Going In Blind_Brotherhood Protectors World

by Kris Norris

  He moved back to the window, looking up the road. He couldn’t quite see the sheriff’s station from here, but he’d see her if she was on her way. Beautiful blonde hair lifting in the breeze. Her sexy hips swaying as she walked. Blade by her side.

  He smiled. The dog had made the transition back to bomb disposal in a heartbeat. Not that he’d necessarily be needed for that on a constant basis, but the addition of a canine approved for that line of work—who guarded Addison as if it was a mission handed down from God—was a definite plus. And the reason she’d agreed to meet with local law enforcement.

  He chuckled then cursed. His damn chest still hurt when he laughed. Fuck, when he breathed too deeply. Turned out Grace Sanchez had been Stevens’ primary contact within the DEA—the one who’d hidden Stevens’ drug dealings for the past few years. Who’d falsified documents and undermined the work of her fellow agents by alerting local gangs whenever a raid was imminent.

  But that wasn’t the worst of it. She’d joined up with a few key service members—her brother being one of them. They’d been using military routes to distribute the drugs worldwide—an arrangement that was in danger of being unearthed. Apparently, José Pedro had gotten antsy, and been killed because of it.

  Sanchez had also been the one who’d killed Detective William O’Toole.

  That’s what really stung. Addy had gone into great detail about how the two of them had been inseparable for the few months before the raid. How they’d talked about marriage. Kids. Only to have her kill the very man she’d said she was in love with.

  It blew Rigs away. Just like the shot had. Fucking forty-five point blank. He’d been lucky he hadn’t died instantly. That Addison and Blade had managed to outsmart the bitch—take her out. She hadn’t made it. Had died in the yard. Rigs hadn’t lost a minute of sleep over that.

  Addy had. Had battled with how to make peace with what had happened. The betrayal. She’d hidden it well, submersing herself in making him better. Helping him through the first few weeks of recovery. It had been a bitch. Between her and Ice—he wasn’t sure which had hurt more. Getting shot or relearning how to function.

  He smiled. Definitely the latter.

  “Fuck, Bridg. Take a picture. Rigs is…smiling. Might never happen, again.”

  Rigs groaned then turned, scowling at Midnight as he leaned against Bridgette’s desk, a smug smirk on his face. “I keep telling you guys to watch your sass, lest you end up with metal filings where your truck used to be.”

  Midnight snorted. “Right. Like you’d ever hold true to one of those threats. You’re too honorable. Besides, Addy likes us. And she’d have your balls if you behaved poorly.”

  “Have his balls for what?”

  Rigs inhaled then spun. And there she was. Standing there. Larger than life. So fucking beautiful he wasn’t sure if he could keep looking at her without having to rub his eyes. His chest—right there in the center where it hurt.

  He held out his hand, and she came to him—wrapped her arms around his back and placed her head on his chest. And everything slid into place. All the pieces fitting together. Midnight could tease him all he wanted. Rigs didn’t care. Not as long as he had Addison.

  She dropped a kiss on his pec, then eased back, looking between the two. “Are you two boys arguing, again?”

  Rigs shook his head. “Wouldn’t dream of it. How did it go?”

  She smiled, and his heart did that skipping thing. “You’re looking at Eagle Rock’s newest deputy.”

  “Seriously? You said yes?”

  “Let’s just say they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

  “Really? What was it? A retirement package? More vacation time?”

  She shook her head. “A job in town, so I can be close to the man I love.”

  Fuck.

  She’d said it, again. After her confession in the hospital, Rigs had been planning the perfect date. He wanted to make his pledge to her memorable. More than memorable. He wanted to make her swoon. A guaranteed setting to make her say yes.

  To him. To spending the rest of her life with him.

  And she’d gotten the jump on him, again.

  He swallowed, opened his mouth, then closed it. God, how could he ever top that? The look on her face. The pure joy and love she felt for him.

