Still, he didn’t utter a word.
“My work is more than just a blog, and what’s grown from simply protecting the air has been amazing: Protecting animals and taking down corporate asshats who would rather save a buck and poison a community than tell the world they’re responsible for cancer clusters.”
Jared smirked—or was that a smile? “You certainly grow a set when your buzzwords are touched, don’t you?”
Now, it was her turn to size up the mountain of a man before her. “Maybe.”
He gave an imperceptible grin that lasted as long as a blink—though maybe she’d imagined it. Definitely she’d imagined it.
Jared grumbled. “Back to business. You’ve had death threats.”
She crossed her arms just like him. “No one threatened my life.”
He tilted his head. “What do you call pictures with your face sliced and diced? The carcasses that were—”
“All right, okay. Those things would all kill me.”
“Slowly and painfully.”
Ella tried to hide the swallow that seemed hard to take. Better that than to have lost her dinner on the guy. “Understood.”
“And the language. Always watching. Variations of that.”
“Throwbacks to the TV show? Watching to see what position I take on an issue?”
“You don’t believe that, but you do put up a strong show.” He shrugged. “Look, we’re not investigators, though in our own way, at times, we hunt people and organizations.”
That sounded ominous. “The police didn’t really think that I had much to investigate.”
He nodded as though he knew or expected that. “We’re going to loop you in with our FBI folks.”
Oh. His FBI folks. She squared her shoulders, readying to explain that while she didn’t appreciate not being taken seriously, the Feds sounded as though he was going overboard. “Well, as it turns out, something has to happen to you before someone can help. I have a situation where someone is antagonizing me.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You have a stalker.”
“According to some of the cops, not technically, I don’t.” She smiled weakly. “I have an overly eager fan or online hater.”
“The FBI is better equipped to handle your situation, especially given the jurisdiction hopping. What do your haters do?”
“Down vote, report, troll, nastygram, comment stuff that is pretty shitty, pardon my language.”
He gave her a look, and she guessed that her apology wasn’t needed. Jared placed his elbows on the table. “I perused your Eco-Ella website on the way over here. You’re no angel.”
“Well, thank you.” She couldn’t tell if that impressed him or pissed him off. “It’s a talent.”
He doubled down on his glare, which she was toughening up to, but it still made her shake. “You’re a hot button, viral-spewing, ratings-driven dream. You need to be more cognizant of your situation.”
“I am.” And where was Tara when someone said something like that? She would have an orgasm over his compliment.
Jared bumped his fist on the table. “And that brings us to the end of this conversation. You need to work with us. At least until this situation wraps.”
“I don’t understand. I’m not an organization or whatever you protect.”
“It’s simple. Law enforcement will get your stalker. We will keep you safe until that point.”
“Like… how?” Images of her in beach chic, surrounded by masked men straight out of an action movie, sprang to mind. If calling 9-1-1 made Jay yell at her, this would give him an aneurysm.
“You need a security detail.”
Wait, what? “Like a bodyguard.”
He gave a curt nod.
“I’m not really at that point in life.” Nor would she ever be. That was for movie stars and politicians. Her stalker was absolutely crazy, but he was also lazy. He liked to take his time. He only struck on weekends and the occasional workday. Granted, he was scary. But he wasn’t consistent, and the threats weren’t daily. This was nothing like when she went into actual danger zones to try to stop illegal hunters or jungle harvesters. In those cases, round-the-clock security would’ve been smart, but she had Jay, and all had worked out fine.
“You need Titan.”
She needed Titan? Maybe.
“Miss Leighton?”
“I’m not sure what to do.”
“Wrong.” Jared took on a surprisingly father-like protective tone. “You were smart enough to have this conversation with me. You know the answer.”
She stared over his shoulder at the door.
“It’s simple.” He pulled his phone off his hip and typed away. “Bullet points have now been emailed to you. That’s the gist of the services we’ll provide. Basically, we’ll keep you alive so you can protect your precious oxygen and watch out for sea turtles or whatever. I included an attachment that boils down the bullshit: I get you; you get me. If you want Titan, you’ve got us.”
