by Kris Norris
Ex-special ops men as bodyguards and security personnel. Of course, his business was thriving. The men all gave off the same vibe—“Don’t fuck with me.” The kind cops and federal agents shared, only these guys took it to a whole new level. She just hadn’t realized how strong Sam’s was until he was seated with the others. That the stoic attitude she’d assumed was practiced determination was actually his way of warding off anyone who didn’t belong. Any threat. An age-old symbol of a true warrior. And Sam had it spades.
He glanced at her, and, for a moment, any trace of the hardened soldier vanished—replaced by a warm, dare she say loving, smile. The kind that lit up his face and made the multicolored neon lights around them dim. What she wouldn’t give to have him smile like that at her every day. To wake up to him grinning down at her—fall asleep with his curved lips pressed against her forehead. To feel safe. Always.
Sam leaned in, close. Too close if he were merely her bodyguard. And she doubted the men would miss the way he reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear. If Sam had wanted to keep their new status as lovers a secret, he’d just blown it. “They won’t bite, you know, even if they look like they could.”
That gravelly voice wove around her, reminding her of how they’d spent the afternoon.
She nodded. “I know.”
“And yet, you look as if you’re about to face a firing squad.”
She spared the other men a quick glance. “A firing squad of questions.”
“They’ll be discreet. Nothing you say here will be repeated.”
“But they’ll know. About everything. Until the other night, only a couple of cops, some hospital staff and Jack knew about Brock. Now…” She rubbed her arms, suddenly chilled.
He sighed. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. There wasn’t anything he could say to make her comfortable with talking about that night. Make it any less of a spotlight on her one true failure. Just thinking about how the others would look at her—a combination of pity and sorrow—made her skin crawl. Made the room feel as if it was closing in on her, much like it had the night they’d watched that stupid horror movie.
Sam’s large hand landed on her thigh. “Breathe, darling. I’m right here.”
She swallowed despite the choking lump in her throat and nodded, again. Breathe. It sounded so easy, yet, her lungs burned as she struggled to gasp in any amount of oxygen. Sam leaned in closer, when a shadow passed over them. She glanced over her shoulder, tilting her head back until she could finally see the guy’s face.
He was bigger than Sam—broader. More body-builder muscly than Sam’s tightly coiled strength, but the guy had similar dark hair and handsome symmetrical features. He looked slightly taller, with close-cropped hair and several days’ worth of growth on his jaw. The bottom half of a tattoo colored his skin on his left bicep, the swirling design most likely some kind of military emblem.
He smiled, his stunning green eyes crinkling around the edges as he clapped an incredibly huge hand on Sam’s back. “Midnight. Damn you’re a sight. Hank said he’d sweet-talked you into joining up, but I had to see for myself.”
Sam’s eyes rounded before he laughed, surging to his feet then clasping the other man on the back. “God damn, Ice. Thought you were against indulging in furloughs, you ornery son of a bitch.”
The guy—Ice—returned the gesture, nearly lifting Sam off his feet before releasing him. “You haven’t changed a bit, other than looking shaggy as hell. Don’t they have barbers in this town?”
“Why? So I can look like a cue ball, like you?”
Ice tipped his head and laughed. “I believe you meant badass. Because that’s how I look.” His gaze drifted to her and lingered. He wet his lips, backing up enough to give her a flourished bow. “Russel Foster, at your service.” He looked up, thumbing at Sam. “You are far too fine to be hanging around with this jackass.”
Bridgette grinned, heat creeping up her cheeks as everyone stared at her. She extended her hand. “Bridgette Hayward.”
Russel froze, glancing at Sam. “Bridgette? As in the Bridgette? The one Sam’s been pinning over for…forever?”
Sam punched his friend in the shoulder. Hard. “Shut the fuck up.” He focused on her. “He’s an ass. A lying ass.”
Russel rubbed her arm, though judging by the size of him, he probably hadn’t felt anything. “An ass, definitely. But I’m not lying.” He moved closer to her. “Sam, here, mumbles in his sleep. And I’ve heard your name more than a few times. But he never said too much when we asked him about it. I can see why, now.” He whistled. “You’re way out of his league.”
