Under Pressure

by Lori Foster

  “Teaching art to kids means wearing lots of smocks, not gowns. Usually the smock ends up being pretty colorful though—paint, clay, marker. I’m far better suited to a grade-school art room than an influential committee.”

  All in all, Leese thought that sounded pretty nice.

  Justice asked, “You like kids, huh?”

  “Very much. My students are terrific, even the more troublesome kids. They’re all creative in their own unique ways.”

  Leese let her and Justice talk about children and art, knowing it was a distraction for her. She didn’t yet want to tell him about her stepfather, but time would soon run out.

  When the two of them wound down and Justice ran out of teasing compliments, Leese said, “You can have a short reprieve, but when we get to the agency, you’re going to need to decide.”

  A whole lot of wariness flooded back into her expression. “Decide what?”

  “If you’re going to make my job easier by coming clean, or if you’re going to leave me muddling about in the dark, which could also be riskier for both of us.”

  She released a tense breath. “Maybe a better decision would be to leave so you guys aren’t at risk.”

  Leese caught her chin, a surefire method to gain and hold her attention. “That’s one choice you don’t have. Whether you like it or not, you’ve got my protection.”

  Justice added, “If you’re thinking of dodging him, think again. He’s pretty good at surveillance.”

  Cat scowled at them both. “I think I’ll take a nap, after all.” She bunched up her coat and shoved it against the door like a pillow. “Wake me when we’re there.”

  So she wouldn’t rest against him this time? Too bad. But he wouldn’t waste the quiet time. He had a whole lot more research to do, and this time his focus would be on her stepfather and his friends.

  With or without her help, he’d get things figured out. Hopefully in enough time to keep her out of trouble.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  SHE SLEPT THE entire hour and a half it took to reach their destination. It was a testament to her level of exhaustion, and how much she intrinsically trusted him and Justice. There was very real danger, Leese didn’t doubt that. Especially after meeting Tesh, who he discovered was actually Tesh Coleman, a fifty-two-year-old professional thug for the elite.

  Justice glanced back at her. Her entire body was lax, her expression peaceful. Leese had had to move to the front seat to keep from touching her. Repeatedly.

  “You’re smitten,” Justice accused. “And you told me that shit was a no-no.”

  “Concerned, not smitten. I’m wondering how long she’s gone without a good rest to keep passing out like that.”

  “Maybe she’s just a sound sleeper. This one lady I knew could sleep through an earthquake after a good boning. Totally knocked her out.”

  Leese grinned. “Maybe you bored her to sleep.”

  He only half listened to Justice’s denials as they neared Body Armor’s swanky main offices. He’d been with the bodyguard agency for a year now, and so far, it was unlike anything he’d imagined.

  For one thing, he liked it a hell of a lot more than he’d expected to.

  Playing protector suited him on a basic level. There’d been a time in his life when he’d been more of a jerk than he liked to admit. Much as he detested the truth, he believed in being honest with himself so he accepted that much of his attitude had stemmed from insecurity. As a mediocre MMA fighter, he’d had just enough skill to be cocky and obnoxious.

  He wasn’t insecure anymore.

  And these days, with plenty of practice, his skill level was lethal.

  After a lapse in his judgment had almost gotten a girl killed, his entire outlook on life had changed. The eye-opening close call had turned him around.

  He planned to spend the rest of his life helping others, and if he got paid well in the bargain he’d count it a double win.

  “She passed out whimpering my name.”

  Drawn back to the here and now, Leese said, “Probably begging you to quit and leave her alone.”

  With a smug smile, Justice said, “She still comes around for the occasional booty call.”

  “Maybe she has insomnia? She needs you to put her to sleep again.”

  Justice laughed. “Admit it, I’m a stud and you’re jealous.”

  When Cat made a small sound, Leese again glanced into the backseat. She hadn’t moved.

  “Gotta say,” Justice told him. “So far it’s been interesting. But don’t you miss MMA?”

  Leese figured Justice asked because he was already missing it. “I still train,” Leese told him. “I just don’t compete, which is no big loss because we both know we weren’t championship material.” They were good. A hell of a lot better than any street brawler. But champion? Only a select few could claim that title.

  He’d come to grips with that, but maybe Justice hadn’t yet. After all, it had taken Justice nearly a year longer than Leese to admit it. Leese had a feeling that once Justice got acclimated, he’d like the bodyguard business a lot more than he now realized.

  “I guess.” Justice tugged at his earring. “I’m actually better at shooting bullets than I ever was at takedowns.”

  “You’ll try it as a bodyguard, and if you don’t like it, don’t stay.” But Leese would bet he’d stay.

  “You’d told me there weren’t any hot babes to protect, but the little lady snoring in the backseat is pretty sweet on the eyes.”

  Very sweet. “She’s an exception to the rule. It’s mostly businessmen and high-profile local politicians.” So far Leese’s most exciting assignments had included coordinating protection for a touring musician, a movie production on location and a foreign dignitary. “In fact, the specifics of this case are an exception. Most of the time your job will be to check out safe routes for travel, research the backgrounds of people your client will interact with and search rooms where they’ll be staying to ensure they’re safe. Mundane stuff like that.”

