Fearless: (McIntyre Security Bodyguard Series - Book 2)

by April Wilson

  I don’t want to disrupt our quiet moment by arguing with him, so I let it go for now. But I’m not giving up so easily. I want to be there when it happens. I can’t sit back and let Shane take all the risk on my behalf.

  “Come on,” he says, sitting up. “I’m pretty sure I hear Cooper rattling around in the kitchen. Knowing his predilection for spoiling you, I’m sure there will be pancakes this morning. Let’s go see.”

  * * *

  As it turns out, Cooper is making pancakes, this time with fresh blueberries and whipped cream. The tall, stoic man with close-cropped gray hair has no other family that I’m aware of, so I think he needs us as much as we need him.

  Cooper’s the designated cook in this household. Shane can’t cook worth a darn, and I’ve never learned how. When I was at home, my mom insisted on doing all the cooking. The kitchen was her private domain. She loves to cook, and food is love, and all of that, so she kept me well fed. And during college, I moved in with Gabrielle, who was in training to be a chef, and she insisted on doing all the cooking. So, if Shane and I were left to our own devices, we’d starve if not for take-out.

  I sidle up next to Cooper, who’s standing at the stove wearing a white apron with black lettering that says World’s Greatest Cook. “Would you teach me how to cook?”

  “You want to learn how to cook?” He sounds more than a little skeptical.

  “I figure one of us should know how to do it, and I don’t think it’s going to be Shane.”

  Cooper laughs. “Good point. Of course I’ll teach you how to cook. Why didn’t your mom teach you?”

  I shrug. “Cooking is Mom’s thing. She loves cooking.”

  “You can start by keeping an eye on the pancakes while I whip the cream.” He hands me a spatula and chuckles. “Just don’t let them burn, kiddo. It’s not rocket science.”

  As I tend to the pancakes that are as big as dinner plates, I watch Cooper whisk the cream. Like Gabrielle and my mom, he doesn’t do things by half-measures. He goes all out.

  I happen to glance across the kitchen and notice his gun and holster lying on a counter. I find myself staring at the big black gun.

  Cooper is the lead shooting instructor for McIntyre Security, Inc. When he was in the military, he did a lot of gun training, sniper training even. Now he supervises gun training for Shane’s employees at a private shooting range outside of the city.

  I’ve always been afraid of guns. I’ve never even seen one up close except for Tyler’s, and he usually keeps his gun concealed when he’s around me. But since meeting Shane, I’ve gotten accustomed to seeing people around me armed. The guns still make me nervous, but maybe if I learned how to shoot, I’d grow more comfortable with them. If I was armed, Howard Kline couldn’t hurt me again – no one could.

  “Cooper, will you teach me how to shoot?”

  He stops whisking the cream and looks at me, his expression neutral. He’s studying me as if he’s not sure he heard me correctly.

  “I want to learn how to shoot.”

  He frowns. “Beth, honey, why do you want to learn how to shoot?”

  I don’t remember much of the aftermath of my nightmare last night, but I do remember Cooper coming into our bedroom and laying his hand on my leg, patting me. He must have heard me screaming. “You know why.”

  He shakes his head. “You don’t need to carry a gun. You’re surrounded by people who are armed – and professionally trained. Guns are dangerous, honey. A gun in an untrained hand often leads to tragedy.”

  “I know that. But if I was trained – ”

  Shane strolls into the kitchen holding a folded-up copy of The Chicago Tribune under his arm and reading something on his phone. “Trained to do what?”

  “She wants gun training,” Cooper says, scowling as he resumes whipping the cream with a little more force than necessary.

  Shane drops the newspaper on the breakfast counter and looks at me like I’ve sprouted a second head. “Hell no. No way.”

  I roll my eyes at his reaction. “Shane. All of your employees are armed. They all have concealed carry permits. Why can’t I?”

  Shane walks over to me, takes the spatula out of my hand and sets it down, then pulls me into his arms. “For starters, you aren’t one of my employees. You’re my girlfriend. Besides, you don’t need to defend yourself. We’ll do that for you.”