  He sucked in a breath, ran over all the sweet words he’d planned to say, then blurted out the first thing that popped into his mind. “Fuck, I love you. Marry me.”

  Shit. He hadn’t given her the ring. Gotten down on one knee. Hadn’t said a single poetic word.

  But she was laughing. Crying. Kissing him right there in front of Midnight. Bridgette. Not an ounce of self-consciousness in her. He answered in kind, eating at her mouth, holding her close. It wasn’t until Midnight cleared his throat behind them that Rigs finally let her come up for air. She could breathe through him as far as he was concerned.

  But he managed to pull back—glance over at his buddy. “You got something to say, Midnight?”

  “We were just wondering if we should make the wedding a double one? Or if you’re going to follow in Ice and Harlequin’s footsteps and run off to Vegas?”

  Christ. Rigs hadn’t thought about that. About the actual ceremony. That there’d be dancing and people and a photographer. That he’d have to be out in the open. The center of attention—

  Then, he looked at Addison and sighed. If that’s what she wanted, he’d do it. A thousand people, rolls of film. It didn’t matter. As long as she was his, he could suck it up.

  He took a deep breath. Faced her. “Whatever you want, sweetheart. Just say the word.”

  Addison looked at Midnight and Bridgette then back to him. “I’m free. now.”

  “Now?”

  “Today. Montana doesn’t have a waiting period, and we have two witnesses right here…”

  Blade barked, and she laughed.

  “Make that three. So… Why wait?”

  “But…” He stood there, mouth gaping open. Stunned. “Don’t you want a fancy dress? A party?”

  “All I need is you. With me. For the rest of our lives.” She held out her hand. “What do you say, soldier? Ready to land?”

  Rigs shook his head, took her hand in his then tugged her tight to his chest. “Already have. But let’s make it official.”

  Midnight Ranger

  Kris Norris

  Chapter 1

  Seattle. Ten months later…

  “Don’t you ever keep regular hours?”

  Bridgette Hayward looked up from her desk, smiling at the man standing in her doorway. Tall, dark, handsome, dressed in Armani with his hair perfectly styled—Jeremy Brenner was the classic image of an assistant US attorney. In the two years she’d been working for the United States Attorney’s Office, she’d never once seen the guy sweat or lose the calm demeanor he wore like a shield, regardless of the circumstances. And the man had gone up against some intimidating clients.

  Bridgette leaned back, twirling her pen around her fingers. “Says the man standing in my doorway at…oh, nine o’clock on a Friday night.”

  “I just came back because I forgot a brief I needed. You, on the other hand, haven’t left, yet.”

  “Big case means extra time, and I can’t afford to screw this one up.”

  Jeremy’s eyes narrowed, and he glanced around as if looking for others despite the fact the office had been closed for hours, before stepping through the doorway. “You know I think you’re one of the best lawyers we’ve had come through here, right?”

  She frowned. “Why do I sense a ‘but’ at the end of that statement?”

  “Not a ‘but’. I’m just…worried about you.”

  “That’s sweet.”

  “Seriously, Bridgette. Alexander Stevens has been heading his family’s drug business for longer than you’ve been alive. It’s taken that many years to make a case against him, and it was essentially a fluke. Which means he’s got more connections than anyone knows. The kind that’s kept him
out of jail and gotten other people killed.” He nodded at her. “You still getting threats? Calls? Letters?”

  A chill beaded her skin, the ghostly echo of a gravelly voice on her cell sounding inside her head before she shoved it aside. “Nothing I haven’t gotten before. And, as usual, I’m being cautious.”

  “If you were being cautious, you’d either have a bodyguard or you’d be working remotely until the trial starts, and we can petition for police protection.”

  “I’m fine, Jeremy. Promise.”

  He shook his head. “I realize this is a huge leap forward in your career, and you deserve every bit of it. Your record here is more than impressive. I’d just hate to see you get hurt over it.”