  “You lucked out with this one, then.”

  “Maybe.” He knew his boss, in her efforts to really promote the agency, reserved certain jobs for certain people. She was good at matchups, so Leese didn’t question her.

  Now she’d matched him up with Catalina Nicholson and while he felt like thanking her, because no way did he want anyone else in charge of her safety, he also needed to know what the hell Sahara Silver had gotten him into.

  This was only Justice’s second ride-along, sort of a training session, and so far, he was too impulsive in Leese’s opinion. But he’d catch on soon enough.

  “You think Sahara will keep us paired up?”

  “We’re not partners, Justice. I’m training you, same as I got trained.”

  “That’s why you got to hit the bozos and I didn’t?”

  Leese resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Usually there’s no hitting involved, so don’t get ahead of yourself.” To further explain, he said, “For this case, I’m more like a close protection officer. Sometimes, depending on the job and the risk to the client, we might have a close protection group, but until meeting Catalina, no one thought that was necessary.” Groups were generally used when a politician or ambassador suspected an assassination attempt, meaning different levels of surveillance would be needed.

  But for one petite schoolteacher?

  “With that one,” Justice said, nodding toward the backseat where Cat slept, “I’m thinking a battalion might get a workout trying to keep up with her.”

  Leese was beginning to think the same.

  “Know what, Leese?”

  “What?”

  “I’d consider it more fun if I got to do some hitting too.”

  With a lazy stretch and a purring groan, Cat came awake and sluggishly sat up.
She rubbed her eyes while saying, “Then you’re in for a good time, stud, because if you stick with me, I predict there’ll be a lot of hitting in your future.”

  “Stud?” Leese asked, already guessing she’d been awake for a while.

  “That’s what he called himself, right?”

  Justice grimaced. “You were playing possum?”

  “More like caught between sleep and being awake. You’re funny, Justice, in an overblown, overconfident, somewhat misogynistic way.”

  Leese elbowed him. “She’s saying you don’t have a healthy respect for women.”

  “Not true!” Justice lifted his nose. “I love the ladies.”

  Huffing a laugh, Cat turned to Leese. “And you’re quick with the comebacks. You two should take your act on the road.”

  “Got our hands full keeping you safe, apparently.” Her eyes still looked slumberous, but little by little, the wariness crept back in. “We’ll be pulling into Body Armor in about five minutes.”

  “That’s the name of the agency?”

  “Yeah. Under new management.”

  “Oh?”

  “Sahara Silver.” Smiling, he spoke the truth. “And she’s going to love you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s always looking for ways to make the agency’s rep sexier. And you definitely fit the bill.”

  * * *

  SAHARA SILVER STEPPED into the polished foyer of the agency she’d recently inherited. How she loved this place, the high-end decor, the modern lines...and the testosterone in the air.

  She breathed deeply, then shivered.

  Perfect, just perfect.

  As several people looked up, she smiled. She’d been at the helm for a year now and still earned that curious, uncertain reaction. Her brother, God bless him, had been more sedate and far more serious. A wonderful businessman and an even better brother. She missed Scott every minute of every day, but being here, in the midst of all he’d built, she felt closer to him.

  With her high heels clicking, she strode through, nodding to one and all on her way to the private elevator that’d take her to her office on one of the uppermost floors.

  Anita, her lobby receptionist, rushed to meet her. “Ms. Silver, Mr. Phelps and Mr. Wallington went up about five minutes ago. They had a guest with them.”

  Excitement rushed into her bloodstream. “That’s fine, Anita. Thank you.” Leese Phelps, always early, always ready. He was her favorite find for the agency. An MMA fighter turned bodyguard with an ability so incredible, he would rarely ever need to use a weapon beyond his fists.

  Leese had also brought Justice Wallington into the fold. Such a colorful character. Where Leese added suave, quiet power to the agency, Justice brought cocky, irreverent outrageousness.

  Justice was still being fine-tuned, but she had no doubt he’d be an amazing addition to the new, more modern segment of the business. She’d be launching him out on his own very soon.

  After greeting Troy, the armed guard who stood watch over the private elevator, Sahara waved off the attendant and stepped inside to ride up to her office. She could only hope that the surprise guest would be yet another fighter for her to hone into an asset.

  When she’d inherited the agency from Scott, it was like a lifeline, a way to remain attached to him even after he’d gone. Sixteen years older than her, Scott had practically raised her when their absentee parents chose to travel the world rather than be saddled with a “surprise” daughter. So many times Scott had brought her along to the office, let her observe and learn as she sat in on meetings both in preparation of assignments and in reporting outcomes.

  Even then, when she was a fidgety preteen know-it-all, he’d encouraged her to voice her ideas and she always did. She was never short on opinions.

  It wasn’t until she’d turned nineteen that she’d told him, in front of all the bodyguards during a big meeting, that he needed employees with more sex appeal.

  Her brother had choked on his drink, and the men—all of them middle-aged and less than impressive—had tried to melt her with heated glares.