  For a split second, I’m tempted to bring up Andrew Morton and how badly that went, but that would be unfair. Shane had argued with my brother until he was blue in the face to have Lia in my office with me at the library, but Tyler – who was Shane’s client at the time – had refused to allow it because he didn’t want me to know what was going on. If Shane had gotten his way, Andrew never would’ve had a chance to hurt me. I can’t blame Shane. But I’m not giving up. “I may be your girlfriend, but that doesn’t preclude me from learning how to shoot a gun. It’s a free country, Shane. If Cooper won’t do it, then I’ll find someone – ”

  “Food’s ready!” Cooper says, whipping off his apron, essentially putting an end to the conversation. “Eat while it’s hot.”

  * * *

  The three of us eat a wonderful spread at the breakfast bar. In addition to the pancakes with blueberries and whipped cream, Cooper went all out this morning and made bacon and hash browns. And, of course, there’s always freshly ground coffee. I suspect I’m getting the special treatment this morning because of the rough night I had.

  Cooper really should get married, because he’d make some lucky... guy’s... dreams come true. He’s handsome and amazingly fit for an older guy. But more than that, he’s smart, kind, loyal, funny, and obviously a great cook. Yeah, he needs someone special in his life.

  Shane’s phone chimes as he’s sipping his coffee, and he peers at the screen. “Lia’s on her way up.”

  I swallow my last bite of breakfast, wash it down with the little bit of coffee left in my cup, and hop off my barstool. I check the time. “Oh, my god, I’m so late! Vanessa’s going to kill me!”

  I race back to our bedroom to finish washing up and get dressed for the bookstore. When I emerge, Lia’s sitting at the breakfast bar eating. As soon as she sees me, she finishes off her coffee and stands. “Princess, you’re late.”

  “I know!” Breathless from rushing around, I slip on my sandals and grab my purse. “Let’s go.”

  Shane walks us into the foyer and kisses me before I step into the elevator. “I’ll see you at dinner,” he says. “Have a good day, sweetheart.”

  “Thanks. You too.” I gather my hair up into an impromptu twist and secure it with a scrunchie. “Do I look okay?”

  Shane smiles as the elevator doors begin to close. “You look perfect.”

  Lia rolls her eyes at me and shakes her head. “You guys make me sick.”

  Chapter 25

  I’m already ten minutes late, and it will take us at least ten more minutes to get to the bookstore. “Maybe she won’t notice me coming in late.”

  Lia chuckles. “You have to clock in, remember? She’ll know.”

  “Oh, right. Crap.” There’s no avoiding the wrath of Vanessa now.

  Lia gives me a sardonic look. “You do recall that you’re the owner of this fine establishment, right? Why do you care what Vanessa thinks?”

  Lia has a point. I suppose being the owner does give me a certain degree of latitude. But still, I want to set a good example, and I don’t want to rock the boat, not even where Vanessa is concerned. After all, she was there first.

  Lia hands me off to Sam at the entrance to Clancy’s, and Sam follows me upstairs to the employee lounge so I can clock-in and put my purse away. After that, we head back downstairs to the sales counter, where I find Erin filling in for me at my station.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” I tell her, breathless as I take over in the middle of a transaction.

  She smiles at me. “No problem. I covered for you. I don’t think Vanessa noticed.”

  Sam steps back out of the wa
y, trying to be inconspicuous, which is tough to do when you’re six feet tall and as strikingly good looking as he is. With his lean, muscular torso and gorgeous chocolate-brown eyes – not to mention that amazing, wild hair pulled back in a ponytail – it’s kind of hard for him to simply blend in to the background. His jeans have so many rips in them I’m afraid they’ll disintegrate. And his grunge t-shirt says PUNK.

  “Hi, Sam,” Erin says, and I swear she’s blushing. Oh, my. I think Sam has an admirer.

  “Hi, Erin,” he replies, smiling politely before turning his attention to a book on military history.

  Sam doesn’t seem to have the same interest in Erin that she has in him, and I have to wonder why. Erin’s a darling girl, with a sweet face as well as a sweet disposition. And she’s got all the right curves in all the right places. But Sam seems oblivious to her charms.

  When I wonder if he already has a girlfriend, I realize I know nothing about him. “Sam, are you married?”

  He glances up from his book. “No.”

  “Got a girlfriend?”

  He shakes his head. “Nope.”

  I turn to smile at my next customer and about have a heart attack. Vanessa is standing in front of my register, her arms crossed over her gray pinstriped suit.