“It’s everyone’s oxygen.”
“More or less, I think you’ll realize we’re on the same page.” He slapped the table and walked out of the room. “Have a good night, Miss Leighton.”
Drained, Ella leaned back in the office chair. Honestly, would it be so bad to have someone hold her hand and walk her through the process of convincing the FBI she had a serious threat? Her parents trusted Titan.
Rocco, the man who’d been with Jay, knocked on the doorframe. “Your ex skedaddled. Here’s your purse. Boss man says check your email, and we’ll get you to your car.”
She took the handmade purse from him. “Thanks.”
He gave a curt chin lift as a good-bye. All in all, they were a little cold, but that was how a private security firm should be, right? They should be tough and run like a machine… with guns. Machine guns. Her stomach turned. Okay, maybe that was a bit much.
Ella took out her phone and read the email, and it said exactly what Jared had detailed. Then she opened the attachment as directed, not wanting to misstep on his orders already. Failing as a client seemed as though it was a distinct possibility, and—
Whoa.
A picture appeared on her screen. Jared Westin stood with a beautiful woman snuggled under his arm and a grade-school-age kid leaning over what had to be a newborn in their arms. An English bulldog curled next to the family on the couch.
He had a family. Kids. A baby. A dog. The works. The guy understood the need for oxygen in the future.
Ella let the phone rest in her lap. Never had she realized how badly she made assumptions before. Shaking the shocked bits from her head, she typed a quick response and read it back before she hit send:
I get you. You get me. I need help. Titan is hired.
CHAPTER FIVE
“A reality TV star?” Bishop tossed the closed folder onto the briefing table. This was hazing. It had to be. “She needs a bodyguard? That’s what you’re saying?”
“The woman has a stalker.” Jared nodded. “Simple enough. You won’t get yourself killed on the first week of work, which makes my life easier.” The bulldog perched on Bishop’s new boss’s boot groaned as she rolled over, signaling that even she was in on the big joke.
He picked up the folder again, flipping past the first page of magazine highlights from red carpets, TV shows, and website screenshots. They all looked about the same—fancy dresses and paparazzi. One picture caught his eye. A sun-kissed brunette, barely looking over her shoulder, was in an evening gown on a red carpet. Earthy eye makeup and cascades of wavy hair almost obscured her face. But it was less her face he noticed, and more the contrast of that sexy-ass dress. Dark sleeves covered every inch of her shoulders and arms, but it plunged down her back, almost to her ass. That dress was a distraction—in the most sinful of ways. That was his first clue that this job was BS.
“Protective detail for celebs?” He flipped to the next page. “Lots of people know who she is, huh? I don’t.”
“You and Jared,” Rocco
added. “That would make sense for you, given that you’ve been ass-deep in the Hindu Kush mountains, smoking out ISIS for the last few years.” He shook his head. “This guy? No excuse.”
Talk about a brutal job that few wanted. Bishop had had no connection to the world. He and a select band of special forces had used everything from armored vehicles to horses and donkeys to crawl through the nooks and crannies of those Afghani mountains. They’d trudged through the snowcaps of Kunar Province only to find themselves passing intel in the valleys of Bala Murghab months later. Truth was, he missed it, and going from that to this had to be a joke.
Jared’s brows furrowed. “Little early in your career here to start questioning the assignments and clients, isn’t it?”
Bishop opened the folder and skimmed her bio. Blogger. What does a blogger do? Reality TV star. Environmentalist. They were fucking with him. “For a woman who protects trees?”
Rocco leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “No, bro. She doesn’t protect trees. The lady specializes in air and baby turtle eggs if that makes a difference to you.”
He snorted. “Oh, good. Air.”
“She’s prime-time powerful, and she’s ours to keep alive.”
Jared broke in. “Basically, she riles up most everyone with an iPhone and a Smart Car—which there are a lot of—and she has someone lobbing threats at her.”
