True Blue (Blue Series Book 3)

by Jules Barnard

  He’s a hot security guard. And he works here. Obviously.

  Son of a bitch, he tricked me.

  “I could ask you the same thing. Wait,” he says, cocking his head to the side as the elevator doors close. “I already have.”

  I bite my lip, holding back the urge to stomp my heel. “Tyler, this is not a joke. I’m in trouble, and this is my way out.”

  He casually shoves his hand in the pocket of his hot security guard pants. “I told you, Mira, it’s to my advantage to keep you safe, so you can move out. Which means I’m not letting anything happen to you while we’re living together.”

  All the anger melts from my body. “Why? We both know how you feel about me. Why are you doing this?”

  He takes in the red wrap dress I borrowed from Cali, his gaze moving on down to my legs—where it lingers. He shrugs. “Do you know how I feel about you?”

  I thought I knew, but the way he’s looking at me and the way my chest is rising and falling at the expression in his eyes…I’m confused.

  Tyler may recognize the attraction I have for him, may even feel some of it in return, but he’d never act on it. He doesn’t trust me, and he’s made it clear that he’s moved on.

  The floor numbers spring up the digital display before settling. The elevator doors open. “You used me, which I didn’t mind, by the way.” He winks. “But I really don’t want to live with you. No offense.”

  “I didn’t use you,” I tell him, and walk into the reception area.

  I wanted to have sex with Tyler, because I was young and thought I loved him. Of course, he doesn’t know that. He thinks I slept around.

  Tyler was going to leave. He was being an ass to me, accusing me of sleeping with other guys—I used it as the excuse I needed to run and protect my heart. To leave him before he left me.

  “Doesn’t matter if you used me or not. I was willing,” he says.

  We stop in front of the reception desk, sizing each other up.

  “Can I help you?” the receptionist asks. It takes me a second to register that she’s talking to us.

  “I’m Mira Frasier, the new assistant to Hayden Tate.”

  “And I’m Tyler Morgan. New floor guard.”

  The receptionist looks from me to Tyler, her gaze skipping down Tyler’s uniformed chest in a stealthy glance. “We’ve never had guards up here, but you’ve come at the right time. They’re letting someone go this morning, and he needs an escort. You think you can handle it?”

  “I’m here to serve,” Tyler says, and whips out a charming smile.

  The receptionist grins, barely cracking the plaster of makeup she’s wearing.

  I might hurl.

  “Right this way, Mr. Morgan.” Her mouth turns down. “Ms. Frasier, please have a seat. I’ll let Ms. Tate know you’re here.”

  I want to tell her there’s no need, because I remember the way to Hayden’s office, but I sit and wait. Violet—that’s not really her name, but it’s what I’m calling her in my mind from now on—is too distracted by the handsome new guard to pay me any attention.

  Tyler said he’s doing this to make sure I’m safe so I can move out as soon as possible, but this is extreme. Especially when he seemed content to while away his days on his computer and his nights drinking beer and hooking up.

  I don’t care what Tyler thinks—I don’t need his protection. And forget Violet, who’s decided to go MIA so she can drool over Tyler. I don’t need her escort to Hayden’s office. Hayden’s expecting me. She can’t be offended if I show up at her door.

  I stand and walk down the corridor. Rounding the corner to Hayden’s hallway, I catch sight of Tyler.

  Escorting Denim Jacket.

  I go stock-still, frozen in the middle of the hallway.

  Denim Jacket leers at me as they approach. I scoot to the side of the hall, my shoulder pressing the cold, white surface. “Back so soon?” he says as he and Tyler near.

  I swallow the dry ball in the back of my throat and try to hold his gaze. He walks past me, a smirk on his face.

  Tyler stops. “Hey, you okay?”

  I nod, though my heart is racing. I don’t know why this bully affected me above all the others I’ve encountered in my life—kids in school, my mother’s ex-boyfriends—but he did. He does.

  “You don’t look okay.” Tyler glances after his charge, who’s making steady progress toward the exit. “Is it that guy? You know him?”

  It’s the look on my face, or I don’t know, Tyler is psychic, because his expression hardens. “Is that him? One of the guys who attacked you?”

