The Loner: Men Out of Uniform Book 4

by Rhonda Russell

  “Let me ask you a question,” Flanagan said. “Before you walked in here this morning, did you research our company? Check us out through the Better Business Bureau? Contact some of our former clients? Did you run any sort of background check on one or more of us? Did you use your contacts in the military to research our service records?”

  Though it would probably piss them off, Huck had no intention of lying. “Of course,” he admitted. “I did my homework. Frankly, I wanted to know what sort of men would hire a guy sight unseen without so much the benefit of an interview.”

  Flanagan’s face split in a wide grin. “Exactly. And that’s what we’re looking for.” He took another pull from his energy drink. “Here’s the thing, Finn. I split time between here and Maine, a fact I’m sure you ran across during your inquiry,” he added, quirking a brow.

  Huck nodded. Surprisingly, Flanagan was married to Garrett’s granddaughter, Audrey, who ran a de-stressing camp for burned out execs and harried mothers.

  “I’ve got a toddler and another baby on the way.” He gestured to Payne. “Payne and McCann are both new fathers. While we love the business, our priorities have shifted a bit. We all want more time with our families. Thankfully, our business has grown to the point that we’re in a position to add to our staff, but we’re not willing to compromise on quality. We believe former Rangers make the best security specialists. Furthermore, as I’m sure you’re aware, there is a certain regard and camaraderie among those with shared experiences.”

  A grin rolled around Payne’s lips. “In other words, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

  Huck chuckled, feeling more relaxed by the minute.

  “Given our special requirements, when we decided to hire another agent the first person we contacted was Colonel Garrett,” Payne said. “He’s in an excellent position at Fort Benning to alert us to possible recruits. He knows us, knows our standards and knows the kind of man we’re looking for. We called him seven months ago, Finn, and you’re the only person he’s referred.” He paused, allowing the statement to penetrate. “You weren’t merely referred--you were chosen.”

  Chosen. Huck swallowed, honored more than he could have ever imagined.

  “We’re aware of your injuries, Finn,” Flanagan told him. “But we know enough about your character to know that they aren’t going to limit you beyond what you need to do here.”

  Payne released a pent-up breath. “And right now what we need you to do is handle security duty for a certain Atlanta socialite who is, frankly, driving us all crazy.”

  Huck grinned. So that’s what they’d meant when they’d told McCann his relief had just gotten there.

  “We’ve all taken turns with her and McCann is--as I’m sure you heard--about to come unglued,” Flanagan told him, chuckling softly. He pushed a hand through his hair. “I swear I think she’s doing it on purpose.”

  Payne grimaced. “I don’t give a damn why she’s doing it. I just want to be through with her. Has Guy had any luck tracing the letters?” he asked Jamie.

  Flanagan shook his head, then explained for Huck’s benefit. “Evidently her father is concerned that she’s in danger. So far we haven’t had any luck isolating the threat.”

  Huck frowned. “Letters, you say?”

  “Postmarked Atlanta, so they’re local. Cut--with pinking sheers, not traditional scissors--and pasted with from the newspaper. And they’re clean. No fingerprints.”

  Intriguing. “Why would anyone want to hurt her?”

  “Well, Guy wants to hurt her because she keeps making him run pointless errands for her dog,” Payne said, smiling. “Aside from that, all we have to go on is what her father says.”

  “And what does he say?” Huck asked.

  “Mathias Stravos says he’s been in business long enough to make substantial enemies. We’ve done a little poking around and that’s certainly true. He’s a real estate mogul who has greased more than a few palms when it comes to zoning issues and the like. Still,” Flanagan hedged, shaking his head. “Something about it doesn’t feel right. The letters merely say that Sapphira’s not safe, that she’s in danger. They aren’t threatening, per se, but I could see where her father couldn’t ignore them.”

  “Sapphira?” Now that was an interesting name.