Bishop grumbled. How dangerous was the Smart Car crowd?
Rocco’s forehead furrowed. “You’re two seconds from losing a job that most men would cut their nuts off to have.”
Bishop turned back to the page with the sexy dress but didn’t want to eyeball it in front of his new bosses. Something about the woman struck him as familiar. He turned back to her details. She was local to the area. Great, so was he. They were about the same age, so he wasn’t dealing with a teeny bopper.
Blah, blah, beaches.
Blah, blah, blah, videos.
The woman was anti-everything dangerous, yet she earned a living raising hell online. She was pro-everything nice, safe, and sane, yet somehow, she had people wanting to kill her. Well, that seemed a contradiction. He turned the page to read more of her background.
“FBI has assigned an agent. Just keep her alive,” Rocco said.
Bishop glanced at Jared and Rocco. “Anything on the threats I should keep her from?”
“The way this woman collects enemies?” Jared whistled. “Anyone high-profile will have their share of whackos. But a specific escalation began a few weeks ago.”
Rocco pointed to the folder. “Flip all the way back, last pages.”
Bishop turned to the photocopies of letters, and damn, they were legitimately freaky. “Just to screw with her?”
Jared shrugged. “We’re not investigating. Motive is the Fed’s problem.”
Rocco pushed back in the rolling chair. “Parker had a new surveillance system installed at her place already, and she’s met Locke. He’ll be your relief, but you’re the primary.”
“Got it. I didn’t know Titan did celebs.”
“Sit tight until I make sure she’s settled. Then you can head to the war room.” Jared stood. “Read up on her file. All that activist, famous-person-for-her-cause stuff is important. Time to immerse yourself in the online world of Eco-Ella. The girl’s a blogging champ.”
A person could be a blogging champion? He still wasn’t sure how blogging could be a career, or what made reality stars into celebrities, much less one that was at this apparent level.
Jared laughed. “Bishop’s going to be posting videos and going live before we know it.”
“Hashtag trucks and tree huggers,” Rocco said.
Jared smirked. “Hashtag Titan does TV.”
“What are you guys talking about?” They didn’t have this shit up in the mountains. He hadn’t even had a cell phone for years. That was the way he liked it.
They laughed as the heavy door shut, closing him in a room that was as dangerous as it was a safety cocoon. Social media and an environmental-loving Internet sensation? Okay, not a problem. It wasn’t as though they had to have a conversation. But his eyelids hung heavy as he stared at the file folder in front of him. Damn it…
This wasn’t what Bishop had signed up for. Where were the grenade launchers and attack choppers? Pure, one-hundred-percent boredom mixed with a solid dose of he-didn’t-get-it loomed ahead.
Operational assessment: not good.
CHAPTER SIX
“Bishop!”
His eyes widened, and his head snapped up. Shit.
Rocco glared over at him from the other side of the war room table. “Tell me you were not fucking sleeping instead of reading that file.”
“No, sir.” Though he had seriously zoned out… and maybe slept. “Processing.”
Reading that file would’ve been like paging through a gossip magazine—if he had done it. Painful.
He flipped the folder back open, ready to start again. “I’m back on it.”
“No need. The eco-princess is waiting.”
“All right.” Bishop rubbed his face to get the blood flowing again.
“Give me this.” Rocco snatched the folder. “Hit the head. Whatever you have to do. Meet her in the second conference room on the north side of the building.”
“Right.” He prayed the next assignment would involve explosives. But for now, he would stay in the area, do the security gig, and earn his stripes.
As quiet as Rocco had stormed in, the hurricane left the room.
Bishop pushed back from his rolling chair and let it drift to a standstill. He lumbered up and grabbed a beef jerky stick from a side table, tearing at the wrapper. Jerky cured all, and he ripped into a bite.
Titan headquarters was a labyrinth, and as he ambled down the hall, Bishop figured it would take only a week, maybe two, for FBI investigators to clean up the threats against this Eco-Ella personality, then Titan would be off security.
