Born To Protect (Elite Force Security Book 1)

by Christina Tetreault

  Born To Protect

  Elite Force Security, book 1

  Christina Tetreault

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other Books By Christina

  Born To Protect, ©2018 by Christina Tetreault

  Published by Christina Tetreault

  Photographer: CJC Photography

  Cover Model: Daniel Rengering

  Cover Designer: Amanda Walker

  Editing: Wordsmith Proofreading

  Editing: Hot Tree Editing

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author at cgtetreault@gmail.com. This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. For more information on the author and her works, please see www.christinatetreault.com

  ISBN: 978-0-9994907-92

  Prologue

  Connor stepped out of the elevator and noted the significant changes around him. Someone’s been busy up here.

  He’d worked for Elite Force Security for two and a half years and could count the number of times he’d visited the executive floor. He rarely had any reason to come up, and he preferred it that way. However, the director’s assistant had called before Connor even reached home yesterday and told him to report to Eric Coleman’s office first thing this morning. When the director summoned you, you didn’t ask questions or refuse.

  He approached the woman seated near the director’s office. Well into her fifties, Winifred wasn’t only the director’s personal assistant but his wife as well and a former instructor at the FBI Academy. If the office gossip was anything to go by, the director and his assistant made all decisions pertaining to the firm together.

  “I have a meeting with Mr. Coleman this morning,” Connor said.

  Winifred gave him an annoyed look and picked up the phone. On the few occasions he’d seen the woman, she’d worn a similar expression. Coworkers who had dealings with her said she always appeared either annoyed or mad. It was simply her natural state.

  “Connor Anderson is here to see you,” Winifred said. Rather than hang up, she pulled her legal pad closer and jotted down several notes. “Should I contact Senator Healey as well?” she asked as Connor continued to stand there. She added another note to her pad and hung up. “Mr. Coleman will see you now.”

  It was all he needed to hear. He was anxious to wrap up whatever the director needed him for, so he could head downstairs for the morning briefing.

  A former FBI special agent in charge, Eric Coleman had taken over as the firm’s director when his uncle stepped down. Unlike his wife, he never appeared anything but pleased to see you. Even when he intended to rip you a new one, he greeted you with a polite hello first—or at least that was what Connor had heard. To date, he’d never found himself on the man’s bad side. He’d prefer to keep it that way.

  Today Eric sat behind his desk. The flat-screen television mounted on one wall was tuned to a well-respected news outlet, but the volume had been muted. Various other computer screens were mounted on an opposite wall. At the moment, they all remained blank. Connor knew they were used for everything from watching hostage rescues unfold to conference calls with the director of the FBI and the Joint Chiefs of Staff, because although few knew it, Elite Force Security did much more than provide protection to anyone who could afford the firm’s hefty prices.

  “Connor, it’s nice to see you again. Have a seat.” The director gestured toward an empty chair. “I received a call yesterday from not only Curt Sherbrooke but also Jonathan Sherbrooke. Both wanted to let me know how pleased they were with the way you and your team handled the situation in Boston. And they wanted me to pass along how much they appreciated all you did to bring Reese home unharmed.”

  Between his time with the Marines and now with Elite Force, he’d seen a lot of crap. Yet somehow people continued to amaze him when it came to the despicable things they did. And kidnapping your own child and holding her for ransom in an apartment filled with drugs and firearms fell well into the despicable category.

  “I’m glad we were able to get her back to her aunt safely,” Connor replied. As a member of Elite Force Security’s Hostile Response Team, or HRT, he’d been the team leader for several hostage rescues. Before this one in Boston, none had ever involved a child. He prayed he never worked another one that did. Some things even he had a hard time handling.

  Eric clasped his hands on his desk. “Both were disappointed when they heard you left the city the following morning. They wanted to thank you in person.”

  He would’ve left sooner if there had been a flight back to Virginia after they’d rescued the little girl from the apartment. In a past life, he’d loved Boston—all of New England actually. Now he only visited when he had no other choice.

  “Curt wanted me to pass along his cell phone number. He said if you’re ever in the area to give him a call.”

  It wasn’t the first time he’d worked for the Sherbrooke family. The previous summer he’d been assigned to work as Allison Sherbrooke’s bodyguard when a crazed stalker had been after her. He’d gone into the assignment with several preconceived ideas about her. For the most part, they’d turned out to be dead wrong. Judging by the messages the director delivered, many of the views Connor held in regard to the rest of the family were wrong too.

  Eric passed him a sheet of paper. The name Curt Sherbrooke was written in the director’s bold handwriting, and a phone number was listed under the name. Connor accepted the note, folded it, and stuck it into a pocket. Later it would find a new home in a wastebasket. He had no need of Curt Sherbrooke or the world he represented—a world he’d left behind more than fifteen years ago himself and had no desire to revisit.

