Ruined: (McIntyre Security Bodyguard Series - Book 6)

by April Wilson

  Cooper

  Jake nudges me with his elbow. “Your boy’s getting hit on at the bar.”

  “Yeah, I can see that,” I say, tapping my boot on the scuffed floors. I’m about two seconds away from going over there.

  “You know, if you glare any harder, you’ll hurt yourself.”

  I take my eyes off Sam just long enough to scowl at Jake, who’s enjoying this way too much. “This is why I don’t like to go to clubs with him. It’s like this constantly. He’s a magnet. It’s better when he goes out with the girls. They insulate him from a lot of unwanted attention.”

  Jake chuckles. “You have to admit he’s pretty to look at, no matter which way you swing. He’s bound to draw attention.”

  I stiffen in my seat when Sam’s current admirer puts his hand on Sam’s lower back. “Son of a bitch.”

  I start to stand, but Jake puts his hand on my arm. “Relax, Cooper. He’s fine.”

  Sam deftly dodges his admirer as he accepts our drinks from the bartender and heads back to the table, juggling two bottles and a glass. Watching heads turn as he winds his way through the maze of tables, I can certainly understand the appeal. With his ripped jeans hanging low on his lean hips and that T-shirt showcasing his chiseled biceps and pecs, he’s a damn fine specimen of a man. And that red hair? Hell, it might as well be a flaming torch, because it gets him noticed wherever he goes. And those big brown eyes…. Damn.

  “I see you made a new friend,” Jake says, as Sam hands him his glass of Coke.

  Sam frowns as he hands me my beer. “Yeah. He just wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  “What did he want?” I say, forcing my voice to remain neutral.

  Sam rolls his eyes. “To show me the back alley.” And we all know what that means. Eyeing me closely, Sam reaches out to squeeze my hand. “Relax, big guy. I told him, ‘You see that silver fox over there? My ass belongs to him.’”

  Jake chokes on his drink. “Shit man, are you kidding? You really said that?”

  Sam grins, looking like a young devil. “Nah. But I did tell him I was with the ‘old guy.’ His words, not mine.” And then he winks at me just before taking a swig of his beer. “Now, I came here to have some fun, dammit. Who wants to play pool? Or darts? Or dance? I’m not picky.” He eyes us both expectantly.

  “I’m sure as hell not dancing,” I say. “But I’ll play darts with you.” If it was up to me, we’d leave now and head back to our motel room. Here, I feel like I have to be on guard at all times—I’ve seen the ugly underbelly of small towns like this. I know what can happen. But Sam has led a sheltered life. He’s never experienced blatant hostility just because of who he is.

  We cross the bar, skirting around the dance floor, which is swarming now with gyrating bodies, and find an open dart board. We collect our darts and move behind the line of tape stuck to the floor.

  Sam nods at me to go first. “Age before beauty, babe.”

  Smart ass. Shaking my head, I test the balance of the steel-tipped dart poised in my fingers. The dart board is standard issue—black and white with red and green rings. We don’t bother playing by the official rules, though. We have our own contest to see who can bury the most darts in the tiny bullseye out of three tries. I’d better win this game. I’m a former sharpshooter in the Marines. If I can’t hit the center of a dart board at eight feet, I don’t deserve to keep my job.

  I throw my first dart and hit the bullseye dead center. Then I retrieve my dart, and Sam steps up to the line to take his shot. He nails the center spot too. So, after round one, we’re tied.

  Round two. I throw my second dart and hit the bullseye, upping the pressure on Sam.

  “Damn,” he says. “Not bad for an old guy.”

  “Very funny.” After I retrieve my second dart, he toes the line and throws his second dart—and it’s a score. So, we’re tied, two and two. I notice we’ve attracted a bit of a crowd. The pool games have been put on pause, and some slightly flirtatious women have formed a lose circle around us, giggling and whispering to each other.

  “Your turn, babe,” Sam says, prompting some snickers from the onlookers.

  Just before I throw my third and final dart, Sam leans close and whispers in my ear. “If you win, I’ll give you a blow job when we get back to the motel. And if I win….” He pauses for effect. “If I win, you have to let me top you tonight.”

  Holy shit. He’s not kidding.