He twisted the conference room door handle and a woman slammed into his chest, squeaking in surprise. Her face hit his hand, sandwiching the jerky to his chest.
“Sorry.” He fumbled back, trying to make apologies, knowing that a handshake would’ve been better. Damn, maybe he was better suited for the field rather than this private security bullshit, but hell if he wasn’t getting older and wanted to keep the action going and—
“Oh, God.” The woman made a gagging noise. “Could you tell me where the restroom is?”
“What? Are you, um, okay?” They’d run into each other; he hadn’t manhandled her. Was she sick? Wait—what the hell? His mind jumped fifteen years into history—his history—as he took in the red-faced beauty, who looked as if she were close to vomiting. “El?”
Eloise Lewandowski. No way.
Bishop took a cautious step back as the woman’s hands covered her contorted face. He would know everything about Eloise anywhere. Except, it couldn’t be her.
“Bathroom?” This doppelganger was spastic and… dry heaving—or something—as she spun away.
“Down the hall. To the right.”
She took off, wiping at her tongue as her long snow-white skirt trailed.
Bishop dropped his gaze to the beef jerky then back to the empty hall. “What the hell just happened?”
That woman was his protective detail? That crazy lady?
He didn’t know what to do, standing there, looking around as if it were a joke. And he was now certain this was part of a Titan newbie hazing plan. Goddamn it.
It was a sucker punch that the brief glance made him think the woman looked so much like Eloise. Now there was a memory he hated to remember, as much as he could never forget.
Bishop nodded to himself. “Titan hazing is a go.” All right, Rocco and Jared. Not a problem. He could handle this. Before Crazy could make her way back, Bishop stomached the rest of his jerky and chucked the wrapper into a trash can.
He took a seat, waiting for her to come out of the ladies’ room. One minute passed, then
two. He blew out a breath and locked his knuckles, stretching and waiting. Was it hazing or a test?
Five more minutes passed.
Maybe it was a test. Then again, did Titan mess around with crap like hazing? And they had already seen him in the field, had already recruited him and signed him on. Okay, so Eco-Ella was either dead in the bathroom, and he’d lost his job at Titan—death by jerky—and he would never work at a private security firm again, or in their one-point-five-second-long interaction, she’d determined that she didn’t want to work with him.
Screw it. He powered out in search of the ladies’ room. He walked down the hall and to the right then stood there like an asshole, thumbs in his pockets, having no fucking clue what to do.
If someone gave him a gun and an enemy, no problem. Bang, bang, dead.
A mission objective? Consider that gig complete.
He was one of the best and usually didn’t have any questions on the job. Except this was the job, and he was standing outside a women’s bathroom door, lost on what to do.
“Hey.” Eco popped into his head like a jingle. “Ella, you okay in there?”
No answer.
He knocked on the door with his boot. Maybe she wasn’t in there. But this was Titan HQ. She couldn’t exactly wander around without a fingerprint and retina scanner allowing her passage.
What would a bodyguard do? Well, he would go in after his client. But, hell. What if he’d been the one who sent the client running… while gagging? “I’m coming in.” Eco. “Ella.”
Bishop pushed the door open with his foot as if he were entering The Twilight Zone, toeing it open an inch, then another. “Hello?”
The bathroom was nice, as bathrooms went, complete with a little sitting spot before the down-to-business area. And there Crazy was, ignoring him, pink-faced, and somehow pissed, upset, disgusted, and nauseated all at once.
And without question, it was a time-hop to the pain and memories that he would never forget. That was his Eloise.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ella watched her past walk into the room, and time froze. All of a sudden, she was just a college kid who could stare into those green eyes and feel safe. Too much time had passed, but in a breath of a second, she recalled what it had felt like to run her fingers along the scruff of his jaw. She remembered how he would rub her bare back, walking his fingers up and down her spine until she drifted to sleep in the pillow of his chest, their naked legs tangled.
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