Nash Security Solutions

by Lola Silverman

Nona was the housekeeper. She also did much of the cooking, although Emily helped out sometimes. “What does Nona think of him?”

  “He compliments her on her cooking all day long. What do you think she says about him?” Emily teased gently. Her attention was still focused on Francesca’s hair. “Shall I put the ribbon in?”

  Francesca had to stop thinking about Quentin and think about what Emily was saying. “Yes. I think the white ribbon. It will match the trim on my dress.”

  “I love this dress, by the way.” Emily gently stroked the chiffon. “Is it new?”

  “Suzette tailored it for me this afternoon.” Francesca stroked the skirt. The dress was cherry red and white. It looked like a breath of spring. “I love the little details on the sheath.”

  The white organza overskirt had tiny shimmering red rhinestones worked into the fabric. They perfectly matched her red sandal heels. Her shoes were glittering. Her clutch was sparkling, and Francesca was pretty certain that she hadn’t felt this good in a very long time.

  The white ribbon had been expertly worked into the curls atop Francesca’s head. She stood up and got the full effect in the big mirror hung on her dressing room wall. She turned right and then left to make sure that everything was just so. Francesca wanted to look scrumptious this evening. It was the first time in ages that she had cared so much about her appearance, and she had a feeling that it had everything to do with Quentin.

  “Your gentleman escort is downstairs waiting,” Emily said lightly. “He’s been ready for hours. I swear. He was pacing the floors for a while until Nona made him take a break to eat something.”

  “Yes,” Francesca murmured. “You can’t go to a dinner party on an empty stomach. God knows what they’ll serve that’s edible.”

  Emily’s laughter chimed throughout the bathroom suite. “That’s exactly what Nona told him. You would have thought she tried to explain nuclear physics or something. It was so cute. You could tell that he’s a very down-to-earth, practical sort of man.”

  “The exact opposite of Lyle,” Francesca agreed. “Thank you. I’ll go down now, I think.”

  “Already?”

  Francesca winked at Emily. “I’m eager to meet my date for a little pre-dinner party snack.”

  With those words and a sense of excitement she couldn’t remember feeling ever before in her life, Francesca bounced out of the bedroom. The swishy skirt of her dress played about her legs and made her feel both young and beautiful. By the time she got to the bottom of the stairs, she could hear the low conversation coming from the kitchen.

  Normally, she did not greet her dates in the kitchen, but maybe making exceptions was going to become her new rule of thumb. Francesca practically skipped through the wide archway into Nona’s cozy little world of wonderful smells and treats.

  “I’m starving!” Francesca announced. “What’s for dinner before dinner?”

  “Look at you, beautiful girl!” Nona gushed. Moments later, she was pounding on Quentin’s arm. “You must turn and look!”

  When he turned, Francesca forgot all about food. She couldn’t think about anything other than the scrumptious man in her kitchen. He was tall, dark, and handsome in his black tuxedo. The cut of the jacket suited him perfectly. It showed off those broad shoulders and told her just how trim and fit he really was.

  “Wow,” Francesca muttered. She cleared her throat, feeling strangely warm. “You look amazing, Quentin.”

  QUENTIN TRIED TO find his powers of speech, but they seemed to have completely disappeared when he got a glimpse of Francesca’s beauty. The dress was incredible. He hadn’t quite understood it in the store. Not that he’d really seen much but a couple of slabs of fabric on a hanger. Now that he saw it on Francesca, he had to admit that it seemed as though it had been made just for her.

  The bodice was fitted, and the tiny little sleeves seemed to rest on her arms and make them look just that much more delicate. Her breasts were so perfectly symmetrical and just the size to fit in the palms of his hands.

  He clenched his hands at his sides to force himself to stop thinking about that. He shouldn’t care how good her breasts would feel in his hands. That was preposterous to think about. He tried to concentrate on the way the dress hugged Francesca’s narrow hips, but that just made him imagine how good it would feel to cup her beautiful butt in his hands and hold her close while he slipped his cock into her warm body.

