Lethal Peril_Military Romantic Suspense

by Emily Jane Trent

  Elizabeth gave him the punch line first, letting him know that she’d witnessed a murder. He raised his brows. “We need to speak alone before you agree to an interview.”

  The cop reluctantly agreed to let them have an empty office, and Elizabeth proceeded to relay her version of the event. She clarified that the cop asserted the death had been an accident, and was skeptical of her claim that it had been murder.

  Having heard the blow-by-blow of what had happened that morning, Thomas expressed concern over her emotional state. After her assurance that she was all right for now, he leaned back in his chair. “I can’t advise you to give a statement at this time. The situation is quite volatile. If you are to be interviewed, it should be in a formal setting where I am present. I’d like to look over all the facts, and the police investigation, before such an interview takes place.”

  It wasn’t lost on Elizabeth that her attorney’s first priority was the family’s reputation. Any story that involved Foster International, or any member of the Foster family, spread like wildfire. Mere rumors turned into headlines overnight. An incident involving alleged murder would spiral out of control.

  Elizabeth studied her attorney. “So I can count on you to keep this quiet?”

  “What do you mean by quiet?”

  “I’d rather you not tell anyone just yet.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Your uncle should be told. He will be furious if something like this is withheld from him.”

  Elizabeth shrugged. Martin Foster, her father’s younger brother, would hit the roof when he heard about this. But she needed time. “Yes, but my uncle knows me.” She gave Thomas an impish grin. “He won’t blame you. I promise not to tell him that I called you to the station. I’ll take the fallout for any upset.”

  “Elizabeth…”

  “Really, I promise. So please, just for a day or two, until I can figure things out. And it’s a given that you won’t relay any of this to my father either.” That last stipulation likely wasn’t necessary, but she had to make sure.

  Thomas shook his head. “Against my better judgment. But I need your agreement not to speak to the authorities unless I’m present.”

  “Deal.”

  “You realize that your uncle will find out anyway, as well as your father?”

  “But not immediately. And when it does come up—because I’m sure the police won’t keep a lid on a story like this—you can use your standard line that the family wishes to maintain their privacy.”

  Thomas stood and lifted his briefcase from the table. “Okay, but I insist on driving you home.”

  *****

  Home was a three-story mansion in Manhattan, where Elizabeth had lived with her father for many years. It had five fireplaces, a basement swimming pool, and two gardens. She found no joy in the fact that she had it all to herself.

  Other than the maids who came in to clean, or the maintenance man who tended to the upkeep, Elizabeth rambled through the spacious quarters quite alone. The reason saddened her, yet she was at a loss on how to make her life any different than it was.

  After Thomas dropped her off, she went up to the rooftop patio to gaze at the scene below. It was one feature of the house that pleased her. Up so high, with a view of the city, Elizabeth was above it all. She often gained perspective on things while lounging on the terrace, alone with her thoughts.

  She would have much preferred for her father to join her, but that was no longer possible. Only months before, the sudden onset of Alzheimer’s had taken him away. For his own safety, her loving father Stephen Foster had been placed in a nursing facility with twenty-four-hour care.

  Plopping into a cushy patio chair, Elizabeth looked up at the sky. It was a gorgeous shade of eggshell blue with a few wispy clouds slowly drifting, languidly progressing over the city without a care in the world. If only she could claim the same.

  Until a week ago, Elizabeth had spent much of her week as an accounting department employee at Foster International, doing her part to keep the books straight. She wasn’t destined to be an accountant, but her father had employed her in that department due to her talent with software and computers.

  She’d grown up using computers, so it was no special talent. Or so she claimed. Yet she understood such things better than some, and she tinkered incessantly, playing around with software as a hobby. It was interesting, which was something she needed.

  Yet now she’d been removed from that function and her father was locked away in a facility. Elizabeth was acutely aware of her lack of friends. It was to her disadvantage that she’d been somewhat antisocial growing up. It wasn’t that she had a particular dislike of others, but more that she tended to entertain herself. Sketching her cartoons, or plunking around on computer keyboards, occupied too much of her time. Now that she was in dire straits, she suffered a pang of regret about not connecting with anyone else much sooner.