  “Don’t do anything,” I say in a panic, which sounds utterly weird. I never show alarm. “I mean it, Tyler. You’re escorting him out. He’s leaving. It’s a nonissue. Don’t make things worse.”

  I’m so close to paying off the money. I just want this over with, and they’ve left me alone as long as I make my payments. If I turn this man in to the police, would it make things worse? Would he or his partner come after me again? Or my family?

  It’s not worth it.

  Tyler leans forward, his hand finding my waist. The pressure of his touch is possessive and warm. “He made it an issue when he put his hands on you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tyler

  That piece of shit Blue axed is one of the assholes that hurt Mira? Motherfucker.

  They issued me a wand and I have a permit to use Mace while in uniform, but I’d like to take this guy with my bare hands and fuck him up. The only thing holding me back is that if I lose my job, I can’t look out for Mira in this cesspit.

  “Jesus Christ,” I mutter to the ceiling. Deep breath.

  Mira peels her shoulder off the wall. She holds her head high, but her eyes are glossy and frightened. “It’s fine. He’s gone.”

  Fuck, it’s not fine. She’s not fine. I’ve never seen Mira so scared. The only time I’ve seen her this way was in the woods and right now. Goddammit.

  I go to reach for her, but she steps away, walking shakily down the hall. She glances back in the direction of the asshole who frightened her, before steeling her features and knocking on a door. A woman greets her and she enters the office, the door closing behind them.

  I turn toward my charge, anger burning inside. I’d like to rage all over this guy, but I need to keep a cool head.

  I jog to catch up to him and slap a hand on his shoulder. “Easy, buddy. Not going anywhere without your armed escort.” I’m not really armed, but I wouldn’t mind using my wand on his kneecaps.

  He glares at me, then stares ahead.

  “What’d you say your name was again?” This fucker needs to be put behind bars for what he did to Mira.

  “Didn’t.”

  Easy enough to get the information from Blue. “That girl back there?” I say. “The one you said something to? Stay away from her.”

  Asshole gives me a crooked grin. “She’s not your type. Too much spunk. Girls like that enjoy a strong hand.”

  I squeeze my fists together until my knuckles crack. I thought this position would be the perfect way to make sure Mira was safe, and I was right. Look who popped up on her first day—the very guy who made it necessary for us to live together.

  Even if this guy hadn’t hurt Mira, I could use an excuse to bash something in. The guilt I carry over Colorado, living with Mira—they have me wound up tight. Add in this fuck, and taking out pent-up aggression while performing my “job duties” doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Maybe this is the perfect job for me after all.

  I assess the dude. He’s not as tall as I am, but he’s bigger in the shoulders. “Your hands go anywhere near her and I’ll remove them. From your body.”

  Asshole chuckles. “Big threat.” He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “That little girl you’re protecting got herself into some serious trouble. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from her. Nothing good comes from hanging with girls like that. But don’t worry. I’ll take good care of Mira wh
en the time comes.”

  I pull out my rubber wand and crack the back of his knees.

  Asshole crumples to the ground, laughing. “Good one, buddy. You forget where you’re working? That stunt will have you walking the plank too.”

  Fuck, I forgot about the security cameras. I don’t bother to look around. Doesn’t matter. Worth it. “Get up and keep walking.”

  He chuckles again as he ambles to his feet. My detainee doesn’t make any more inciting remarks as I escort him to the exit, but he looks over his shoulder as he walks out the glass doors. “I’ll be sure and tell Mira you said hello the next time I see her.”

  Keep it together. I let out a slow breath.

  He’s taunting me. Can’t go apeshit on his ass. I’m more intelligent than that, not some Neanderthal. I need to plan how I’m going to deal with the threats to Mira’s safety. Getting fired from the job that allows me to keep an eye on her will not help.

  ***

  Pretty sure my mom would have a conniption if she knew I was working at Blue. She spent most of her adult life slaving away at the casinos to keep me and Cali in clothes. This is not where she expected us to land when she put us through college. Fortunately, I doubt Mira will keep working at this place after her run-in with Asshole this morning. The girl has a death wish, but she’s no dummy. Though I’d feel a hell of a lot better if I could see her and confirm it. I haven’t seen Mira all day while they’ve put me through the rest of my training for the position.

