suck’ and ‘Karma’s a bitch.’ But then the tone took on a much more ominous slant. The last two not only wish him dead, but they’re fairly explicit in how the murder could happen.”
Craig Devlin might not be Vanessa’s favorite person at the moment, but even she winced at the graphic details this crazy person included. If anyone should have the right to chop off her ex-husband’s fingers, that person should be her.
“We’ve got the FBI and local authorities involved and we know who is sending the threats,” Hank said. “It’s only a matter of time, and probably not much time at that, before Joseph Knue will be found and arrested. Until then, Craig needs a bodyguard.”
“Craig needs a babysitter,” she said, remembering all the times he locked his keys in the car.
“Most days, I would agree,” Mike said. “Keep my baby brother alive, Vanessa.”
After ending the call, she set her cell phone on the seat and studied the neighborhood. This place was a temporary housing situation for her ex-husband, who normally resided in Malibu, California. Although now a bestselling author, he still taught one master-level class per year at Pepperdine University.
From what Hank had told her, the threats were coming from a prior student in one of his classes. Exactly what Craig had done to garner the anger of this person was the stuff all bestselling authors feared—a charge of plagiarism. At the same time, she briefly wondered if the truth was that her ex had really dipped his quill into the other man’s inkwell. It wouldn’t have been the first time if the rumors she heard were true.
Refocusing her attention on the house, she studied the ingress and egress. The rental was situated on a corner lot with an open front yard and a privacy fence around the rear. The fence posed the potential of allowing someone to get close to the house without being detected once they were within its perimeter. She didn’t like that. Plus, having streets on the front and side of the house provided an attacker more than one avenue of escape.
The closest neighbor was an elderly woman who, according to the intel Hank provided, had poor vision, poor hearing and, by all reports, went to bed by seven. Hitting Craig’s house from that direction posed no obstacle. A prowler wouldn’t be seen or heard, so no help on that side.
Her ex could have found a worse house for protection, but for the life of her, she couldn’t decide how.
She started the rental Jeep and cruised down the side street checking for gates or gaps in the fence. Lovely. A rear gate led to an alley.
So that made three avenues of escape for the bad guy.
She turned into the alley, drove to end of the block, turned left and made her way back to Primrose Avenue. Turning left onto Primrose, she circled back to the front of the house.
When this assignment was done, she would so hit up Hank for additional hazard pay. Not that she believed Craig or she were at risk. Mostly, the hazard pay would be for putting up with all the crap her ex would dish out.
Deciding she’d delayed the inevitable long enough, she parked on the street and headed to the front door. She rang the bell. No one answered. After waiting a couple of minutes, she rang again adding a deafening rap-rap-rap on the wood. That sound had to be heard. Again, her ex didn’t answer the door.
Concern wrapped its fingers around her heart and squeezed. Had Joseph Knue traced Craig all the way to Big Branch, Texas?
She left the porch and headed around the side of the house, looking into windows as she passed. No one in the living room. She moved on. When she reached the dining room, her head throbbed with volcanic rumbling. Craig’s computer was sitting on the highly polished table. Craig occupied one of the chairs, his fingers rapidly moving over the keyboard. Asshat had ignored the doorbell and her knocks.
She knocked loudly on the window glass, adding a loud, “Craig. Open the damn door.”
Without taking his gaze from the screen, he leaned over and slammed the interior shutters shut.
Fine. She’d go with her backup plan.
Pulling a key from the envelope she carried, she marched back to the front porch, unlocked the door and entered. Once in the dining room, she leaned against the arched entryway and waited.
“Hello, honey,” Craig said, sitting back in his chair. “Where you been?”
“Around.” She shrugged. “Iraq. Afghanistan. Northern Africa. Fun places like that.”
He nodded. “Ah. Vacations then.”
“Got a great tan.”
“So I see.” He shook his head. “What are you doing here, Nessie?”
“Heard someone was trying to kill you.”
He
arched an eyebrow. “And you came to save me.”
“Well, hell, Craig. If you die, my monthly alimony checks will stop and you know how I love my little baubles I buy with that money.”
They were both aware that she no more would own fine jewelry than fly to the moon. She’d banked every one of those checks for her retirement.
