Team Love on the Run Box-Set #1

by Lisa Phillips

  “Honey, I’ve told you to call me Vanessa.” The seventy-five year old who was Cyan’s neighbor stood in the hall in yoga pants and a tight-fitting shirt. Her fingers and toes were freshly manicured, her hair had been expertly curled, and her skin was almost orange.

  Cyan prayed she had half this woman’s style when she reached that age. Just without the tanning beds.

  “There. All done and posted to your Facebook page. The star, on her way to a gig!”

  Her last one if Cyan had any say in it. Still she said, “Awesome.” Hopefully that didn’t sound sarcastic. “I’ll see you later.”

  Maybe when she got back, things would be looking up.

  Chapter 2

  Nate Mason, quarterback for the Miami Dolphins, was precisely where anyone would expect him to be on a Thursday night after yet another ankle injury. At a swanky club called Tangerine, with a ball cap pulled low over his face and a drink on the table in front of him, praying no one recognized him.

  “It’s official,” he muttered. “Your life is a cliché.”

  Sure, Nate wasn’t exactly here to drown his sorrows at having been benched until his ankle healed. If it healed. He was here because his brother Ben had called, which was usually important. But when Ben actually asked for help, it was DEFCON 1, all-hands-on-deck, man-your-battle-stations because the world’s about to end.

  Hence the hiding in a half-empty club and listening to a good looking woman sing a song that sounded vaguely familiar. Not that he’d lost concentration for too long, but she was cute. He’d only looked long enough to know she wanted to be here about as much as Nate did, and then he got back down to business.

  The only person who seemed to be having fun was the aging movie star in the orange dress across the room talking with two big-wigs in suits. One was the club’s owner, according to the file Ben had sent. The other he didn’t know, but the man had one eye on the singer the whole time he talked.

  Like the singer was his meal ticket. Or his property.

  “You’re doing it wrong.”

  The man sitting beside him took a measured sip of his diet soda. Nate was used to spending time with athletes, but this guy was bigger than a center and twice as heavy. Somehow he still managed to be faster than Nate. Why did he need a bodyguard again?

  “Face it. You’re basically the worst spy in the world.” Daire softened his British accent, but sometimes with Nate it slipped back into the crisp sound which marked his upbringing. Then again, Nate had heard him speak with a perfect American accent, and his coloring was dark enough he’d convinced someone he was Puerto Rican once.

  Nate kept his voice low, even with the noise level in the club. “Good thing they pay me millions of dollars to run and catch a ball, then.”

  Daire’s lips twitched. “Yes, good thing.”

  Nate’s gaze flicked to the singer. She had to be mid-twenties at least. Not much younger than Nate. Long, straight brown hair, almost Native American coloring, and a woven purple bracelet on her wrist. What was that song? He’d heard it before somewhere.

  He shot Daire a look. “You’re not even watching them.” Not that he really was, either. Scenery was better on the stage. “How do you know what they’re doing?”

  Daire kept his attention on the stage. “Do you mean how do I know they’re getting ready to go back to the office and make the deal?”

  “Now you’re just showing off.” Nate huffed. “What deal?”

  “The deal they’re here to make.”

  Nate glanced at the older woman in the orange dress, the club owner, and the man he did not like, back to Daire. Back to the three. “What deal?”

  But Daire didn’t say anything. He was looking at the ceiling now, like he was beseeching the heavens for help.

  “Okay, fine. I suck at spying. Enlighten me Obi-Wan.” He put his hands together in front of him and mock-bowed.

  Daire snorted. “The woman in the tangerine colored dress that Ben wants you to watch—Mimi—she’s working with the club owner to make a deal with the third man, who is that singer’s manager.” He pointed at the stage and took a sip of his soda. “Probably something to do with the singer. At least I would guess that’s what it’s about.”

  She was still singing, but her attention wasn’t on the song, it was flicking around the room like she was trying to avoid eye contact with her “manager,” if that’s who he was. Like she’d do whatever she could to be done here.