  Wow. He was extremely horny. Apparently, he really needed to get laid. In fact, Quentin could not remember the last time he’d had sex. A long time ago. That’s pretty much all he could recall.

  Words. He needed words to tell this woman how incredible she looked. “You look pretty.” He heard what he said and wanted to slap his palm to his face in horror. Was he trying to make her feel bad? Of all the phrases he could come up with. Pretty? Really?

  “Thank you, Quentin.” A smile played at the corners of her mouth. “I see Nona is indoctrinating you into the world of high-society dinner parties, where the food is either horrible or served so late at night that you starve before there’s anything to eat.”

  Quentin glanced ruefully down at his full plate. “It would seem so.”

  Nona handed Francesca a plate of warm freshly baked bread. Quentin noticed that everything on Francesca’s plate could be eaten without too much risk of getting food on her dress. There were a few items with crumbs, like the bread. But there were no sauces or creams that might drip.

  Francesca shoved the bread between her lips. “Fantastic, Nona.” The words came out muffled by her full mouth. Quentin found the little lapse in manners adorable. Francesca was so rarely real like this. It was a treat.

  “So, who will be at this party?” Quentin wondered out loud as he used a bit of bread to soak up the last of the creamy homemade pasta sauce on his plate.

  Francesca chewed for a moment and then swallowed. “The usual, I suppose. I’m sure Stedman will be there, so it’s likely Ralston and Analise will be around somewhere. Old lady Peabody will certainly be there because she considers herself the grande dame of Boston society and that means she has to lord it over everyone at the party.”

  “Nice.” Quentin sighed. “This is going to suck. Are you sure we can’t just stay home and play cards? That would be fun. Right?”

  Her light laugh warmed his heart. “You might think so, but the truth is that being seen at one of these parties is really important. Ava is right. I have to make sure that people believe I’m fine. The more I hide away here at home, the more they think that I’m crazy.”

  Nona said something dark and irritable. Then she cleared her throat. “You’re not crazy! You don’t need an evaluation, and you don’t need someone to make decisions for you. I’ve known you since the first year you were married to that Hyde-Pierson bastard. You are perfectly capable of running your own house.”

  “I know that, Nona.” Francesca put her hand out and gently patted the old woman’s arm. “And thank you for the vote of confidence. But I have to convince everyone who doesn’t see me on a regular basis that I’m fine. That’s the important thing.”

  “Then to the party we will go,” Quentin decided. “Is there a way to maximize the benefit?”

  “Maximize the benefit?” She gaped at him. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “Well, if we have to go be miserable at this ridiculous dinner party, then we should have a plan of action that allows us to maximize any benefit we might get from the torture. You know. Who do you need to talk to? Who would be the best person to spread a bunch of true rumors that you’re in perfect health and of sound mind? That sort of thing.”

  “Oh my God!” She swatted him gently on the arm. “You’re treating this like a military campaign!”

  “Exactly,” Quentin agreed. What was wrong with that anyway? It seemed the most sound and sane thing to do. Right? “Just running about at the party with no clear plan is silly. Don’t you think? It would hardly get us what we need. With a plan of attack, we can
at least go in with a direction so we can get right back out without too much trouble.”

  “Get back out.” Francesca sighed and shook her head at Nona. “The man is already dreaming about leaving!”

  Nona clucked. “You look too good to waste, Mr. Torrance. You should be planning how you can use that handsome new outfit of yours to make sure that everyone else falls in line behind you.”

  “I shudder to imagine what would happen to my man card if I started referring to my clothing as an outfit,” he teased. “Do you think they would come and take the man card away?”

  Francesca started laughing and could not stop. Quentin was quiet and thoughtful. And yet when the man let his sense of humor out to play, it was a delightful addition to any room and any situation. What a valuable commodity to have. Of course, the package that commodity came inside of was pretty damn incredible too.

  Chapter Five

  The dinner party was a nightmare for anyone with half a concern for security. Oddly enough, Quentin saw probably half a dozen men who were fulfilling the function of bodyguard that evening. Of course, none of them were dressed in a tuxedo with their client on their arm. They mostly had ear pieces and were whispering to each other as they tried to keep an eye on their charges in the throngs of people gathering in the outdoor venue.