  Well, hell, if that’s not enough to make me lose my concentration, nothing is. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s topped me, and it certainly won’t be the last, but the thought definitely messes with my concentration.

  Just as I’m poised to throw my final dart, hoping like hell for a third bullseye—at least a tie—I hear a glass-shattering crash and a loud cry as a server drops her tray. My dart goes wide, just missing the board, and ends up buried in the wall.

  “What the fuck are you doing in here?”

  I know before looking who that deep, bellicose voice belongs to. Billy Monroe has aged a hell of a lot since I last saw him standing on the Sweetwater River Bridge, but he hasn’t really changed much. He’s still a loud, obnoxious ass. The big difference this time, though, is I’m not a scared teenage boy.

  Monroe is dressed in filthy jeans, equally filthy work boots, and beneath his leather jacket, he’s got on a blue flannel shirt that is straining to hold in his gut. And he’s not alone. He’s flanked by two younger men who look to be in their mid-thirties. Based on their regulation haircuts, I suspect they’re off-duty deputies.

  “Get out of here, faggot!” Monroe yells, his face mottled with varying shades of red. “We don’t want your kind in here.”

  It’s been a long time since anyone has dared to call me that to my face. I can feel my blood pressure spiking, but I do my best to ignore him as I retrieve my dart from the wall. I glance at Sam, who is clearly on alert and watching me closely, taking his cues from me. I can see that Jake is calmly making his way over here. Three against three. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in the middle of a bar brawl.

  “You don’t want to mess with me tonight, Billy,” I say, keeping my voice level. “I’m not in the mood.”

  Billy Monroe looks like he’s about to pop a blood vessel. It’s too warm in the bar to be wearing a heavy jacket like he is, so he must be carrying. His two pals are similarly dressed, and I have to assume they’re all armed.

  “So, this is what a homophobic child-killer looks like,” Sam says, drawing out the words as he scowls at Monroe. Sam moves in beside me, shoulder to shoulder.

  Monroe’s complexion turns a darker red. “I did not kill that boy!” He jabs his fat index finger in my direction. “You killed him, to shut him up, because that boy was going to expose you as the depraved monster you are. And now you’re back here in Sweetwater trying to ruin the reputations of three innocent, God-fearing men. Hell, Judd’s dead because of you!”

  “Billy, you need to get outta my bar, right now!” The bartender points to the exit with a tire iron clenched in his fist. “All three of you boys, get out before I call the cops.”

  “I am the cops, you idiot!” Monroe growls at the bartender.

  The bartender shakes his head. “Not right now, you’re not. You’re out on leave. Now, get out!”

  “What’s the matter with you, Frank?” Monroe says, taunting the guy. “Are you a homo lover too?”

  The bartender bristles at Monroe’s slur, just as Jake moves in, pressing the muzzle of his gun to the back of Monroe’s head. “You heard the man,” Jake says in a low voice. “Get out.”

  The room goes quiet—someone even mutes the sound system—as Monroe stands there fuming. Then the silence is broken by the distant wail of police sirens.

  The fingers on Billy’s right hand begin to twitch, and I’m afraid he’s going to draw his gun. I step in front of Sam, to shield him.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Jake warns, shoving his gun against the back of Billy’s skull.


  One of Billy’s guys breaks the tension. “Come on, Billy,” he says, grabbing Billy’s arm and tugging him toward the exit. “The cops are coming. Let’s go.”

  Billy pulls free of his friend’s grasp and heads toward the exit, motioning for his buddies to follow. Jake lowers his gun as he watches them leave.

  We return to our table just as the deputies come inside. One of them we recognize—Deputy Williams. The other is a female deputy we haven’t seen before. Frank, the bartender, greets them and gives them an update.

  Deputy Williams and his partner come to our table. “Everything all right?” Williams says, his hands propped on his waist just above his gun belt.

  “So far,” I say.

  Williams nods. “We’ll try to keep an eye on Billy. He’s pretty angry right now. I’m sure you can understand why.”

  I nod. “What’s going on with the investigation?”

  “The feds are here. Have they been by to see you yet?”

  “Not yet,” I say.

