HERO Force Boxset Books 1-8

by Amy Gamet

  Lockheed marched back to his seat, the stage crew in their places. “Action!” he yelled.

  She picked through a vendor’s wares on the busy street, a camera lens just feet from her face, tracking her every move as she haggled with a vendor in French. Anthony Weir, the actor who played her lover, Dante, came up behind her, slipping his hands around her waist and kissing her neck. She liked Anthony, who was recently voted one of the sexiest men alive. He had a great sense of humor and was dedicated to his long-term partner.

  The kiss would have been a scandalous move even for a married couple back then, and it was Trevor she imagined as her face and body responded to that kiss. She spun around, dropping what she’d been about to purchase in her haste to be in his arms.

  They shared an intense look before he pulled her with him toward the hotel where they’d planned to meet. Her cheeks were hot with excitement, her lips parted in lust. In mere moments they’d be alone together and she’d finally be able to make love to him again after many months apart.

  Just like Trevor.

  A shot rang out across the square, people scurrying and screaming. Dante looked back at her one last time and froze, his eyes widening with shock as he was hit. “Ma chérie,” he whispered.

  “What was that?” she asked in French, panicking as he leaned heavily into her arms. “Dante?” she screamed, touching the fake blood that spilled from his wound, her hand shaking as it came away from his body, red and wet.

  What is that smell?

  Fake blood looked as good as the real thing, but the metallic scent that hung on the air had her mind locked in confusion. He was leaning on her too heavily, pulling her to the ground.

  “Oh, God,” he whispered. “Brooke.”

  Her eyes beseeched the crew off set to explain what was going on as another shot echoed through the street like a cannon. “What’s happening?” she called to Lockheed.

  He got to his feet. “Cut!”

  Anthony fell to the ground in front of her. A deep voice bellowed across the set. “Put down the gun, asshole!”

  The cast and crew looked around. In her confused state, Olivia failed to connect the dots.

  “I said put the gun down, motherfucker!”

  This time, there was no mistaking that voice. “Trevor?” She moved forward, leaving Anthony behind as she searched for him. She found him high above the set, his weapon trained on the actor playing the Marquis de Sage, whose hands were now high above his head.

  She ran toward them. What was he doing here, and why on earth was he holding a gun at that man?

  He came for you, after you told him about the letter yesterday. He came for you and now he thinks he’s protecting you.

  Oh, God.

  She was going as fast as she could now, but not fast enough, as Trevor patted down the other man and put him in handcuffs. Other members of the cast and crew were running too, all trying to reach the mystery man who had interrupted their scene and was throwing their antagonist down.

  “Trevor!” She followed the director as he climbed the ladder to the top of the building and reached Trevor just as Lockheed picked the gun off the ground. “It’s just a prop, you idiot. He wasn’t really going to hurt anyone.”

  Trevor narrowed his eyes at her and time seemed to stop, the shock of seeing him after so long like an unexpected kiss from the gods. But he looked away, opening the weapon and dumping the rounds into his hands. “This is live ammunition.”

  “They’re blanks,” snapped Lockheed.

  “No, they’re not.”

  “Let me see those.” The man’s eyes went wide. “That’s not what should be in that gun.” He called down to the crew. “Get the prop master up here, pronto.”

  Olivia’s heart stammered in her chest as understanding made its way through her bloodstream. “They’re real bullets?”

  “Yes,” he said, standing and coming to her.

  “Someone has to help Anthony! I thought he was pretending to be shot. He’s bleeding everywhere,” she said. This couldn’t be happening. “What if he dies? I just left him there—”

  “You didn’t know,” said Trevor.

  “The next shot was meant for me.” Her whole body was shaking, her arms, her shoulders. A roar rang in her ears like a loud wave, Lockheed’s voice barely audible as he yelled down to the crew to help Anthony.

  “You’re safe,” Trevor said.

  Her eyes fixated on his familiar features. His dark brows. His strong nose. His full lips. “By how much?”

  “I’m here now. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  His arms came around her, his warmth barely touching the frozen shock that surrounded her. She rested her chin on his shoulder. “I was next,” she whispered.

  “You’re safe, Livy.”

  She didn’t feel safe. She barely felt anything at all, and imagined this was what a hunter on safari suddenly cornered by a lion might feel.

  Numb. Weightless. Half-gone.

  Trevor squeezed her more tightly, his hand stroking her back. When had he gotten here? How had he known?

  “Who are you?” demanded Lockheed.

  Trevor leaned back but kept his arms around her. “Trevor Hawkins, Olivia’s—”

  “He’s with me,” she interrupted.

  Lockheed’s eyes went from him to her and back again. “It looks like we owe you a debt of gratitude. Lucky you happened to be here.”

  “Lucky,” Hawk repeated.

  Olivia twined her fingers in his, needing his strength. The reality of what she’d narrowly escaped was sinking in, how close she’d come to actually being injured—or worse. She squeezed her eyes shut and said a silent prayer for Anthony.

  “Get the blanks,” said Lockheed to the prop master, who’d appeared on the roof moments before. “We’ve only got half an hour before we lose the light.”