  “My guess from watching is that Mimi speaks for the club owner. Which is an interesting fact in and of itself.” Daire frowned. “I knew I should have left you home tonight.”

  “Sorry I’m cramping your style.” Despite the fact Nate’s brother paid Daire as a bodyguard, they were friends. Nate wasn’t going to rely on someone he didn’t trust, and Ben didn’t want Nate covered by an amateur. So he got a former British military, bodyguard extraordinaire who moonlighted at whatever it was his brother Ben currently did for work. No one really knew, but it had him out-of-contact in the Middle East right now on some super-secret mission everyone but Nate seemed to know about.

  Whatever. They didn’t know about his surgery.

  He almost felt sorry for Daire, stuck with the Mason brother who wasn’t the sheriff of a top secret witness protection town, or the one who was director of the Marshals, or the secret-spy-job one. Daire got the injured football player.

  “I’m going to make a pit stop.” Nate braced himself for the first few steps, which hurt the most, and made his way between round tables, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. It would hardly be a covert night if Nate got his picture snapped and posted all over Instagram.

  Daire didn’t come with him, and not just because only girls did that. They both had cell phones. If someone was going to jump him in the bathroom, he’d call. Plus, Daire had to keep an eye on Mimi and the two suited men.

  The minute Ben had mentioned the older woman’s name, Nate had pulled up Netflix on his TV and watched all the old movies Mimi Canetti had starred in. Her presence in his brother, John’s, secret witness protection town had been a nightmare by all accounts, yet she’d walked away with nothing more than a slap on the wrist. If he and Daire could catch her doing something illegal, they could have her arrested, and everyone would rest a little easier. Mimi had signed away her right to free speech when she left the town. She was entitled to a fresh start, but if she put people’s lives at risk again, she would lose her freedom for good. She’d wanted to live in Miami, and being under surveillance was what that deal cost her.

  So now the aging movie star was in his town, up to who-knew-what. She’d cozied in with a local business owner—more like mobster—pretty quickly. What were they doing with the manager guy? Was Mimi trying to get into the music business? There was a horrifying thought.

  He felt sorry for the singer girl, but there wasn’t much Nate could do about it. He didn’t fight crime, or live to protect people, or safeguard federal witnesses like his brothers. His skills involved a field of grass, not guns.

  Nate sighed and walked out of the bathroom. The hall was maybe twenty feet, the light at the far end broken, casting the exit door in shadows.

  He took two steps when the door in front of him swung out. He backed up before it broke his nose and opened his mouth to berate whoever nearly bonked him when she stepped into the hallway.

  **

  Cyan walked into the hallway door with a thump. Lord, could this night get any worse? She hissed out a breath and looked up at the ball-cap dude who’d been sitting with his friend at the back of the club. He stood holding the door not wide enough for a regular size person to get through.

  She tried to smile. “Oh, excuse me.”

  He didn’t move. She got through the gap, barely, and the door clicked shut behind them. Cyan held her guitar in front of her and faced the surprisingly tall man—and given she was five-nine, that was saying something.

  His cap lifted, and she saw his eyes, so dark brown they looked black. His blond hair
was short. The black leather jacket looked like it covered some serious muscles. Strong jaw. She’d always been a sucker for a strong jaw. And why did he look kind of familiar?

  Too bad guys like this usually came with jerk personalities, but she wasn’t going to let anything deter her from her purpose tonight. She was done seeking fame that wasn’t going to come. God had planted a seed in her, a dream of singing for Him and not in dingy clubs for little-to-no money. The time to stop looking back at the past was over. She needed to reach for the future.

  Just as soon as she got the SD card to the Marshals.

  Cyan stepped aside and headed for the closet that was supposed to be her dressing room. Eight years in this business and she was essentially over the hill. A one-hit-wonder. Fifteen minutes of fame. She was a total cliché.

  “Are you okay?”

  Cyan turned back to see it was the tall guy. He wasn’t a jerk? There was hope in the world, yet. “Sure, I’m fine.”