  “They will. Judd Franklin’s suicide note corroborates your story, Mr. Cooper, but they’ll need to interview you themselves. The feds are looking at murder charges. I think Billy’s worried. I know Roger is.”

  “They should be,” I say.

  * * *

  When we arrive back at the motel, there’s a black sedan with darkly tinted windows parked in front of our rooms.

  “Looks like the feds are here,” Jake says, parking the Escalade beside the sedan.

  I wish I could keep the ugliness from my past out of Sam’s life, but unfortunately, I can’t. “I’ll go talk to them.” I look at Sam. “I want you to wait in Jake’s room.”

  Chapter 14

  Sam

  The waiting is driving me crazy. I pace Jake’s motel room, restless and antsy, listening to Sam Hunt through my ear buds. Cooper’s been sequestered in our room with the feds for over an hour, and we’ve had no word. “This is driving me nuts!”

  “Would you please sit down and stop pacing?” Jake says, glaring at me from over the top of his laptop. “You’re driving me nuts.”

  Jake is seated at a little table in front of three laptops—his own little command center. He points at the empty chair on the other side of the table. “Sit down, please.”

  I sit, then remove my ear buds and observe him for a minute. “Our server sure had the hots for you tonight—the cute brunette. Why didn’t you get her number? She practically threw herself at you. I may not dig girls that way, but even I could tell she was uber hot.”

  Jake keeps tapping away on his laptop, ignoring me.

  In the two years I’ve known Jake, I don’t recall him ever going out on a date. “Are you gay?” I know the question is ridiculous as soon as I ask it. If he were gay, I would know.

  He glares at me once more over the laptop screen. “No. I’m not gay.”

  “Do you like girls?”

  More glaring, along with a clenched jaw. “Yes.”

  “Then why haven’t I ever heard about you dating anyone? I mean, come on, you’re a good looking guy, with mad skills and a great job. You have a lot to offer, so why aren’t you offering?”

  Jake leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his ridiculously muscular chest. “Are you finished?”

  “Hey, I’m not trying to be an ass. I’m just curious. What’s your deal? You live like a monk.”

  “My deal is that my personal life is none of your business.”

  “Ouch!” Clearly, I hit a raw nerve. “Sorry, man. I was just making friendly conversation.”

  His expression softens. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bitten your head off. It’s just—complicated.”

  “Are you... like... celibate?”

  Jake levels his gaze at me, but says nothing.

  Yeah, I definitely hit a nerve. “Never mind, man. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “No, it’s okay.” Jake swipes his hand across his face, exhaling heavily. “I—I was engaged once. We were both really young—just out of high school. Too young, I guess. Anyway, her folks thought I was a bad risk for their precious daughter. I had no idea what I was going to do with my life then, no ambition. I thought about going into the military, like Shane and Jamie had, or maybe becoming a firefighter like my dad, or a teacher like my mom.” He laughs. “I was all over the map back then. I guess I can’t blame them for being concerned. Anyway, her parents talked her out of marrying me. Not only that, but they talked her into marrying someone else—an accountant in her father’s firm.”

  Jake looks at me with hard eyes, and I can see the pain buried deep.

  “Shit, man.” I feel guilty for bringing up such a painful subject. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  He shrugs. “It’s all right. Her husband’s now a partner in the accounting firm, and they’ve got a huge house in Lincoln Park. They’ve even got a kid—a little boy, I hear. I guess she made the right choice.”

  Jake acts very cavalier as he discusses his ex-girlfriend, as if she means nothing to him now, but he’s not fooling anyone. “What’s her name?”

  “Annie Elliot—well, I guess it’s Annie Patterson now.”

  “Do you still love her?”

  Jake shoots to his feet, pocketing his phone as he grabs his jacket off the back of his chair. “I’m going out for some air. You stay here or I’ll kick your ass, you got me?”

  I nod, wishing I’d kept my damn mouth shut. Jake’s a pretty private guy. He doesn’t share a lot about himself—at least not to my knowledge. I shouldn’t have pushed him.

  He leaves the motel room, shutting the door behind him with a bit more force than is necessary. I walk to the window, peering through the drapes to see how far he’s going. But he doesn’t go far. He leans against the SUV, his expression stony as he seems lost in his thoughts. He’s got to be hurting. Personally, I think this Annie Elliot must be an idiot. Who would dump Jake? He’s an amazing guy.