  It hadn’t been all bleak. Elizabeth had bonded with Amanda. On reflection, maybe she shouldn’t have, as she was more and more convinced that her friend’s death fell on her shoulders. She could have warned Amanda that hanging around with her could mean trouble. But in her wildest imaginings, Elizabeth hadn’t dreamed such a relationship involved lethal peril.

  The wind whipped across the terrace, and Elizabeth wrapped the jacket tighter around her. The transparent panels around the rooftop, intended to block the wind, were inadequate. There were heaters to handle the chill from the rapidly dropping temperature, but she couldn’t muster the initiative to get up and turn them on.

  With her feet on the chair, Elizabeth wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees. In the quiet of her rooftop respite, she dug deep for answers. Now that her father was incapacitated, her brother Kyle ran operations at the shipping company under her Uncle Martin’s supervision. She had no issue with that, as she certainly didn’t want the duty.

  She didn’t have any responsibility for medical decisions concerning her father either, as he had given power of attorney to his brother Martin. Once the illness had been diagnosed, her uncle had taken charge. Not that Elizabeth would have done anything differently. Her father was sick and needed expert care. He was better off in the facility, as he couldn’t be properly cared for at home.

  It didn’t matter that no particular duties fell to Elizabeth. Her family had no faith in her, and hadn’t for some time. Only her father gave her credit, probably more than she deserved, for her abilities. But now he barely recognized her when she visited.

  There was no one to turn to. It was out of the question to go to her uncle with her dilemma. He wouldn’t listen to her anyway. And her brother was well intended but naïve. The idea that he’d believe that her friend was murdered was ludicrous. He’d accuse her of imagining the whole thing.

  Her friend had died, and if Elizabeth’s theory was correct, the incident had some connection to past transgressions. But she had no idea what acts had been significant enough to provoke murder. Yet if the killer was after her, he would soon enough realize his error.

  Her life was in danger. She’d told her attorney about the murder, but she’d kept silent about her concern that it was in some way connected to her. If she had breathed a word of that, Thomas would have insisted that she hire a bodyguard. In the past, she’d adamantly refused to be guarded like a prisoner.

  Elizabeth had been safe enough in her daily life. But these were unusual circumstances. Hiring a bodyguard wasn’t such a bad idea. The more she pondered it, the more it seemed like the right thing to do. She was in a tight spot and needed help.

  There was no one she could turn to—except for one man. Elizabeth pulled out her phone and punched the button for the airlines, before she could change her mind. She booked an early flight for Los Angeles, then went downstairs to pack.

  Chapter 2

  Wyatt Mercer could have had a cushy corporate position in his family’s company, but he wanted no part of it. Sitting at a desk all day wasn’t his style. Whe
n he retired from the Navy, he’d checked around for a career that suited him.

  He’d kept in touch with some of his buddies, former SEALs he’d been deployed with, and learned that many had gone to work in security companies or paramilitary gigs. It was a way to use their carefully honed and hard-won skills in civilian life.

  The pay was good, and Wyatt had pride in what he did. He’d been a protector in the service, and that hadn’t changed. It was rewarding to assure a client’s safety, plus he was good at it.

  Sweat rolled down his chest as he pumped the barbell a few more times, just for good measure. He’d arrived at the gym early, as was his routine. A grueling workout was the way to start the day. Breathing hard, he lowered the bar to the floor and wiped off with a towel.

  While swigging water from a bottle, he sauntered over to the window. The facility was on an upper floor, and offered a view of downtown Los Angeles from the wall-to-wall windows. Traffic moved like sludge along the streets between the office buildings rising up to the sunny California sky.

  He’d grown up in New York, but didn’t mind LA. He didn’t miss the snow, and had the luxury of going to the beach on his days off. Santa Monica wasn’t far, and the boardwalk at Venice Beach was an option too. He’d even learned to surf.