  He stepped closer. “You just…look like you might need a friend.”

  A stranger in the back hallway of a club wanted to be her friend? She could think of better places to meet someone. Like the library. Even a blind date would be better than a place like this. He probably remembered her from the start of her career when all those sordid stories had been “released” to the tabloids to try and make her sound interesting.

  He probably thought “friend” meant something different.

  Lord, is that going to follow me forever?

  “Thanks, but no.” She saw the shift in his face. He was genuinely disappointed she hadn’t taken him up on his offer. Seriously? Who wore their emotions on their face like that?

  A door opened behind her, and her manager peeked into the hall. “Cyan, there you are.”

  She didn’t cringe, but she wanted to. Here Ron wanted to introduce her to his associates, while she only wanted to pick up her check and go home to her empty condo and feed her cat.

  She smiled. “I’m right here.”

  Ron said, “Come along, it’s time to introduce you.” He was a good looking man, at least sixty, but she’d never assumed he gave her anything real.

  “I actually don’t feel good.” She pointed down the hall, past the tall guy with the features that reminded her of someone she’d met. “I was about to use the bathroom.”

  “There’s no time.” Ron strode over and took her arm.

  The tall guy stepped up and slipped his arm around her shoulder. “Who’s this guy, babe?”

  Cyan looked up at him. He grinned. She was supposed to just go with it? Evidently he figured he was doing her a favor. Little did he know.

  Ron tugged on her. “Cyan, get rid of this guy.”

  She was caught between the two of them, her guitar hanging from her hand as she was pulled back and forth.

  The tall guy’s friend stepped into the hall, taking his attention enough that his grip loosened. Cyan stumbled as Ron pulled her along to her doom. Okay, so that was melodramatic, but it was sort of how she felt. Ron was insistent, why she didn’t know. He’d been as ready to cut her loose before tonight as she had been to give up on this whole life. It was high time to finish her early childhood development degree and get a real job. Never mind that she had no clue what she wanted to do outside of maybe worship, or working with kids.

  She glanced back to where tall-guy stood beside his friend. His eyes widened, and he stepped forward, but the friend put a hand out to stop him. Story of her life. Leaving something that might have turned out great—or at least interesting—to face what she didn’t even want to do.

  Why had she been kidding herself that things could change? She was a washed-up twenty-six year old singer with no clue about how to get out of this rut. For all of her intentions, was she really able to quit and change her life?

  Ron opened the door that said MANAGER in gold letters.

  The club owner sat behind the desk; the woman in orange perched on the edge closest to the door. A guy in a bad-fitting suit stood to the other side, as though he had been relegated to that position. His eyes crawled over her, but she looked away and forced herself not to react.

  “Cyan Greene.” The woman clapped her hands. She walked over like she was on a fashion runway and clasped Cyan’s elbows, bestowing air kisses inches from each cheek.

  “I’m sorry. You are…”

  “Mimi Canetti.” She wiggled her left hand, flashing a giant rock. “Soon to be Mrs. Al Chambers.”

  “Congratulations.” It came out like a question.

  Mimi either didn’t notice or wasn’t worried. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you that when I found out you were playing tonight I told Ron he simply had to introduce us.”

  “Oh, well. It’s nice to meet you too, then.” Was this woman a fan? She wasn’t exactly the type of person Cyan’s music usually attracted.

  “Not to mention we have a mutual acquaintance from our past. A very nice young man who lives in a special town…” Her words drifted off, and she winked.

  Cyan froze. She couldn’t be referring to Sanctuary, could she? How on earth did this woman know about the secret witness protection town where Cyan had grown up? She had to be either a US marshal—who would never divulge a secret like that—or a former resident, like Cyan.

  “Anyway. I’m sure Ron can get you booked at all kinds of popular events, and you’re probably super busy, but I’d love to hire you.” She grinned, but Cyan didn’t like it. Not that she could pin-point why. “We have an evening planned next Saturday for our investors. We’d love for you to play a private show for them.” Mimi glanced down at Cyan’s clothes. “Of course we’ll have to take you shopping first. But us girls love that, don’t we?”