  “This here’s the security depot, also known as security central.”

  My boss, a fit, middle-aged guy with one of those handlebar mustaches, takes me inside a double door off the corporate offices. These are the only two doors in the entire corridor, with the exception of an emergency exit at the end of the hall.

  So far, my boss is steadily introducing me to just about everyone. For some reason, people find it fascinating that a biologist with a master’s degree would choose to work as a crap-dollar-an-hour security guard. Personally, I don’t see what the big deal is.

  I check out the cavernous space. Security central is right. It looks like the central brain of the CIA. Hundreds of television screens large and small show every inch of the casino, but not the executive floor. Apparently, few cameras reside up here, the majority being reserved for gaming, which is why I didn’t get fired for whaling on Asshole in the hallway this morning.

  A dozen people man the security stations, communicating through microphones attached to headsets. The air in here is charged, as if the extra electrical equipment has thickened it with current. I was prescreened for everything under the sun when they hired me. They also gave me a long talk about the rules for the casino staff, but I’m given another lecture by my boss about confidentiality and gaming policies.

  “So this is where we’ll work?” I ask.

  My boss erupts in a loud hoot. “Oh, man. You’re a funny one. No, man, no. This place is for techies. You and I are strictly ground crew. Digging through the trenches.” He jabs me in the rib. “Come on. I’ll show you your territory.”

  When they gave me the position of floor guard, I’d hoped they meant upstairs on one of the actual floors, but apparently the title stands for “casino floor.” We walk out of security central and my boss takes me on a circuitous route through stairwells and private doorways; I might actually need a map to find my way back.

  The more I consider Mira, the more I worry this day won’t be her last at Blue. It would be just like her to keep the job despite the danger it poses. And if that’s the case, I need a backup plan.

  “What did you think about what I said earlier?” I ask my boss. “Think they’d give me detail in the corporate offices?”

  “Nah, man. Why would you want to be there? Gaming is where the action is. Or the suites.” He waggles his eyebrows. “A good prostitution bust is what you need to break you in.”

  What the…? “Yeah, man, that sounds cool”—not—“but I heard there’s action among the execs.”

  My boss glances over. For all the easygoing demeanor he projects, I get the feeling he’s pretty damn astute. “Be careful there, buddy. The corporates pay us. No good comes of talking smack.”

  He opens the door to the casino floor. The sound of slot machines drowns out our footfalls on the carpet with buzzers, bells, and sirens.

  “No, man—” Shit. I’m here a few hours and I’m already starting to sound like this guy. I’m trying to blend, though. “That’s not what I mean. I heard there was a bit of a crackdown on people messing with the waitresses.”

  My boss winks at one of the cocktail waitresses. His face hardens as he looks over knowingly. “Drake Peterson. Dipshit. Always hated that guy. Fucked with my girl, Kendra.”

  “Ah, man, that’s low. So you know why I’m thinking there might be a need. I got my own girl at Blue. She works in corporate.” Total lie, but I’m willing to use any angle, and the girlfriend story looks like it could be a winner. “That’s where I heard the guy worked. It would be great to be around and know she’s okay.”

  “I hear ya, I hear ya. But see here, they haven’t requested extra heat on the exec floor.”

  Extra heat? What are we, special ops?

  “I gotcha, but maybe we can be proactive. Ask if they could use the extra muscle.” Yup, I said extra muscle. I’m a security guard now.

  My boss slaps me on the back. “Good one, Morgan. I’ll ring up the powers that be, and check it out. The more armed mass they request, the more my rank increases—you know, with all the subordinates working for me.”

  I nod, attempting a meek expression. My boss likes his control, but he’s a good guy. “You know, I escorted a dude out this morning for Ms. Tate, the human resources director—you wouldn’t happen to know that guy’s name, would you?”

  “Ronald something. Short-termer.” My boss nods to a group of bellboys a few feet away, who I’m assuming I’m about to be introduced to.