  After years on deployment, living in the city was like staying at a vacation resort. But Wyatt didn’t allow himself to get soft, despite the good life. He lifted weights, and jogged daily, sometimes ten miles or so—unless duty called.

  In the years he’d been with Stealth Security, Wyatt had been assigned various jobs. Each involved the protection of some VIP, a celebrity or business type. Not all challenged his ability. Sometimes all that was required was to escort a client to a seminar, or follow them around on vacation. There were worse things he could do.

  The most excitement he’d had recently on a job hadn’t been his own assignment. Wyatt had assisted his buddy Garrett Flynn in what turned out to be a life-and-death situation. But it had turned out well, and Garrett had lucked out on that one. His client had been Marlene Parks, the movie star. Now Garrett and Marlene were soon to be married. Wyatt couldn’t be happier for him.

  Stealth was a good company to work for, and since the men employed as bodyguards were all former SEALs, there was plenty of camaraderie. Even more important was the loyalty, as he knew he could count on his teammates, and that really meant something.

  Wyatt rolled his shoulder to work out the kinks. It tended to get stiff, so he kept it limbered up as much as he could. Deployments over the years had resulted in lots of wear and tear on the body. No matter how strong Wyatt had been in basic training, the endurance and power required in battle had chipped away at his physical integrity. It wasn’t just one thing, but more of an accumulation of various injuries, some of which hadn’t quite healed.

  It was his right shoulder that had finally folded on him. He’d had rotator cuff surgery twice, but it remained an issue. Maybe it had been weakened, since he’d overused it playing baseball in college. Whatever was the reason, it was a problem. Fortunately, it didn’t inhibit his duties as a bodyguard. Most of the time, he hardly noticed the stiffness or soreness.

  Wyatt threw the towel into a basket and headed for the showers. A couple of other guys, the regulars, were pumping iron and grunting. His passing didn’t even get a glance. He took a hot shower and dressed for the day, then texted the office to see if Tessa wanted coffee.

  Tessa Pate was the receptionist at Stealth, although that was really a misnomer. The woman knew as much, maybe more of what went on there than the guys did. She was sharp, and a looker, too. Not really Wyatt’s type, but he liked her. They’d become friends, and he often picked up coffee on the way in.

  She texted back: YES. Wyatt laughed. Must be a rough day already; she needed her caffeine. He took the elevator down and exited the building. October boasted some of the nicest weather so far. Winters had been cold, even if there was no snow and too little rain. And summers were bloody hot. But this time of year, the air was cool, and as fresh as it could be in a smog-filled city.

  He strode to the coffee shop at a brisk pace. Downtown thrived with activity, but it didn’t compare to New York. The East Coast vibe was just different from the west, more intense or something. But no matter: LA was just fine with him.

  Wyatt yanked open the door, and the aroma of freshly ground coffee filled his nostrils. He took a deep breath. A good cup of java was just what he needed. The line wasn’t very long, and he had the two coffees without much delay. He kicked the door open and dashed out to the sidewalk to navigate the few blocks to Stealth.

  Once inside the building, Wyatt took the elevator up. He wondered what Travis had in store for him. The last job had been wrapped up, so he’d had the weekend off. Monday morning would bring more clients, new jobs. Maybe his boss would dump something interesting in his lap. But whatever his assignment, it was about protecting the client, not about fueling his adrenaline pump.

  Yet once a SEAL, always a SEAL. Wyatt thrived on danger and survival of the fittest. But he was a civilian now, a condition he still had to get used to. As such, he couldn’t expect to defend his life and those of his team at every turn. This was normal life, and he just had to cope.

  The elevator doors opened, and Wyatt walked up to the marble desk. Tessa grinned at him. “You got me an extra shot like I asked?”

  “I’d be taking my life in my hands to come in here without it.”