  “I promise I’ll be more vigilant. And if things escalate—”

  “If things escalate, it’ll be too damn late.” He huffed, running his fingers through his hair. “You are stubborn. Anyway, I’m heading out. You ready to go? I’ll walk you to your car like a perfect gentleman.” He winked. “Or not, if you’d prefer.”

  She smiled—the guy had been trying to get into her pants for months. “Thanks, but I have a few things left. I’ll be out of here soon, though.”

  “All right. Be careful.”

  “Always.”

  He shook his head then left, his footsteps fading down the hallway. Bridgette focused on the written testimonies, again, noting any concerns or questions she wanted to discuss, until the words started blurring together. She sat back and glanced at the clock—nine forty-five. She closed her eyes for a moment, rubbing the bridge of her nose in the hopes of lessening the ache building between her eyes. Jeremy was right about one thing. She needed a break. She could look at the files, again, in the morning, but reading the same paragraph over and over wasn’t helping.

  She stood and stretched, hoping to ease the tight press between her shoulder blades. A few more weeks like this and her colleagues would start calling her Quasimodo. Maybe she’d take a hot bath. Spend the night curled up on the couch watching a movie. Anything not related to Alexander Stevens or this case.

  The thought made her smile as she packed some folders into her briefcase then placed it on her desk. She filed any remaining papers then grabbed her case and her purse. A quick trip to the ladies’ room, and she could head out.

  The building was eerily quiet as she walked down the hallway then into the bathroom. Usually, she enjoyed the silence after everyone else had left, but tonight felt different. Whether it was the storm raging outside or Jeremy’s words, she wasn’t sure. But she’d be happy to get home—lock herself inside.

  Her boots clicked across the floor as she made her way back to grab her jacket. If she’d been thinking clearly, she would have taken it with her and locked up, already, saving her the return trip. But the long days were definitely taking a toll, and it seemed as if she forgot simple things more often, lately.

  She sighed, stepping inside, before coming to a halt. A large yellow envelope sat kitty-corner on her desk, her name scribbled across the front. She glanced around, staring at the shadows lining the hallway. She’d been gone less than ten minutes.

  Her heart rate kicked up as she walked over to her desk, staring down at the offering. No return address. No mail stamp. She thumbed the corner, debating on whether to open it or call the cops. Though, if it turned out to be nothing, she’d never live it down. And she hadn’t been there long enough to bring that kind of attention to herself.

  Bridgette took a breath then gently lifted the tab. It hadn’t even been sealed, which hopefully meant it didn’t contain any kind of deadly virus. Her pulse thundered in her head as she slipped her hand inside and removed a collection of photographs. A small note was stuck to the front, the same handwriting scrawled across it.

  I’m coming for you.

  The words glared up at her, the simple statement making her stomach roil. She bit her bottom lip then flipped through the images. Whoever had taken them had followed her from her apartment to her office. There were even a few of her at the boxing club—her hands in gloves as she moved around the ring. They’d obviously been taken over a few days, which meant someone was stalking her. Had been stalking her for some time, and she hadn’t even noticed.

  Memories surfaced in the background. Distant like a clock ticking in another room. But there, just the same. She pursed her lips then stuffed the photos back into the envelope. If Alex Stevens thought some creepy phone calls and a few pictures would be enough to intimidate her, the man had a hard lesson ahead of him.

  First, she’d go home. Lock up. Double check her alarm system. Then, she’d make copies of everything. She knew firsthand that evidence had a way of “disappearing” with the right amount of motivation. And Stevens had more than enough motivation at his disposal.

  In the morning, she’d head to the police station. She’d give them the envelope and half of the photos. Have them add the images to her growing file of harassment since she’d first been handed the case months ago. But she’d send the note and the other pictures to her friend, Special Agent Jack Taylor. See if the Bureau could match the handwriting or get some kind of DNA off the paper. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the local precinct, she just trusted Jack more.

  Her briefcase felt heavy as she slipped the envelope inside then headed for the bank of elevators at the opposite end of the hallway. Different scenarios bounced around in her head, trying to take shape, when a distant noise stopped her. She paused, trying to pinpoint it when the dull echo sounded, again.