  “They’re Greek,” Payne explained. He picked up a folder and handed it to Huck. “Here’s an employment agreement,” he said. “Terms, policies, and whatnot. Flanagan, McCann and I all have apartments in the building. We like being close and will expect our future agents to be as well. As such I have recently purchased the building next door and while the renovations aren’t complete, there’s a ground floor apartment which is ready for immediate occupancy. It’s yours and is part of your employment package.”

  Flanagan, who’d exited the room, returned carrying a laptop case, cell phone, hand gun and permit to carry concealed. “These are yours as well,” he said. “The laptop is loaded with every kind of software you might need as well as the interface into our computer system here at the office. Your password into the computer and into the building after hours is FALCON, all caps.”

  Startled at the mention of his paratrooper nickname, the one he’d gotten in Jump School, Huck looked up. “Falcon?”

  “Just because you aren’t the fastest predator in the sky anymore doesn’t mean that you aren’t still a predator. We’re hoping you put those keen skills to work for us here and we don’t want you to forget that you’ve got them.” He shrugged. “We thought it would be a good reminder.”

  He felt a droll smile roll around his lips. “That sure I would come, were you?”

  Payne nodded and the corner of his lip arched in an almost smile. “Yes.”

  Huck surveyed the employment contract and mentally whistled when he reached his salary. Evidently following his gaze, Payne said, “Top-notch services demand top-end pay. We’re confident you’ll be worth every penny.”

  A grim laugh rumbled up Flanagan’s throat. “And at the moment, I’m sure McCann would be willing to double your pay.”

  “What do you say, Huck?” Payne asked. “Are you on board?”

  Huck had known the instant Garrett had told him about the offer that he would take the job, but knowing that he’d been chosen--that he was still worthy despite his injuries--made him feel infinitely better about it. They’d given him the job on a platter, complete with an apartment and everything else he might need.

  In any other case he might have considered it too good to be true, but in this circumstance he knew better. This was Ranger mentality, a mind-set he completely understood. His gaze bounced back and forth between the two of them and a warm feeling settled in his gut.

  It felt...right.

  For the first time since his accident, he felt like he had a place he could belong. Not only would he enjoy working with these men, he instinctively knew they “got” him just as he instinctively knew they’d always have his back. He was being welcomed into their pack, brought into an elite circle of friends.

  Humbled and honored, he picked up the pen lying on the table and scrawled his name across the bottom of the page, then looked up and smiled. “When do I start?”

  Smiling, Flanagan slapped him on the back. “Immediately,” he said with a dark chuckle. “Brace yourself, Finn. You’re about to seriously start earning your pay.”

  Huck merely grinned. He’d battled terrorists, for pity’s sake. He didn’t care how damned difficult Sapphira Stravos and her latte-drinking dog were. He knew he could handle her.

  * * *

  “You’re new detail is here, Ms. Stravos,” Guy McCann told her, his voice an unmistakable blend of tight and euphoric.

  And she knew exactly how he felt.

  Playing the air-headed, self-absorbed spoiled little rich girl was beginning to seriously fray her nerves, but at the same time there was a bit of satisfaction in her victory, shallow though it was.

  Over the past week and a half, she’d successfully run off three fo
rmer Rangers. It had been damned hard work. Truth be told, annoying McCann--who had the least tolerance for bullshit--had been the most fun. Flanagan had muttered curses under his breath, but ever the southern gentleman, he’d merely smiled, gritted his teeth and obliged. Payne had the ice-cold glare down to an art form and, though she knew she’d irritated him as much as she had the others, making him lose the poker face wasn’t easy. Familiar with his fortune and hoping to make him a benefactor for Belle Charities at some point in the future, she’d been careful not to push him too far.

  No doubt it was his turn again, Sapphira thought, heaving a put-upon sigh for McCann’s benefit as she set the fashion magazine she’d been pretending to read aside.

  God, this was really beginning to get old.

  “Excellent,” she said brightly. “I’ve got several appointments this afternoon and I wouldn’t want to get waxed alone.”

  McCann’s self-indulgent smile indicated he thought she was a halfwit. “I think the term you’re looking for is ‘whacked.’”