  “Well anyway, Ms. Tate might be a good person to contact. She seems to appreciate what we do.”

  “True that, man. True that. She’s new here, but she’s a good egg. I’ll check it out. In the meantime, let me introduce you to more people.”

  With any luck, my boss will be successful and I’ll work closer to Mira. For protection, nothing else.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I arrive home expecting to see Mira, but even though her truck is in the driveway, the house appears dark and lifeless.

  Why wouldn’t she be here if her truck is here? Did she go somewhere with Lewis?

  I kick off my shoes by the front door, and that’s when I sense it. Her presence.

  I turn and push on the bedroom door that’s partway open. Mira is sitting on her bed, in her work clothes, staring out the window, her back straight, hands folded in her lap. She doesn’t seem to realize I’m there, though I’ve made enough noise to alert her. She’s completely zoning, which shouldn’t be a big deal. I’d probably walk away and let her be, if it weren’t for that incident in the hallway at Blue this morning. Or the expression on her face. Sadness, despair.

  Fuck, she’s killing me. I tug at my T-shirt and look away. Am I really doing this?

  Yeah, I guess I am.

  I push the door open the rest of the way to give Mira another opportunity to notice me and kick me out, but she doesn’t even blink. I walk over and sit beside her on the bed. Right up next to her so that our thighs touch, because shit, she’s starting to worry me and I’d rather piss her off by crowding her than see that look on her face any longer.

  “Mira.”

  Her delicate throat rolls in a swallow, her eyes barely flickering my way.

  “You okay?”

  Her chest deflates and she nods, but I don’t believe her.

  I rack my brain for some way to reassure her, because she looks like she could use it. “It’s probably a good thing we saw that guy this morning. Now I know what he looks like in case he ever comes loitering. You could go to the police. It will
be easy to get his name and address since he worked at Blue.”

  My words don’t seem to help. She pinches her lips like she’s about to cry. Jesus Christ.

  I’m no pussy when it comes to women’s tears. I grew up the only male in a two-woman household. I’ve seen PMS tears, angry tears, and manipulative tears (Cali in all her glory). That shit does not faze me. And I’ve accumulated smooth words over the years to deal with the female waterworks. But right now, the despair Mira’s throwing off is enough to break me.

  I do the only thing I can think of to make both of us feel better. I reach around her shoulders and draw her to my chest. Her face rests against my T-shirt, and that’s when the dam breaks.

  Mira is a quiet crier. Little squeaks here and there, her back rising in delicate hiccups. The way she’s crying—as if she’s used to hiding it—has me doing something I never could have envisioned a few weeks ago.

  I wrap my arms around her and press my lips to the top of her head. I lift her face and wipe tears from the smooth curves of her cheekbones. “Shhh, it’s okay. Everything will be okay,” I say in a low, calm voice that is the opposite of the storm inside me.

  My mind is in turmoil. I don’t know that things will be fine, but I will say anything, anything to make her feel better. To bring back the feisty Mira I know and love—hate. The scrappy Mira I love to hate.

  Only this doesn’t feel like hate.

  It feels good to hold Mira in my arms. As if that’s where she’s supposed to be.

  Mira pulls away and wipes her face with the back of her sleeve, leaving a smudge of mascara on the fabric. She stares at that smudge, and I swear she starts crying harder.

  “Mira, tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Seriously, Tyler? You really want to know all the fucked-up shit in my life?”

  I nod. I actually want to know. I’ve always wanted to know what goes on in Mira’s head.

  Her hand balls into a fist in her lap. “Where do I begin?” She laughs without humor. “How about running into the guy I thought would either rape or beat me to death in the woods. That was a good way to kick off the day. Then there were the snickers from my female coworkers at various points throughout the afternoon…When I couldn’t work the fax machine, or the phone transfer system—oh, yeah, and when I broke the automatic pencil sharpener.” I lift a brow. “Don’t start with me, Tyler. I visited John and Lewis at Sallee Construction. I never sat behind a desk. I don’t know shit about collated versus stacked. And what the hell is a dictation machine? Then there were the men giving me creepy looks, which were the opposite of the glares I received from the women.”