He chuckled. “What are you really doing here?”
She straightened. “Your brother hired me. I really am supposed to keep you from getting killed.”
“You’re my bodyguard?” He burst into a loud, long laugh, the sound reverberating around the room. “You have got to be kidding me. April Fools, right?”
“Nope.” She pulled out the chair across from him and dropped onto it. “Once I got out of the Marines, I was hired by an outfit called Brotherhood Protectors. This is what I do.”
“Vanessa,” he said on a long sigh. “Remember that mouse we had in the kitchen when we lived in Queens? You were scared of that tiny thing. You’d be a terrible bodyguard. Besides, Joseph isn’t going to kill me. He’s just pissed that his book was rejected by all the New York publishing houses. He’ll get over it.”
“First, that wasn’t a mouse.” She leaned toward him. “It was a river rat. Second, I’ve changed in the ten years since we were married. And third, I’m the only person who can do this job.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he lifted an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. If Hank—that’s the owner of Brotherhood Protectors—had sent a different female, you’d have either browbeat her until she left or seduce her into your bed. Neither would have been a good idea.”
“Browbeat? Doubtful. Seduce?”
His grin was a sexy as ever, all white teeth and a playful twinkle in his exotic purple eyes
He gave a careless shrug. “How would an old guy like me get a young, nubile woman into my bed?”
Easily.
His body was still lean and hard. Creases at the corner of his eyes and bracketing his mouth only gave his already handsome face more character. Days of surfing—and she assumed he still surfed often— left his hair golden and his skin tanned. Damn him for still looking so good at forty. She rolled her eyes.
“And why couldn’t a man do this job?” he asked.
“Are you kidding? A testosterone-filled, chest-bumping contest would commence within ten minutes.”
“So, that only leaves you?”
“Right. I’m totally immune to your charms.”
His grin widened. “Really” He drew out the word.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. “Totally,” she lied. “Back to this student, Knue. I hear he wants your blood because you stole his work, tweaked it, and published it.” She folded her arms onto the table and leaned forward. “Was this your latest book that hit all the bestseller lists?”
Fury darkened his eyes. “I didn’t steal his work. That’s bullshit.”
“I don’t know,” she said with a lift of her eyebrow. “I could be called as a prior injured party.”
He closed his eyes with a shake of his head, a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “You’re not bringing that up again, are you?”
“You stole my work too. Changed my princess to a dragon and instead of helping the people, you had your dragon eat them.”
“Let it go, Nessie. That was in second grade.”
She answered with a haughty sniff. “That could have been bestseller. It could have changed my life.”
“I’m sure.” He laughed. “Not that I’m admitting any guilt in that story theft, but…” He pulled his wallet from his front pocket, found a dollar bill, and then slid it across the table. “Your share of any royalties it might have earned.”
Grinning, she snatched the dollar and slipped the dollar into her pocket. Rising to her feet, she said, “I’ll probably only be here about a week, maybe less. FBI should be closing in on Knue any day. I’ll grab my gear and find a place to bunk.”
She’d made it to the living room when he called, “You know, if you need to watch my body, the best way to do that at night is to share my bed. That way, you’ll be handy if Joe breaks in while I’m sleeping.”
“No, thanks. I’d rather sleep with a rattlesnake.”
As she closed the front door, she could hear his laughter
Once Vanessa walked from the room, Craig Devlin relaxed and took the first deep breath since seeing her face through the dining room window. Of course this situation was his big brother’s handiwork. Vanessa working as his bodyguard had Mike’s fingerprints all over it. He knew what Mike was up to, but as soon as Vanessa found out, she’d slugged him harder than she had on the playground in second grade.
Shoot, she might slug both of them.
He heard the front door close for a second time. “There are three bedrooms upstairs. Take your pick.”
“Which one are you in?” she called back.
“You’ll have to figure that out. If you’re wrong, well, I guess we’ll be share a bunk tonight.”
She huffed out a reply, which he was fairly confident was a filthy phrase about what he could do to himself and that made him grin. She’d been a sweet, innocent girl when they’d married. And because of him, a lost woman when she’d left him to join the Marines.