  “No, it isn’t,” Sapphira told him, enjoying this entirely too much. “I’ve seen The Soprano’s. I know what ‘whacked’ is. I meant waxed. As in brows and bikini area,” she added significantly.

  His smile fell and a comically blank look, swiftly followed by a darker one took its place. “I’m sure that Major Finn will keep you safe regardless,” he said, his voice almost a growl.

  Major Finn? A new guy? she wondered, slightly alarmed. How could that be? There was only supposed to be three of them and she’d already broken them in, so to speak. She’d figured out exactly which buttons to push to drive them crazy--not crazy enough to quit yet, unfortunately, but it was only a matter of time.

  Nevertheless, bringing a new guy in certainly cast a fly in the ointment. How was she ever supposed to break them down and make them permanently go away if they kept rotating out long enough to regroup? God help her, how was she ever supposed to get back to work? She couldn’t put it off indefinitely and though she had good help in place, there were certain things she preferred to do herself.

  Like be there for Carmen. Though she’d missed the last birthing class, she had managed to sneak in a trip to the OB citing “female problems.” Even then, Payne had insisted on being right outside the door. What he hadn’t known--and what hadn’t made it into his report--was that Carmen had already been shown into the room. Regardless of her resourcefulness, she was really growing weary of the whole thing.

  She absolutely hated being useless, which exactly what she was at the moment. Honestly, she didn’t know how true non-working heiresses stood it. She’d lose her mind if she had to keep on like this for much longer.

  On the heels of that thought, the man she assumed was Major Finn walked into her living room. Impossibly, the force of his presence blasted into her like a sonic boom to her midsection, making her momentarily lose her breath. The fine hairs on the nape of her neck prickled and her mouth alternately parched and watered.

  Though reason told her it was impossible, she felt him in every cell of her body and the singularly unique reaction left her shaken and unsure.

  He was tall and broad-shouldered, much like the other three men of Ranger Security, but she instinctively knew he was different. Playing with him as she had the others would not only be difficult but foolhardy, Sapphira realized through some sort of surreal insight. He was one-hundred percent pure testosterone and if there was a weak bone in his body he’d undoubtedly broken it out of spite.

  Dark wavy hair--just a shade shy of black--capped his head and showcased a face with more character than beauty. She read recklessness in the lean slope of his cheek which bore a fresh scar, a stubborn streak a mile wide in the hard angle of his jaw, arrogance borne of experience in the thin blade of his nose, and absolute fearlessness in those disturbingly keen light gray eyes.

  But, ultimately, it was the smile that got her.

  Slow, purposeful, and just a little irreverent, it unfurled like a bloom over his sinfully beautiful mouth and literally transformed his face from merely handsome to positively breathtaking. He reminded her of a bird of prey, keen and powerful, agile and quick.

  Please be married, please be married, please be married, Sapphira thought, barely resisting the urge to squeeze her eyes tightly shut. If he were married that would make him off limits and she’d have a prayer of controlling this instantaneous attraction she felt spreading through her body like fever. She glanced down at his ring finger and mentally swore.

  No ring.

  Dammit, she thought, equally thrilled and miserable. Had she found Payne, Flanagan and McCann good-looking? Of course. They were all gorgeous in their own right. But knowing they were married and not experiencing the least bit of attraction to them had left her in a completely different--less vulnerable--position.

  Unless this guy had a girlfriend he’d yet to make a bride, she was in serious trouble because she’d never--never--seen a man and literally shivered from the inside out at just looking at him. The tops of her thighs were burning, her belly had given a queer little flutter and her mouth had actually started to water. He was going to be irresistible. She knew it in the same way she knew she couldn’t resist plucking the cherry off a banana split or walking past the cookie jar without snagging a ginger snap. Or two.

  Quite frankly, he was pure eye candy and she was a self-professed sugar-holic, lamentably with a size fourteen ass to prove it. Unaccountably nervous, she reached for her hand sanitizer again.