  Footsteps. Behind her.

  Bridgette swallowed against the punch of fear cooling her skin and began walking. Faster this time. The footsteps followed her—two for every one of hers. She reached the elevator and hit the button. The arrow lit up, accompanied by the hum of machinery as the unit began moving.

  She glanced down the hallway. Had she only imagined the footsteps? Wouldn’t the person have rounded the corner by now? Was it another coworker returning to their office?

  No. There hadn’t been any other lights on. All the doors had been closed. She looked at the number pad click off the floors then made for the stairwell. At least she’d have some control by taking the stairs. No surprises when the silver doors opened, and she could easily detour to another floor if she heard someone approaching from below.

  The heavy metal fire door clicked shut behind her as she bustled through, descending as fast as she could without making too much noise. She’d gotten two floors down when another click resonated through the air above her, followed by hurried steps.

  Bridgette raced down the stairs, sticking to the outer wall in case anyone tried to see her over the railing. She didn’t stop, winding her way down to the bottom level. Why had she decided to park in the damn garage today? It was like asking to become a victim. But the rain had been falling in steady sheets, and she’d been too rushed to try and find a spot on the road or in a neighboring lot. So, she’d opted for the staff parking. A key-activated sensor and garage door were supposed to make the area secure. But no such thing existed. There were always ways in, and if someone wanted her bad enough, they would have found one.

  The exit door squeaked as she shoved on it, darting to her right once she’d cleared the small glass enclosure. Only a scattering of cars dotted the large space, a patchwork of shadows masking the glare of the overhead lights. She headed for the wall, keeping herself between it and the front of a few vehicles in case she needed to disappear. She’d made it halfway to her Jeep when the inner door bounced open.

  Bridgette hit the concrete, crouching behind the grill of a large Suburban. The plate caught on her pants, ripping a line across her hip. She cursed under her breath, yanking the fabric free then slowing peering around the left side of the SUV. A dark figure moved down the outer edge of the parking stalls, head swiveling from side to side.

  A man. No question. Wide, thick shoulders with a broad chest and narrow waist, the guy looked athletic beneath the snug black clothing and matching ski mask. As if
he could chase her for hours and never get tired. Judging by the size of his biceps, she had no doubts that he packed one hell of a punch. The kind that would knock her out with only a single blow. Something glinted off one of the lights, the silver gleam winking at her.

  He had a gun, though the barrel looked strangely thick—shit. A suppressor. This guy meant business. He wasn’t there to threaten her. To beat a warning into her. He was there to kill her. Period.

  Bridgette weighed her options. She could call for help, but with the garage so empty, her voice was sure to echo. And the police wouldn’t be able to reach her before her stalker would.

  She could make a run for her Jeep. She was quick.

  Not faster than a bullet, girl. Think!

  It wouldn’t take the man long to figure out she’d hidden behind one of the available cars. All he’d have to do was systematically check. Her best bet was to double back. Wait until she had enough distance to dash inside the building. She could head upstairs and find another way out. Or hide in a bathroom while she called for help. Anything but sit there and wait for the asshole to shoot her.

  Footsteps.

  He was moving. Each step carefully orchestrated as if he’d done this a hundred times before. He stopped at every vehicle, checked underneath then moved on.

  Shit. He’d see her feet unless she could somehow balance on the bumper with her boots pressed to the wall. Sweat slicked her palms as she tried to judge how to bridge her weight, when a noise sounded from across the lot.

  The guy turned, staring into the deep shadows, his body rigid. Alert. She didn’t know how long he’d stay focused on other side of the garage. A second. Five. All night. She chanced it and quickly scrambled over to the bank of cars he’d already checked, doing her best to hide her feet behind the wheel on the left side.

  Silence stretched out, the utter nothingness making her heart pound. Could he hear it? She could. Frantically beating inside her chest—making it hard to breathe.

  A step.