  Too fast for her to further explain, Scott had ushered her from the room and, she assumed, spent the next hour smoothing ruffled feathers.

  Bodyguards, in her opinion, should not have feathers. They should be made of steel, and they should appeal to the masses.

  Regardless of the less than promising reaction from the staff at the time, she hadn’t been deterred. She’d thought about it more and more, a way to separate Body Armor from other agencies. Sex was in, the sexier the better.

  Why couldn’t her agents be top of the class in both skill and persona? Why couldn’t they seduce with amazing talent and capability, as well as smoldering good looks?

  The rich and elite, she knew, would pay a fortune for appearances mixed with talent. Under her guidance, Body Armor would offer it all.

  She kept the other employees and offered them at a reduced rate. They stayed busy, the revenue continued to pour in and already Leese Phelps was in high demand. Soon, with any luck, she’d find a few more new hires and round out the employee cache with something for everyone.

  Thinking ahead, always, she strode toward her personal receptionist, Enoch, who jumped to his feet to present her with her day’s agenda.

  “Guests inside, Sahara. Leese and Justice, and they brought with them a young lady—”

  She drew up short. “Not another fighter?”

  He smiled. “Sorry, no. Or at least I assume she’s not.” He leaned in closer. “She’s rather small.”

  Enoch knew her well enough to understand she preferred first names whenever possible, and because they got along so well, he was often very familiar. On any given day, Enoch was her right hand, her calendar and her friend. “Now I’m doubly curious.”

  “Would you like to go over your schedule first, or after you meet with them?”

  “I have time?”

  “At least an hour.”

  “Wonderful. Let’s do the schedule after.” Sahara smiled at him. “Could you bring us coffee and whatever...and see that I’m not disturbed while they’re here?”

  “I’ll make a fresh pot.” Off he went, always so quick at his tasks.

  She did love Enoch’s efficiency and understanding of her needs. If only she could find a man who—no.

  The last thing she needed was a man in her life.

  No time, not for that sort of nonsense, and not while shifting the agency into the powerhouse she wanted it to be.

  Pasting on a smile, she opened the door and surged into her office. Leese stood looking out a window, hands in his back pockets. Justice took up most of the space on a small settee, his bulky arms stretched out along the back.

  And in the chair facing her desk...

  Sahara hurried in. “Hello.” She circled the chair to face the woman, then stepped back in surprise. “You’re Catalina Nicholson.”

  “Yes.” With far too much caution, Catalina asked, “And you are?”

  “Sahara Silver. I own the agency.” Brows up, she turned to Leese. “You brought her here...why?”

  Folding his arms over his broad chest, Leese turned his compelling stare on Catalina. “I’m hoping she’ll tell us.” He watched her a moment, then said softly, “Cat? What’s it to be?”

  Put on the spot, the girl glared back at Leese, then seemed to deflate. Her gaze shifted to Sahara, and damned if Sahara didn’t feel a thrill go up her spine. She just knew this was going to be something unexpected and stupendous.

  Anxious to hear it, she said, “Go on.”

  After a few more seconds of hesitation, Catalina asked, “Have you heard of Désir Island?”

  * * *

  JUDGING BY SAHARA’S startled reaction, Cat assumed she had indeed heard of the islan
d and was aware of its awful reputation.

  The beautiful brunette inhaled deeply, then rushed around to get comfortable in her chair. Forearms on her massive desk, expression rapt, she leaned forward. Both Leese and Justice were lost and, in truth, Cat was glad they didn’t know about the island.

  Enthralled, titillated without having yet heard the details, Sahara urged, “Go on.”

  Before Cat could, a man stepped in with a tray of coffee, fresh fruit, pastries and muffins.

  Sahara didn’t miss a beat. “Excellent. I definitely need more caffeine. Pour us each a cup, will you, Enoch?”

  “My pleasure.” Cups and saucers rattled as the assistant filled each cup. “Cream and sugar?”

  “We can doctor them ourselves, but thank you.” Sahara reached for a gooey pastry. “Fresh from the bakery?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’re the perfect man, Enoch. Thank you.”

  Smiling, Enoch departed and Sahara told Cat, “Please, help yourself.”

  She hesitated, but what the heck. If everyone else could be blasé, she’d give it a try too. “All right, thank you.” After swallowing one big bite of a blueberry muffin, she asked, “You’re aware of what happens on the island?”

  “Yes, of course. Decadence. Perversion.” Sahara waved a pastry. “Anything and everything sexual that money can buy.”

  Leese came around closer to Cat, which she appreciated, and propped a hip on the desk. After a sip of coffee, he asked, “Where is this place?”

  “It’s near the Virgin Islands. Uninhabited until twenty or so years ago. Since then it’s been built up and used for...” Cat swallowed, unable to say it.

  Sahara didn’t have the same problem. “It’s a privately owned playground for the global ultrarich. Anything goes if you have enough money or influence, preferably both. Many politicians love it for the secrecy. It provides every luxury you can imagine with a small, posh hotel, a helipad for invited guests only and plenty of space for orgies.”

  “Orgies?” Leese asked, one brow climbing high.