  “You got that right, Mercer.” It hadn’t taken long to figure out that Tessa could take care of herself. She was brilliant, and could likely out-think him. Plus, she’d taken self-defense classes and God knew what else. It was common knowledge among the guys in the office that if some bad-assed dude messed with Tessa, he’d regret it.

  Before engaging in further conversation, Tessa took a couple of sips of coffee. She was dressed in business attire, since clients had an open invitation to the office, should they want to deal in person. Often the contracts were brought to them. VIPs expected service in line with their status.

  “Mmm, that’s what I needed.” Tessa placed her coffee next to the phone and tossed her wavy blond hair over her shoulder. “You better get in there. Travis has been waiting for you.”

  Wyatt gave her an inquiring look, hoping for some inside scoop, which he had no doubt she possessed. But Tessa didn’t take the bait. Her expression gave away that she knew something, yet she didn’t offer him any crumbs of information. She waved him past her desk. “Go see for yourself.”

  Now curious, Wyatt hustled down the hall. It wasn’t wise to keep Travis waiting, even for a couple of minutes. Operations ran on schedule; his boss made sure of that. Clients were attended to promptly, and Stealth had gained a reputation for being the security company to go to for dangerous situations that needed defusing.

  When Wyatt sat in the chair across the desk, Travis looked up from a report. “Don’t sit down,” he said. “You have a client waiting on you.”

  “You could have warned me.”

  “No need. You were due any minute. And Tessa’s not a patient woman when it comes to coffee delivery.”

  Wyatt couldn’t argue. “So who is this client?”

  Travis looked at him, but didn’t spit it out. “She wants to tell you herself.”

  “She?” Now Wyatt was more than curious. “Do I know her?”

  Travis stabbed his finger toward the door. “She’s waiting. Go find out.”

  The mystery irked him. Why not just say what the assignment is? Sure, he’d hoped for some excitement, just not in this form. Wyatt anticipated bad news. Otherwise, Travis would have just told him straight out who the client was.

  The conference room was soundproofed, with no windows looking out to the hallway. It was designed for maximum privacy. At the moment, Wyatt would have preferred a trendy glassed-in deal, placing the client in full view. Then he would have been able to get a look before walking in on her.

  But that was not to be. Wyatt ope
ned the conference room door and stepped inside. The room was quite large, designed to accommodate meetings with the staff, and clients as well. Wide windows looked out on the city below, and a woman sat in one of the chairs at the far end of the table, the bright outdoor light illuminating her like a spotlight.

  She might as well have been in the dark, because Wyatt hadn’t a clue who she was. The woman was small, just over five feet tall, at best. Her petite stature seemed deceptive, because there was something about her attitude that put him on guard.

  The new client wore dark glasses and a black silk scarf over her hair, so Wyatt didn’t know what color it was—or if it was long or short. Plus, he couldn’t look into her eyes, so he began guessing. Blue eyes, brown, hazel?

  This was ridiculous. Why disguise her appearance inside a conference room? Wyatt was the first to agree to a client’s privacy, but this was going a bit far.

  The woman swiveled the chair and stood up. There was something about her mannerisms, the way she moved, that was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Wyatt should know her; he was sure of it. Yet he didn’t.

  When she walked toward him, it struck a chord, as if she was an old friend. But that wasn’t possible, was it? Then she pulled off the scarf and tossed it onto the table. Short, dark hair, some kind of punk style, shaved on one side and spiky everywhere else. He definitely didn’t know any punk-rocker babes.

  The woman removed her sunglasses, holding them in her hand. Brown eyes, big, large, and thoughtful. That was the best description. She tipped her head to the side in greeting, and the diamond studs lining the curve of one ear sparkled under the fluorescent lights.

  Then it struck him. She looked so different. This was not how he remembered her—not at all. But then, even as a young girl she’d been a rebel.

  Wyatt looked into her eyes. “Elizabeth?”

  “Hello, Wyatt.”

  She was the last person he expected to see. When he’d joined the Navy, she’d been in New York—where she should still be. That was where she’d grown up, where her family was.