Sam groaned. “Could you make this situation any more awkward?”
“Just wait. I haven’t even warmed up, yet.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sam stared at his buddy. He hadn’t seen Russel since the night of his last jump—the night his life had taken a distinctive turn. But, Sam had to admit, the guy looked great. Strong as ever, and he certainly hadn’t lost his touch with the ladies, the red blush staining Bridg’s cheeks proof enough. The guy could sweet-talk a nun into his bed—probably had on more than one occasion. Though, Sam couldn’t imagine what had dragged Russel halfway across the world. Sam hadn’t been exaggerating. Russel only took vacation time when the Air Force threatened to boot his ass out, otherwise.
Sam gave the other man a shove, motioning to the seat next to him. “Are you gonna sit and tell me why you’re here or just stand there, staring at the lady?”
Russel glanced at Bridg, again. “View’s incredible, but yeah, I’ll sit. As I recall, you still owe me a beer.”
“More like a case.” Sam reclaimed his chair, looking over at Bridgette. Though, he suspected she wouldn’t ask, he knew she was dying to hear how he and Ice were connected. And, after all she’d had to share, it didn’t seem like that much of a sacrifice.
Russel stayed standing long enough to shake the other men’s hands. Apparently, he already knew the rest of Hank’s crew, which added another layer of mystery, before sliding into his chair. He stopped a pretty blonde waitress as she walked past, ordering a round of sodas for the table then focused on Sam.
Russel smiled. “You look great, Midnight. Really great. I’m glad civilian life didn’t knock you on your ass.”
Sam motioned to Hank. “Pretty sure it would have had me by the balls if Hank hadn’t thrown me a lifeline.”
Hank held up his hands. “I simply offered you a job. You’re the one who’s made it work.”
“Trust me, that job offer saved my life as much as jackass, here, did.” Sam turned to Bridgette. “Ice is an Air Force PJ, a pararescue specialist. He’s the guy who recused my ass when the jump went sideways, and I landed on the wrong side of a very volatile border. Never would have made it out alive if he hadn’t been there.”
Bridgette’s eyes widened then softened. She swung her gaze over to Russel. “Thank you for bringing Sam back in one piece.”
Russel snorted. “No problem. Guys like him deserve whatever chance I can give them. I’m just sorry I couldn’t save everyone that night.”
Sam swallowed against the instant rush of guilt, fighting the pain prickling his eyes with unshed tears. Now wasn’t the time to lose it. Or to focus on Gray. Bridgette needed Sam’s full attention or he’d fail, again.
She placed her small hand over his and squeezed. She didn’t reply to Ice, just nodded. And damn if Sam’s heart didn’t swell a bit. He didn’t know how she seemed to understand what he needed, but he wasn’t going to question his good fortune.
He cleared his throat, hoping to change the direction of the conversation onto something far less dangerous than his state of mind.
He gave Ice a playful shove. “So, what the hell are you doing stateside? Last I heard, you were belly deep in the Afghan desert, working on your tan.”
The smile on Ice’s face faltered, and he glanced around the table, again, before laying his forearms on the shiny surface. “I was until a couple
of weeks ago.”
Sam stilled. He recognized the look on his friend’s face. The hard tone of his voice. Whatever had happened, it hadn’t ended well.
Ice pursed his lips. “Let’s just say, I’m taking some of that stored up time and using it to explore other options. In case I need a Hail Mary. Hank called me the second I stepped off the plane. Not sure how the guy knew I was stateside, but… He told me to come out. Have a look around. See if this is something I’d be interested in.”
Hank shifted back in his seat. “Like I told you. The door’s open, Ice. We could use a man with your talents in our ranks. Though, I’ll understand if you’d prefer to stay strictly on the medic side of things. Can’t imagine you’d have a hard time finding a job.”
Ice’s jaw muscle twitched. “I guess that all depends on what the review board thinks.” He waved his hand. “Which isn’t why we’re here.” He looked over at Bridgette. “I understand you’ve been getting threats.”