  He couldn’t be serious. “Evan, I don’t think I can do this anymore today,” she said.

  “Just a couple of takes.”

  She was seething, her natural inclination to go with the flow now percolating with heat. She had blood on her hands, on her dress, and this man was out of his goddamn mind. Who would play Dante now that Anthony had been shot? She shook her head frantically. “No.”

  He turned back as if seeing her for the first time. “Excuse me?”

  “Someone was trying to kill us. Do you not see that?”

  “It was a prop mistake.”

  “No. Someone put real bullets in the gun. That’s not a mistake. That’s attempted murder.” She gestured to the scene below with her chin. “Or worse if Anthony dies. You should be worried about him right now and finding out who did this, not focusing on the stupid scene.”

  Lockheed was looking at her like he’d never met her before. She fought herself to keep from taking the words back, but she was wound so tightly from the threats she’d been receiving, she had to speak out. Trevor’s hands squeezed her hips.

  “The person who did this was after you,” said Lockheed. “My movie is in danger because of you.”

  “That’s not my fault.”

  He stared at her for several beats before looking away. “We’ll stop for today. I want everyone back here tomorrow morning at seven thirty.”

  3

  Trevor sat on an uncomfortable wicker sofa in Olivia’s dressing room, watching her step around the glass shards as she packed. He’d suggested they leave the studio for the night, and she’d agreed, insisting they wait with Anthony until he was taken away in an ambulance.

  They’d come back here so she could shower and wash the blood off, throwing her clothes in the garbage can and insisting the costume department would just have to deal with it because she was never wearing that particular dress again.

  Hawk’s eyes settled on Olivia’s purse, which still sat in the corner, remembering how its location had concerned him. “Why did you leave your purse and cell phone in your dressing room?”

  “Lockheed doesn’t like phones on the set
, and there’s nowhere safe to leave my purse.” She blew out air. “Not that my dressing room is safe either, considering the notes I’ve gotten here, but I have to leave it someplace.”

  That made sense. He was used to her taking those things with her in real life, but a movie set was completely different. “And the broken mirror?”

  “What about it?”

  “How did it happen?”

  “I threw it.”

  He had a hard time picturing such an angry outburst coming from Olivia. “Why?”

  She stopped walking and faced him. “Why do you think?”

  “Did I do something to make you angry?”

  “No.” She went back to packing. “It had nothing to do with you.”

  “You don’t usually throw mirrors.”

  “I don’t usually get threatening letters on my pillow, either.”

  His spine could have been made of steel. “You didn’t tell me about the pillow.”

  “What difference does it make? I told you about the rest.”

  “I would have been here sooner.”

  “Well, maybe that’s why I didn’t tell you.”

  He stood, trying to keep up with her changing mood. “You don’t want me here?”

  She sighed heavily, throwing a lacy nightgown into her case and failing to meet his eyes. “I didn’t say that.”

  “No, but you implied it. What’s going on, Olivia?”

  “Nothing. Nothing’s going on except someone sneaking into my dressing room, wanting to see me naked in the shower, and quite possibly killing me. Nothing you need to be concerned about.”

  He closed the distance between them and grabbed her elbow. “Hey, that’s not fair. You weren’t giving me all the information.”

  “Really? You didn’t know someone was in my dressing room? You didn’t know I was getting threatening letters?” She pulled her arm away. “You didn’t know I was scared and I needed you here with me?”

  He swallowed against the tightness in his throat. “I knew, Livy. I knew and I should have been here.”

  “Well, forgive me if I got a little upset and threw a mirror.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I should have been here the first time you called. I should have hopped on a plane and refused to leave your side.”

  She pushed past him and into the bathroom, the sound of toiletries dropping into a bag fast and furious. It was just one night, but she was packing to avoid him and he knew it. He moved to the bathroom door. “I never should have let you out of my sight.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “But you shouldn’t have to.”

  The medicine cabinet was empty but she continued to face it, not looking at him. “I didn’t want to need you. To take you away from HERO Force. I wanted to be strong.”

  He moved to her, placing a hand on her back. “You’re more important than HERO Force.”

  “Am I?”

  He thought of the ring box in his pants pocket. “Absolutely.”

  Her shoulders dropped.

  “Can I hold you?” he asked.

  Did he imagine the slight hesitation before she walked into his embrace? If it was real, her discomfort seemed to vanish almost instantly. This was Olivia in his arms, fitted against him just as she had been hundreds of times before. This was the woman he loved.

  She needed comfort, and he begrudgingly admitted they needed to be reacquainted. The time they’d been apart had put distance between them and he needed to erase it before they could again be one.

  “I missed you,” she whispered against his ear.

  “I missed you, too.”

  She pulled back. “I just need a few more things.”

  “It’s only one night.”

  “I want to stay gone forever, Trevor.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t want to finish the movie?”

  “I’ll finish the movie, but I don’t want to stay here anymore. I hate this place. Everywhere I look I think about my stalker coming in here, going through my things, being in my space.” She shook her head. “No more.”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “I want to leave.”