  The sweeping lawns seemed to stretch for miles in every direction. There was no doubt about that. Of course, the place was a golf course, which might account for the size of the lawn. The good old boy in Quentin was just glad that nobody was asking him to mow the damn thing. It would have taken all day.

  “Oh, good.” Francesca gave a tug on his arm. “I see Ava and Nash.”

  Quentin tried not to snort at the sight of his boss in a tux. Nash was a handsome man even if he was a little older than Quentin. It was sort of a downer to realize that Nash was probably closer in age to Francesca than Quentin was. No doubt if she knew about his unruly thoughts of late, she would probably consider him nothing more than some horny kid.

  With that in mind, Quentin kept a decent amount of distance and formality between himself and Francesca. It was quite a feat since she was quite literally hanging off his arm. But he didn’t allow his body to curve around hers like it wanted to do. The reaction when she was near was almost automatic. He needed to take a step back and try to regain his perspective.

  “Ava!” Francesca was waving.

  It was good to see her looking so excited about something. She was animated and seemed very upbeat. When they finally met Nash and Ava in the center of a silken outdoor tent, the two women embraced.

  “We have a plan,” Francesca told Ava. Her tone was vibrant and her body language full of excitement. “We’re going to seek out a list of key people and try to convince them of my sanity.” Then Francesca leaned closer to Ava. “It was Quentin’s idea. He thinks if we have a plan, we can leave early.”

  “Oh, he does.” Ava raised her elegantly shaped brows. “Did you tell him that you refuse to leave unless he joins you on the dance floor for a few numbers?”

  “Nope.” Francesca was giggling as though she’d had too much champagne. “I didn’t want to scare him off!”

  “Definitely a hazard,” Ava agreed in a grave tone of voice. Then she gestured to Nash. “He’s just pissy because he had to wear a suit.”

  “He,” Nash said emphatically. “Can hear every word you’re saying. Do you mind not acting like I’m deaf and dumb?”

  Quentin snorted. “You’d be better off if you were,” he said before he could think better of it.

  His boss’s eyes flashed fire. Nash’s eyes were a strange shade of gray. The color often made his expressions look just that much more intense. He jerked his chin at Quentin. “Have you seen anything concerning since you arrived?”

  “Other than all of the other, very random bodyguards?” Quentin mused. “No. I haven’t. It’s very quiet.”

  “Quiet isn’t the right word.” Nash glanced down at Ava and Francesca. They were still talking a mile a minute about something involving fashion faux pas. “It’s loud as shit in here. But I can see what you mean.”

  “There aren’t any overt threats. Nothing that I could pin down as being immediate or lasting anyway.” Quentin paused to glance at the other guests. “They seem completely self-absorbed.”

  “Which is, unfortunately, the perfect time to hit,” Nash reminded Quentin. “Keep your eyes open. Stedman is supposedly here. I’m going to try to make contact with Analise tonight.”

  Quentin straightened as he realized the possible import of that move. They hadn’t had a full situation report from Analise since she had gone off the grid and openly declared her loyalty to Ralston Hyde-Pierson. Nash never doubted Analise’s integrity for a moment. Quentin wasn’t so sure. If her loyalty was to Ralston—and it seemed to be—then if Ralston’s objectives and the objectives of the company did not mesh, Analise would choose Ralston.

  “Let me know if you need cover, or whatever else you might want, and I will try to deliver,” Quentin assured his boss.

  “I knew you would.” Nash clapped Quentin on the shoulder. “You’re the most reliable man I have.”

  “What?” Quentin gave Nash a mock look of surprise. “You don’t trust Wrath?”

  “Wrath and Carson are both compromised because of their attachments to Tegan and Kayla.” Nash pressed his lips together. He looked frustrated. “Ava and I don’t agree on this, but…”

  “What don’t we agree on?” Ava’s attention was instantly caught.

  “Nothing,” Nash said quickly.