  “I thought you would’ve stayed in Boston longer. You have family there, don’t you?” Eric inquired, clasping his hands again.

  The guy knew damn well he had family there. The director did his homework before he allowed anyone to work for the firm. Others at Elite Force might not know his complete family history, but Eric and Ax Germaine, the head of HRT, did.

  Connor nodded. “Yeah, my sister, Stephanie, and my stepbrother live in Boston. My stepsister is living near Hartford these days.”

  He enjoyed spending time with his younger sister, but he preferred to do it when she visited him. As for his stepbrother, he got along with the guy, but neither went out of their way to visit each other. And when it came to his stepsister, a woman who could teach the Wicked Witch a thing or two, he avoided her as much as possible. It had been at least a year, maybe more, since he last saw her.

&n
bsp; The phone on Eric’s desk rang, and he reached for it, putting an end to whatever question or comment he might throw at Connor next. “Excellent job again in Boston. Thank you.”

  Connor took the comment as permission to split.

  While the top floor of the building housed the executive offices, the fourth floor was the home to Elite Force Security’s cyber division as well as the Hostile Response Team. His meeting with the director over, Connor made his way down there.

  When he walked into the team’s meeting room, he found Ax seated at the head of the conference table. Those team members not out on assignment or vacation were there as well.

  “Did that pretty waitress from Shooter’s keep you in bed this morning?” Spike asked, giving him a knowing wink. “What’s her name again? Sandy? Mandy?” He paused for a moment. “No, it’s Candy, right?”

  He’d gone out with Candy a handful of times, but hadn’t seen or spoken to the waitress in months. He hadn’t visited the pub in almost as long either, although it was one of his favorites. Before he could answer Spike, Keith spoke up.

  “Nah, Coleman called him upstairs so he could kiss Connor’s ass,” Keith said from the opposite side of the table. “I heard the Sherbrookes called personally to tell Coleman how pleased they were with the work our dear Connor did up in Boston.”

  At the head of the table, Ax cleared his throat. “If you ladies are finished, we’ve got real work to do.”

  For the moment, joking went on hold, and Ax began the morning briefing. Later his teammates would go right back to busting his ass again. Not that Connor would have it any other way. The men and women he worked with were more than his coworkers— they were family.

  Connor listened as Ax explained the details for the operation Ryan and Spike would lead in Mexico. The mission was to rescue a woman and her young daughter. The two had been forced to leave the country after the mom married a man she thought would be a great dad for her daughter back in January. Although an American citizen, the man turned out to be a terrorist sympathizer and an arms dealer who, for the past two years, had been supplying militants in Africa with both cash and weapons. Since both men spoke Spanish fluently, they were the logical choice to lead the team.

  “Mad Dog and Connor, Shawn Butler requested you both for his family’s vacation to France.” Ax turned his attention their way.

  Connor ground his teeth together and shot a look across the table at Madison Dempsey, better known around the team as Mad Dog. A former FBI SWAT team member, Mad Dog’s expression told him she shared his enthusiasm for the assignment. A wealthy businessman from Australia, Shawn Butler regularly hired Elite Force to protect the family when they traveled overseas.

  Usually when an individual or family hired the firm for similar jobs, the firm pulled from its supply of well-trained bodyguards and left the members of HRT to more important matters. When elite customers like the Butlers or Sherbrookes called, the bigwigs assigned members from the team instead.

  The last time the higher-ups tapped HRT members to guard the family while on vacation, it had been after the Butlers received some death threats. Threats that had later proved to be a competitor’s attempt to simply upset the guy before he went into business negotiations. Connor and Mad Dog had been given that assignment as well, and they'd spent a solid three weeks in England playing glorified babysitters. He’d rather be dodging bullets than babysitting Butler, his bitchy wife, and spoiled teenager daughter again. He knew Mad Dog shared his sentiments.

  “I tried to get Coleman to send someone else, but he wouldn’t budge. You’ll meet the family in Sydney and then fly to Paris with them. Mary has booked your flights,” Ax said. “First-class from here to Sydney, I’m told. Butler insisted. He wants you well rested and ready to go when you land.”

  Big surprise there. When someone with as much money as Shawn Butler made a request, it was honored. First-class, he could handle. And travel from Sydney to France would be even better. The Butlers didn’t do commercial airlines. Oh no, they had their own private jet loaded with all the amenities to cart them around.

  “How long will we be with them?” Mad Dog asked, reading his mind. If he had to travel with the family, he’d rather it be a short and sweet trip.

  Ax checked his notes and grimaced. “Four weeks, but they’ve got the option to extend the contract if they want.”

  Damn, four weeks with that family would be like four years.

  ***

  Becca took another sip of her tea and scrolled through the news articles on her laptop. With no particular place to be until this afternoon, she planned to be lazy this morning.

  “I didn’t think I’d see you this morning before I left.” Kassidy dropped her suitcase by the door and went straight for the coffee maker.