Bridgette fidgeted in her seat, eyes wide, the white unnaturally bright. “The people I try to prosecute don’t generally appreciate my efforts.”
Sam hid his grin. Even noticeably unnerved, she handled herself like a professional. He laid his arm along the back of her chair, smiling at her when she looked at him.
Ice gave him an arched brow but didn’t comment. “Hank says someone broke into your house earlier. That Midnight’s moved you to a temporary location as a precaution. That’s smart. Keep whoever’s after you adapting. Don’t suppose you know who it is, yet?”
Sam sighed. “As you can imagine, the list is long. Her current case involves Alexander Stevens. The man’s head of one of the largest drug syndicates on the west coast. His resources are virtually unlimited.”
“So, he’s number one on the list?”
“Makes sense he’d hire a few thugs, or maybe even professionals, to convince Bridg to lose evidence or drop the case, but…” Sam glanced at Bridgette, aware this was the part she’d been dreading. “There’s another possibility that’s been nagging at me since Bridg told me about it the other night. It’s personal and probably nothing. Still, I was hoping your contacts might have a way of getting more intel, Hank.”
Hank narrowed his eyes, shifting his gaze between Sam and Bridgette. “Who are we talking about?”
Bridgette’s chair scraped back as she stood, the harsh sound drawing everyone’s attention. She fiddled with her purse as she shuffled from foot to foot. “I need to use the ladies’ room. Why don’t you continue without me? I already know how the story ends.”
Sam pushed to his feet beside her. “I’ll come with you.”
She snorted. “I’ve been going potty by myself since I was two. Got it covered.”
“I meant, I’ll stand outside the door and wait.”
The color drained from her face as she surveyed the rest of the men then focused back on him. “Sam, I—”
“I’ll be her gallant knight.” Ice rose from his chair. “It’ll give me time to convince her I’m a much better catch than you.”
Sam chuckled. “You’ll have all of five minutes.”
“Great. That’ll give me four minutes to spare.” He moved behind Sam, offering Bridgette the crook of his elbow.
Bridgette stared at them as if they’d all grown extra heads. “I’m going to the bathroom. In the middle of a crowded bar. What the hell do you think’s gonna happen that I need military backup?”
Sam stood beside his buddy. “That’s why Ice is going along. So, nothing happens.”
She tilted her head, looking pissed and relieved at the same time. “I can knock some drunk cowboy on his ass if he tries anything. You know I can.”
“Unfortunately, the men who are after you aren’t drunk, and they aren’t looking to pinch your ass.”
“Sam’s right.” Hank clasped his hands on the table. “Sadie’s stalker tried to abduct her from that same washroom. You’d be surprised how vulnerable you really are. All the ways a person could drag you out of here without going out that front door.”
Bridgette blew out an exasperated breath. “Don’t you boys ever get tired of thinking about exit points and sight lines?”
Sam smiled. “You’re just as bad. Always looking at the legal side of things. Besides, Ice could use his ego bumped down a few notches. But reject him nicely, darling.”
She rolled her eyes, took Ice’s elbow then moved off through the crowd. Sam watched until the couple disappeared around the far corner then turned back to the men at the table.
Kujo leaned forward and folded his hands on the table. “Don’t take this wrong, Midnight, but I’d say your girl left so she didn’t have to be here when you told us about this other suspect.”
Sam suppressed the hint of a smile. She wasn’t his girl. Not in the sense he wanted her to be. But he liked the way it sounded. Loved it, in fact. “It’s extremely personal, and something she views as a failing on her part, even though it wasn’t. Either way, I assured her that nothing I tell you will ever be repeated.”
Kujo snorted. “Pretty sure we can all keep a secret.”
Sam met each of the men’s steady gazes then went into an abridged version of what Brock Worthington had done and how the case had ended with nothing but contradictory circumstantial evidence.