  I do some quick mental math. Jake’s around thirty, so he must have been engaged to this girl about a decade ago. Has he been pining for her all that time? Jesus. He needs to move on. He can’t put his life on hold forever because of this girl. She made her choice.

  I wonder if she’s happy married to some hot-shot accounting partner. With a kid, too. She’s probably some spoiled rich bitch now. Jake has done pretty well for himself. He loves his job, and he’s damn good at it. Shane counts on him. He may not make as much as an accounting partner, but he certainly makes more than enough to support a family comfortably, even in Chicago. He would have made her a damn fine husband.

  The adjoining door opens, and Cooper walks through looking nothing short of haggard. His eyes are rimmed with red.

  I meet him halfway, raising my hands to cradle his face, his stubble scratching my palms. “Are you okay, babe?”

  He looks at me without saying a word. Then he shakes his head as if trying to clear it. “Rehashing it again was rough. They really dug deep.”

  “I’m sorry.” When I lean in to kiss him gently, his lips cling to mine. Damn, he’s really shaken. “Let me tell Jake you’re done, and then you and I can crash in our room.”

  I open the front door and stick my head out, just as the feds pull away. Jake watches them go, then turns to me when they exit the parking lot.

  “We’ll be in our room,” I say.

  Jake pushes away from the SUV, nodding. “I’m going for a walk. I won’t go far.”

  * * *

  Cooper sits at the foot of our bed, looking a little shell-shocked. I remember seeing guys in the Rangers look like that when they lost a buddy in combat.

  “Hey.” I drop down beside him and put my arm around him, drawing him close. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I didn’t kill him, no,” he says, his voice wooden. “But maybe if I’d stayed away from him. Maybe if I hadn’t acted on my sexual impulses, he’d—”

  “Cooper—”

  “Cody never got the chance to grow up, because three
bullies were afraid of what they didn’t understand.” He looks me in the eye. “Billy claims I killed Cody to keep him quiet about the nature of our relationship. He’s also insinuating that I murdered Judd Franklin.”

  “That’s bullshit! The judge committed suicide. Besides, you were with me all night and all morning. You have an ironclad alibi.”

  Cooper laughs. “You realize you’re not exactly an objective witness, right?”

  I shrug. “Jake’s video footage is, though. He’ll have it on film that you were here in our room all night long.”

  “The feds said an autopsy is being performed on Judd, but that the initial forensics investigation concluded it was a cut-and-dry case of death by a self-inflicted gunshot wound. They told me not to worry about Billy’s attempts to deflect blame. None of his claims hold up to scrutiny.” Cooper reaches out to touch my cheek. “I’m sorry I brought you down here. You don’t need this.”

  I reach for his hand, linking our fingers together. “Hey, I wanted to come, remember? In fact, I think I insisted on it.”

  Cooper shakes his head. “I never wanted you involved in my fucked-up past.”

  I nudge him with my shoulder. “Shut up. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than by your side, drama or not. I love you.” And then I kiss him.

  * * *

  We stay in for the rest of the evening. An hour later, Jake returns from his walk and proceeds to make enough noise over there to wake the dead, opening and closing doors. I feel bad for dredging up his past.

  “What’s his problem?” Cooper says.

  “I think that’s my fault. I asked him about his love life, and he told me about his ex-girlfriend.”

  “Ah, yes. Anne Elliot.”

  “Yeah. I shouldn’t have pushed him. It put him in a really bad mood. It’s been ten years though. The guy needs to move on.”

  Cooper shrugs. “The heart wants what it wants.”

  Our conversation is interrupted when Shane calls Cooper to get an update on our status. While Cooper’s talking to Shane, I reply to text messages from Beth and Erin. Beth’s not happy that I left Chicago so soon after returning. Erin’s going on and on about Mack—Jesus, I wish those two would just hook up already and quit dancing around each other. I promise Beth I’ll be home soon, and I recommend that Erin buy some low-cut tops and display a bit of cleavage to motivate Mack to take action. So there’s a bit of an age gap between them. Who cares? Shane’s a lot older than Beth. And hell, look at me and Cooper. He’s old enough to be my father.