  Quentin was taken aback by his boss’s behavior. The man was worried about Wrath’s and Carson’s abilities to remain neutral? Sheesh! Nash was very obviously wrapped around Ava’s little finger. It didn’t seem like a farfetched notion to think that Nash might be as compromised as Wrath and Carson. And really, was it compromised? The two men—or three in this case—were likely to be more motivated to do whatever it took to bring down Stedman Hyde-Pierson since it was more personal for them than anyone else. A willingness to put the client before your own safety was paramount in bodyguard jobs. And Quentin knew beyond doubt that he would trade his life for Francesca’s. The woman had experienced far too much pain and horror for one life. She deserved a break.

  WHAT WERE THEY whispering about? Francesca could tell that Ava was wondering the same thing. Men. They were always so secretive, and yet they would instantly fold when a woman pressed the right buttons. At least that was Francesca’s experience. Lyle had told her many, many things she had not wanted to know, just because he seemed to need to share the information with somebody.

  Like the letter.

  She shivered as she thought about the suicide note Lyle had left for her to find. It had been tucked into her jewelry box because he did not want anyone else to see it. Now everyone—especially Stedman—believed there was some kind of answer from the grave that would give them power over the worldly belongings that Lyle had left behind.

  “Are you all right?” Quentin’s low murmur tugged Francesca back to the moment at hand. “You got very quiet, and your expression was…”

  “Vacant,” Ava put in. “You checked out for a minute there, honey. You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Francesca insisted. “Of course I’m fine. Don’t be silly.”

  “Good.” Nash’s tone was hard. “Because here comes our good friend Mr. Hyde-Pierson.”

  Quentin nudged Nash. “Analise is falling back,” he murmured. “I’ll stay here. You excuse yourself and head around behind them. I bet Analise will meet you there while Stedman is occupied.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right to handle this?” Nash was staring mostly at Ava.

  “Go.” Ava’s tone was confident. “I’ve dealt with this asshole for more years than I can count. What are a few more?”

  Ava had dealt with Stedman. Francesca could already feel herself retreating. She hated this man! Every time she saw him, it brought back memories of the horrible things t
hat he had done to Lyle and to her. It was abominable that she should have to stand here and converse with a man who was responsible for the unspeakable things that had led to her husband’s suicide, as though they were pleasant and friendly acquaintances.

  Stedman strolled up in all of his oily overdone glory. His suit was perfectly tailored and paired with his custom shoes and other accessories. The outfit had cost more than the gross national product of some Third World countries. His smile was so full of white teeth that it made her think of sharks in the ocean.

  “Ava,” Stedman said with exaggerated volume and politeness so that everyone nearby would see how cordial he was being to his ex-wife. “How are you? You look simply ravishing tonight.”

  “As do you,” Ava said, her voice barely laced with sarcasm. “I think you spent more time on your outfit and hair than I did.”

  “Well, we always did say that you weren’t one to make much effort.” Stedman bared his teeth again, but the smile had no warmth. Then he turned to Francesca. “And, Francesca, how are you this evening? You look quite stunning in that dress. Is it new?”

  Her heart was pounding, and her tongue felt too big for her mouth. She could feel herself retreating. This was bad. She had to acquit herself of that crazy label. It was imperative if she was going to convince a judge or anyone else that she was perfectly capable of remaining independent.

  Then just as suddenly as her anxiety hit, it was gone. Quentin put his hand against the small of her back. The warmth and security of that contact seemed to unglue her tongue from the roof of her mouth.

  “I appreciate the compliment about my dress,” Francesca said in a husky voice. “And I could try to play it off by saying, ‘What? This old thing?’ But it isn’t old. I had a lovely shopping trip this afternoon and was fortunate enough to see this lucky find.”

  Stedman’s expression changed. He looked a little bit surprised and a little bit irritated by her response. That gave her more courage.

  “What’s the matter, Stedman?” Francesca purred. “Cat got your tongue? You’re usually so verbose. Although I do admit that your silence is extremely desirable. My late husband used to comment on that all the time.” Francesca was feeling sassy all of a sudden. This might not bode well. “‘Francesca,’ he would say. ‘My brother talks so much that sometimes I think he just likes the sound of his own voice.’”