  “Major Finn this is Sapphira Stravos,” McCann said. “Ms. Stravos, Finn has been briefed, is fully up to speed and ready to assume control here. He will be with you until the threat is neutralized, or hell freezes over, whichever comes first.”

  Sapphira smiled at him. “I didn’t realize we were paying you for sarcasm, Guy,” she said, purposely using his first name because she knew it annoyed him. “I’ll make sure you’re compensated.” She felt the cool soothing action of the sanitizer dry on her hands and set the bottle aside.

  He snorted. “You’ll be receiving an additional bill for Tricky as well.”

  “It’s Trixie,” Sapphira said tightly. “As you well know.”

  Ignoring her, McCann heaved a sigh and slapped her new bodyguard on the back. “I’ll owe you a keg at the end of this. Good luck. Trust me, you’re going to need it,” he added darkly. And with that, he jauntily took his leave.

  Rather than respond, Major Finn just smiled, then turned the full force of his attention on her. It took everything she had not to melt beneath the narrow scrutiny of that intense mesmerizing gaze. She’d never seen eyes that particular shade before. Not precisely blue, not precisely gray, but a subtle mixture in between that put her in mind of a liquid mirror or water over iridescent glass.

  In a nutshell, captivating.

  “My name is Lucas Finn, but for obvious reasons most people just call me Huck. You’re welcome to call me whatever you want, so long as it isn’t Bastard, Sonofabitch or Asshole.”

  Startled, Sapphira felt her eyes widen and she strangled on a laugh. “You get called those often, do you?”

  A hint of smile tugged the corner of his mouth, sending a little cascade of heat tumbling through her sex. “Often enough to issue the warning.”

  She smiled and extended her hand. “I’m Sapphira. Most people call me Sapphira.”

  His gaze zeroed in on hers with hawk-like accuracy, making the air in her lungs thin to nonexistent. He took her proffered hand and a little earthquake shook her to the soles of her feet. “I’d expected you to have blue eyes.”

  Used to hearing that, she heaved a little sigh. “Most people do,” she said drolly. “But they’re green. Occasionally I’ll wear the contacts just to meet people’s expectations, but frankly, it gets a little old.”

  “Wearing the contacts or meeting people’s expectations?”

  Oh, he was too shrewd by half, she thought, reluctantly impressed. “Both.”

  “You could always give up any pret
ense and just be yourself,” he suggested, once again hitting entirely too close to the mark for comfort. Did they suspect she was hiding something? Sapphira wondered. Had her be-the-biggest-pain-in-the-ass-prima-donna plan backfired? Were they on to her? Maybe, she decided, studying Huck in return. But having suspicions and knowing were two completely different things.

  “And you could always stop being a bastard, sonofabitch and asshole and no one would find fault with you, either,” she suggested sweetly.

  He smiled again, making her pulse trip in her veins. “I could,” he acknowledged with a slight nod. Humor danced in that mirrored gaze. “But where’s the fun in that?”

  Gorgeous and wicked. Sweet God, she was doomed.

  Please have a girlfriend, Sapphira thought again. Hell, at this point, even a boyfriend--as criminally unfair as it might be--would be better than this hot hunk-o-male being a free agent. Unbidden, a vision of his big body hovering over hers, swooping in to kiss her, materialized in her mind’s eye. Oh, good grief, Sapphira thought, suppressing a little wail. He was here to protect her, not service her. The fact that she even had to remind herself of that little nugget of insight gave her pause.

  Though she’d had lovers over the years, they’d been relatively few and far between. After the miscarriage, she’d been a lot more careful and selective when it came to picking a partner. Frankly, at the time, she’d been more emotionally needy than physically ready for sex. With time and maturity she’d determined that she liked sex and orgasms as much as the next woman, but she’d never been able to give herself to someone she wasn’t emotionally invested in or who wasn’t at least similarly invested in her. Did she have to be in love? Not precisely. But she had to care about her partner and he had to care for her as well. Call her old-fashioned, but she simply wasn’t enough of a progressive thinker to separate the two. Her gaze slid to Huck once more.