  Becca didn’t know exactly how much travel her stepsister had done before moving in with her, but in the past three months, it seemed like Kassidy had been gone more than she’d been home. Of course, part of that might be because she often spent her nights with whatever man she was currently sleeping with.

  “How was your date last night?” Kassidy poured her coffee and then searched the fridge.

  Becca couldn’t contain an eye roll. “Short. I don’t know what possessed Graham to suggest I go out with him.”

  It wasn’t the first time her older brother set her up with one of his friends. Actually, except for Kassidy, all of her relatives, including her mom and dad, had tried setting her up with various friends or children of friends in the past. Last night’s attempt had been the worst, though. Her brother and Nolan might get along well, but she had nothing in common with the man.

  “You’ve met Graham’s friend Nolan, right?” Becca asked.

  Kassidy nodded as she set down her breakfast and coffee. “A few times. He didn’t seem like my type, but he was nice enough. And he’s gorgeous. Especially his eyes.”

  “He might be gorgeous, but he never stops talking about himself. Other than when I ordered dinner, I hardly got a word in all night.”

  “He did seem a little long-winded.”

  “Is that what you call it? I think he told me his whole life story between our appetizer and dinner.” Becca took the last sip from her tea and went to make more. “Graham means well, but he needs to stop playing matchmaker. He stinks at it.” She added a new tea bag and hot water to her mug. “Where are you off to this time?” She gestured toward the suitcase.

  “New York. I feel the need for some shopping.”

  When she’d seen the suitcase, she’d automatically assumed her stepsister was traveling for work again. All of her recent travel had been. “If you’d told me, I would’ve taken time off and come with you. How long are you staying? I can probably meet you there next Friday. Maybe even late Thursday afternoon. My wardrobe could use some refreshing.”

  Growing up in Greenwich, Connecticut, she’d gone into New York City on a regular basis and made a point to visit whenever she could now. The last time she’d been there had been well over a year ago when she’d visited for New Year’s Eve. There was nothing quite like New Year’s Eve in Manhattan. There was also nothing like shopping in Manhattan.

  Her stepsister paused with a spoonful of yogurt almost to her mouth. “I’m only there until Tuesday. I’m expected at a conference in Utah on Wednesday morning. I’ll be there until Saturday, and then I’m off to Seattle for a meeting with one of the project leaders at the lab out there.” Although Kassidy worked at Lafayette Laboratory’s main facility in Annapolis, she often consulted with the researchers at the smaller ones.

  Plenty of banked vacation time or not, there was no way she could make it to New York before Tuesday. “Next time you plan a short getaway, let me know. I’d love to come along, especially if you’re going to New York.” She’d taken a long weekend here and there but hadn’t gone on a true vacation in longer than she cared to admit. “Are you going to see Mom and Robert?”

  Becca’s mom and her stepfather, Robert, divided their time between their
estate in Connecticut and their home in Los Angeles. At the moment, they were in Connecticut and would be until December—or at least that was the plan the last time she spoke to her mom. However, Mom was known for making last-minute changes regardless of whether it was to the family’s schedule or the house without consulting anyone. Becca suspected it was just one of the many reasons her parents had divorced when she was twelve. Thankfully, Mom’s second husband didn’t seem to mind the unexpected changes, no matter where in their life they popped up.

  “When I talked to Deanna, I told her I’d stop in and see them,” Kassidy answered.

  She visualized her upcoming schedule, trying to determine when she might be able to jet off for a few days of shopping and perhaps a Broadway show or two. “Now that you mentioned New York, I want to go. What do you say we go up in three weeks? Ted will be gone then, so he won’t need me around.”

  Senator Theodore Lynch was not only her boss but also a longtime family friend whom she’d grown up calling Uncle Ted. In three weeks, he had plans to escape to his vacation home on Martha’s Vineyard to celebrate his wife’s birthday. He’d even invited her to spend some time there with him and his family. As much as Becca loved the island and the Lynch family, she had no desire to spend the little free time she had with Ted, his wife, their children, and their many grandchildren.

  “I’ll let you know. There’s a chance I’ll be away.”

  The muffled sound of a ringing cell phone in the other room stopped Becca from commenting further.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Becca watched Kassidy leave the room, then glanced back at the two silent cell phones on the kitchen table. One belonged to her and the other was her stepsister’s. Did Kassidy now have a cell phone specifically for work? A lot of people these days carried two in an effort to keep their work and personal lives separate. Or was Kassidy again involved with a married man? When she had been seeing Steven, they’d both used cheap disposable phones to communicate. Not that it had stopped Steven’s wife from finding out about the affair. The private investigator she’d hired had managed to get pictures of them together. Remarkably, despite the evidence of Steven’s infidelity, the couple was still married—or at least they had been at Senator Lynch’s holiday party last December. Since that was several months ago, it could have changed.