Hank leaned back in his chair, taking a short pull of the pop bottle the waitress had placed in front of him. “I agree Worthington is a bastard, and I’d personally love to cap his ass. I’m just not sure he’d take these kinds of risks when nothing new has been brought to light. Bridgette doesn’t have a better chance of winning against him, now, than she did before, even with her new vocation.”
“I know. It’s just…” Sam scrubbed a hand down his face. “Something feels…off. The photos that were sent to her house seem different. Not that I can pinpoint exactly what’s bugging me. It’s more just this underlying feeling.”
Kujo nodded. “Instinct. Hard to ignore when it’s kept you alive so long. But it sounds like what Worthington did was opportunistic. She was alone. He was pissed. Not sure he’d screw that up by coming after her, again, especially if she doesn’t have any new evidence. And, with his father’s resources, it would take something pretty damning to prosecute him.”
Sam sighed. He’d told himself all of that and more. “Agreed. But I’d appreciate it if you’d have him checked out, Hank.”
Hank nodded. “Will do. We’ll have to tread lightly, though. Senator Dwayne Worthington isn’t the kind of man you want to cross, and if he were to discover we were investigating his son without any kind of real evidence he’d done something…”
“Understood.” Sam glanced up, quickly standing as Ice and Bridgette returned.
She stopped beside him, looking around the table. “Was I gone long enough for you to tell them about Brock, or should I pretend to powder my nose some more?”
He took her arm from Ice’s elbow, tugging her a bit closer. “Nothing to be ashamed of. He’s a monster.”
Hank banged a fist on the table. “Damn straight. And while we’ll quietly check out his whereabouts, I’m sure this is the act of a couple of Stevens’ thugs. Gang bangers. Nothing Sam can’t handle in his sleep.”
Her brow furrowed, and she stared at Sam for a moment, looking as if she was going to say something, when Ice nudged him.
The man leaned in close. “Possible tango. Black vest at the bar. Some kind of green lettering. Bastard stood and stared down the hallway the entire time Bridgette was in there. I kept waiting for him to make a move, but he left just before Bridgette came back out. He seems fixated on her, now, though.”
Sam nodded, making a point of turning to face Ice before glancing over his shoulder. The man Ice had described was sitting at the bar, occasionally looking their way. He had something in his hand, though it was too far for Sam to see clearly.
He twisted toward Hank. “He’s got a device in his hand. Wanna bet it’s a camera?”
Hank made a few hand signals, and Kujo and Taz
got up, each going separate ways. Taz made for the restrooms while Kujo snagged a nearby waitress, whispering something into her ear. She nodded and they moved off together toward the bar.
Sam leaned over to Bridgette. “You recognize the man in the black vest?”
She swallowed, waiting for a few moments before giving the guy a passing glance. Her brow furrowed before she focused on Sam. “I don’t recognize his face, but the green lettering on his vest is common among Stevens’ representatives. It’s a symbol indicating he’s a drug dealer.”
Sam clenched his jaw. “Stick to my side like glue. Ice.”
The large man slid in beside her. Ice didn’t grab her arm or make a scene. He simply blended, which still amazed Sam. The guy was over six feet tall and heavily muscled—had to be in order to carry downed soldiers back to the rendezvous point—and yet, he moved with the easy grace of a guy half his size. One that could slip under the radar. And nothing got to him. He was stone cold calm.
Sam gripped Bridgette’s hand. “We’ll take the long way to the door then straight to the Jeep. If I yell ‘incoming’—”
“I hit the ground. No questions.”
“That’s my girl. If anything happens to me, you stay with Ice, hear me?”
Her face got impossibly whiter, but she nodded, eyes glassy.
He smiled. “Everything’s going to be fine. Promise.”
“There’s something I need—”
He silenced her with a finger. “We’ll talk once we’re clear.”
He straightened. He didn’t have time to talk—not when Vest Guy could be calling in reinforcements. Or getting ready to open fire on a defenseless crowd. While it wasn’t likely he was packing a semi-automatic under his shirt, Sam didn’t like leaving anything to chance. He needed to get Bridg out of there. Get to a place where he had control of the situation, again, instead of constantly adapting. They needed to be on the offensive.