  Cyan didn’t answer.

  “We’ll have a car pick you up, and we’ll all travel together on the jet to Atlantic City. That’s where the meeting is.” Mimi clapped. “It’ll be so much fun.”

  Cyan took a step back. “Actually, I won’t be singing much longer. I intend to retire. So I’m very sorry, but unfortunately I won’t be able to perform for your friends.” Cyan figured “friends” was a loose definition, but that’s what came out of her mouth.

  Everything about this screamed, WARNING. WARNING.

  She backed up farther. “I’m afraid I don’t feel well, so I need to go home.”

  When she turned, she caught Ron’s gaze. His angry eyes fired hot daggers at her, but he was going to have to get over it. She was done.

  Mimi followed her to the door. “Surely one last gig won’t make a difference.”

  Cyan shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you; you’ll have to find someone else.” Creepy guy in the corner was still staring at her, and his gaze had turned hot also. Just not angry-hot.

  This whole situation was wrong, but it wasn’t like she hadn’t been in awkward circumstances with scary people before. She’d survived—just like tonight—by excusing herself.

  Because she couldn’t think of anything else to say, Cyan said, “Good night.”

  She stepped out into the hallway where the noise from the club was deafening. Two suited men, at the far end by the bathrooms, turned to stare at her. The tall guy, who wanted to be her “friend,” and his buddy were there, too. This sure was a popular hall.

  One of the suited men pointed. Neither said anything, but they strode right for her.

  Chapter 3

  The woman took two steps backward before turning and walking quickly toward the exit door. Her guitar was steady by her side, and she almost made it to the door just before the exit. Nate watched her grasp the handle as the men caught up to her, and he couldn’t hold himself back.

  Daire muttered under his breath. “Nate…”

  His friend wanted him to stay out of it? That wasn’t going to happen.

  The two men were trying to usher her farther down the hall, toward the exit door. The woman tried to plant her feet, but they just moved her along.

  “…come
with us.”

  She shook her head, and her gaze locked on Nate storming toward her. Her eyes widened, but he sidled up to her as fast as he could while still looking casual.

  “Ready to go, babe?”

  “Uh…”

  Didn’t she know she was supposed to play along? Nate stuck out his hand, and she grabbed it with hers, holding on tighter than he’d have thought she was capable of doing.

  “I don’t think so.” The closest man shot him a look, flicking the side of his suit jacket open to reveal the gun holstered under his arm.

  Nate reached up and touched his earlobe, then turned and got between the woman and the two men. Daire came out of nowhere, grabbed the first one’s wrist and twisted it behind his back. He caught the second one at the same time, squeezing his neck until he collapsed onto the floor.

  The woman whimpered, but Nate wanted to see his friend in action. Daire was way good at this stuff.

  Daire moved in so his face was close to the man he had in his grip. “Explain.”

  The man didn’t even breathe. “She’s supposed to come with us. The boss is outside, and he wants his stuff back.”

  The woman stiffened, even as Daire said, “What is it?”

  The man shifted, wincing, probably because of Daire’s grip on him. “He didn’t tell me. But she’ll know.”

  “Take your buddy and get out of here.”

  The man shook his head. “We come back with her and whatever she stole, or we don’t come back at all.”

  Daire glanced at the woman. “What did you take?”

  “Nothing, I—I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

  Daire frowned at her answer.

  She backed away from Nate, pulling against his hand still holding hers until he let go. She rushed away, opening a door and ducking inside with her guitar.

  “Should I get her?”

  Daire said, “We don’t have to get involved. We can make sure she gets away from here safely, but if she’s in trouble, she needs to disappear.”

  She came back out with a ratty purse and her guitar now in a case, the cyan-colored pendant around her neck swinging with her eagerness to leave. “I don’t need your help. There’s someone I can call.”