  “Done.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  While she finished packing, Hawk turned back to the table and the letters she’d gathered for him. There were four notes in all, each in the same black-inked script. The lettering was heavily slanted and appeared to have been written in haste. In the first letter the writer admired Olivia’s beauty, her small waist and long legs in particular.

  Anger curled into a tight fist in Trevor’s abdomen.

  The second letter spoke of touching her hair, wondering if it was as soft as it looked. One day you’ll wash your hair for me, naked in the shower, water dripping off your glorious breasts.

  This time it was self-reproach that clawed at Trevor’s insides. She’d sent him a photo of each letter—nothing on this table came as a surprise—but sitting in her dressing room with his fiancée’s fear thick in the air, he couldn’t forgive himself for staying away.

  You’re more important than HERO Force.

  Am I?

  He’d said yes, but the question still echoed in his brain.

  He did good things as a member of the team. Took care of a lot of people. He’d personally freed hostages, protected heads of state, and returned kidnapped children to their desperate parents. Giving up HERO Force wasn’t a simple choice between taking care of Olivia and not taking care of her. It was far more complicated than that.

  It meant giving up on doing good, giving up on himself as a warrior against evil. Was letting it go truly the right thing to do? Or should he try to find some kind of compromise where he could be there for Olivia at a moment’s notice and still persevere with HERO Force?

  One thing was certain. Olivia was stronger than he’d known. To receive these letters and remain here, working in a foreign country with only meager security, showed a side of herself she hadn’t shared with him before.

  He pulled the third letter closer to him, focusing on the violent words. The stalker was getting angry now, frustrated. Should I cut you and make you bleed? Maybe if you were afraid of me you’d give me the attention I deserve.

  Trevor squeezed his eyes shut. He needed to take his feelings and turn them into action. Catch Olivia’s stalker and make him pay.

  He pushed the letter away and pulled the most recent addition closer, the script now demonstrating the stalker’s escalation. I hear you screaming in my dreams, desperate for the pain to stop and for me to love you. I will break you down until you beg for me. Hurt you until you tell me you’ll be mine forever.

  They were looking for a man just like him, someone who thought of Olivia before he fell asleep and first thing in the morning. The muscles of his arms tightened. He was ready to fight. “I need a list of everyone working on the film. Who can get that for me?”

  “The director, Evan Lockheed.”

  “I need to speak with him before we leave.”

  His phone vibrated and he pulled it out, the text message short and sweet.

  813 Rue de Chêne. Anytime, Hawk.

  He’d texted his old commanding officer while he was waiting for his flight out of Atlanta. Mac O’Brady was one of the good guys, an expat who’d been living in France for years, but Hawk had heard he wasn’t doing so well these days. He’d make time to see him. Another SEAL could only come in handy.

  4

  The hotel Trevor picked was nearly an hour away, but despite her fatigue, Olivia was grateful for the distance. The farther away she was from the studio, the happier she was able to be. The car ride gave her time to think about this man and her feelings for him, and she was surprised to realize she was nervous.

  She’d only been gone a month and a half, but it was as if they were starting over. The first part of their relationship began at the cabin they’d shared in the woods, moving smoothly from there to thei
r apartment; the second was only beginning now. They hadn’t been apart until this hiatus, had never learned to love each other again after a separation.

  I’m being ridiculous.

  Making mountains out of molehills.

  So what if she was nervous? It didn’t change anything about her relationship with this man. She was simply out of practice and was certain sex with Trevor would be as natural as it had ever been. But when she stepped into the hotel room, her heart was lodged firmly in her throat.

  She thought back to the mountain cabin where they’d met, her longing as she’d leaned on one side of the bedroom door, he on the other. She’d wanted him so badly she could hardly stand it.

  The hotel room door closed behind him and she jumped.

  Definitely not melting with need.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, dropping their bags and moving behind her, his arms encircling her like a bear in a trap. She shimmied her shoulders and stepped forward. “Just jumpy, I guess.” She faced him with a weak grin.

  “It’s me, you know. You don’t have to be afraid around me.”

  “I know.” To her horror, she wanted to cry. She forced the tears to stay in her eyes and lifted her chin. “It’s been hard, Trevor.” Her voice cracked on his name. “Really hard. I’ve been scared.”

  “I know, and I’m so sorry you had to go through that alone.” He stepped closer and put his arms around her.

  This time she forced herself to relax and imagined he was a warm, safe coat that would protect her from the storm. The smell of his skin was familiar and sharp, and she leaned into him. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. You’ve been through a lot. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

  She nodded against his chest, imagining how different things would have been if he’d been here these last weeks. She wouldn’t have had to be afraid, wouldn’t have needed to shore herself up like a sinking dock.

  Wouldn’t have had to be strong.

  Her inner voice mocked her. It was this damn character, the marquess. The script that showed her growing into a woman who could take care of herself, the action she was performing in such sharp contrast to Olivia’s own reality. She’d been weak—she could see that now. The damsel in distress waiting for someone to save her.