Now, she was as tough as nails and as gorgeous as the day they’d married. He liked the new woman. He liked that she could stand on her own two feet and not depend on him for every little decision. There was something extremely sexy about a strong woman.
Still, in the end, he didn’t believe she could really serve as his bodyguard. Ultimately a man had to be responsible for covering his own butt. Craig touched the Smith and Wesson .38 special shoved into his left front pocket. He could take care of himself.
He saved his work and closed the computer lid. His concentration—and his mind—were blown by Nessie’s arrival. Maybe he could get down some words later tonight. He looked at the clock on his phone. Four-fifteen.
Well, it was five o’clock somewhere.
In the kitchen he splashed a couple of shots of bourbon over ice and took a sip.
“Shouldn’t you be working?”
Her voice, deep and creamy with a southern accent, shot blood from his head to below his waist. He straightened and turned to face the only woman he’d ever loved, and the only one he’d ever lost.
Dressed in form-fitting jeans, a T-shirt that announced Marines Rule, and running shoes, she looked better than some women who’d obviously spent hours in a chair primping. Vanessa’s dark hair flowed over her head in riotous curls and waves down past her breasts. He fisted his fingers to keep from reaching out to wrap strands of her hair around his hand.
And if he did that, he’d also pull her up next to him. Tight.
And then he’d kiss her, long and wet and deep, just like she always liked.
And then—
“Craig!” Vanessa snapped her fingers. “Earth to Craig. Did you forget I was here?”
He scoffed. “No.” He cleared his throat and held up his drink. “Want one?”
“Not when I’m on the job.”
He scoffed again. “Come on, Nessie. Joe Knue isn’t driving from California to Texas to kill me. Ridiculous.” Rattling the ice in his glass, he said, “Sure I can’t tempt you?”
“You’re worse than the snake in Eden. Maybe you really are the devil instead of a Devlin. No alcohol, but I’d love a Diet Coke or water.”
He gestured toward the refrigerator with his now-empty glass. “Both are in there.”
“Thanks.” She opened the door and leaned in, her denim-covered ass hiked up in the air.
This time, no blood remained behind to feed his brain. Everything rushed to his groin, stiffening his cock as hard as the concrete sidewalk out front. He forced himself to turn away so he could adjust his shorts to provide a modicum of extra space up front to accommodate his dick. His shorts didn’t have enough material to hide his raging erection.
Snatching the bourbo
n off the counter, he poured a liberal amount into his glass.
“Impressive,” Vanessa said.
“W-W-What?” He whirled to face her.
“Your refrigerator.” She closed the door. “Well stocked. Looks like you aren’t planning on going anywhere. That’s good. My job will be much easier if we stay in.” Their gazes met. She smirked. “What did you think I meant?” Her gaze dropped to his crotch and back to his face. “Nothing there I haven’t seen before. Seen and left behind,” she added with a shrug.
“Ouch,” he said, her words diminishing his erection.
She shrugged. “Call it like I see it.” She grinned. “Now, if you’ve got something to do that’ll keep you out of trouble, I’m headed outside to check out the yard.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“Kind of defeats the purpose of protection if you’re outside walking around.”
“Nessie, trust me. Nothing will happen.” He opened the back door.
“Was that door unlocked?” she growled. “Unlocked?”
Her voice now an incredulous tone.
“Anyone could have walked in.”
“Only problems I have come through the front door,” he replied. “Come on. I’ll show you around.”
Through a long range lens, Craig’s stalker seethed as the author placed his hand in the middle of his ex-wife’s back and walked her around the backyard. The hands holding the binoculars shook as rage filled the stalker’s soul. What was Craig’s ex-wife doing at his house? Bitch! She would mess up the plan. Everything was in place and perfect. She shouldn’t be here.
A minor tweak in the plan and everything would be back on track.
The ex would have to die.
Easy-breezy. Not the first time the stalker had killed when the plan needed a slight alteration.
Chapter Two
“Seriously?” Vanessa leaned her elbows on the kitchen table as she hugged her coffee mug between her hands, praying the caffeine would provide the promised jolt to her batteries.
“I’m serious,” Craig said. “I’ll drive.”
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