  “Ms. Jamison, how nice of you to join us.”

  I paste what I hope is a contrite smile on my face. “Good morning, Vanessa. I’m sorry I was late this morning.”

  “Don’t let it happen again.” Then her amber eyes drift over to Sam, who’s seemly engrossed in his book and paying her no mind. “Please don’t handle the merchandise, Mr. Harrison. This isn’t a public library.”

  Good grief, could the woman make him feel any more unwanted here? Sam’s just doing his job, and he’s making the best of it. I’m sure there are a million things he’d rather be doing than babysitting me. I’m tired of Vanessa giving him a hard time.

  I look pointedly at Vanessa. “Can I speak with you? In private.”

  “I’ll be in my office when your shift is over. Come see me then.”

  As Vanessa walks away, Erin and I both look at Sam. He rolls his eyes at us, perfectly unfazed by Vanessa’s hostility. We both start laughing.

  * * *

  I’m in the middle of ringing up another customer when Erin brings me a message. “Beth, there’s someone here from The Chicago Scoop to see you.”

  That takes me by surprise. Why would someone from the newspaper want to talk to me? I follow the line of Erin’s gaze and see a stocky man in jeans and a button-down shirt standing a few feet away, a digital camera slung around his neck. He lifts the camera with a smile on his face and takes several shots of me standing behind the sales counter.

  I look at Erin. “What does he want with me?”

  Erin shrugs. “He said he wants to ask you some questions about Clancy's. He said he’s doing a piece on local women business owners.”

  “All right. I'll talk to him.” I finish ringing up a customer and ask Erin to take over for me. As she steps into my place, I walk out from behind the sales counter and head toward the reporter.

  “Hold up, Beth,” Sam says, falling in step with me. “Do you know this guy?”

  I shake my head. “I’ve never seen him before.”

  Sam frowns. “I’m coming with you.”

  I approach the reporter and introduce myself. “You wanted to talk to me?”

  He nods, extending his hand for a brisk handshake. He gives Sam a quick visual once-over, then turns his attention back to me. “Derek Sanderson, Chicago Scoop. Can I have a few minutes of your time?”

  I take a deep breath. “Sure. Why don’t we sit down in the cafe?”

  The reporter follows me to the cafe, and we grab one of the available tables. Sam takes a seat at the table next to ours and sits so that he has his eyes on both of us.

  “So, what can I do for you, Mr. Sanderson?” I say, folding my hands on the table in front of me. I’m still at a complete loss as to why he’d want to talk to me. I focus on my breathing, trying to remain calm. Strangers make me nervous, let alone one who specifically asks to talk to me.

  “Derek, please.” He removes the camera from around his neck and sets it on the table, along with his phone. “I only recently learned that ownership of Clancy's changed hands a couple of months ago. I didn't realize the old guy had sold the place.”

  I nod. “That’s right. Mr. Clancy sold the store and retired to Florida.” I can’t help wondering how Sanderson found out about the sale. Shane didn’t publicize it. In fact, he went out of his way to keep it quiet.

  Derek shakes his head in disbelief. “I thought that old relic would die here before he’d ever agree to sell.”

  I smile. I only met Mr. Clancy a few times before he relocated south. In his 90s, Mr. Clancy was surprisingly still a spry man, with a mind as sharp as a tack.

  Derek takes out a small digital recorder and sets it on the table between us. “Do you mind?”

  I shake my head. “Go right ahead.”

  “Thanks.” He presses the record button. “So, Beth Jamison, you bought Clancy’s Bookshop.”

  “Well, my boyfriend bought it, actually.”

  “But it’s in your name. You’re listed as the sole owner.”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Those aren’t questions, those are statements. Derek must have looked into the sale already.

  “Your boyfriend is Shane McIntyre, the CEO of McIntyre Security.”

  “Yes.” Again, not a question.

  “Are you and McIntyre serious? You haven’t been dating that long. Three months or so, according to my sources. Buying this store for you seems like a pretty big move on his part.”

  “Mr. Sanderson, why exactly do you want to talk to me? Erin said you’re doing a story on local women business owners.”

  He grins. “Yes, that’s right. I was just curious. Shane McIntyre is a big name in Chicago. When he does something, it makes news. And the fact that he bought something this big for a woman – well, that’s news. I had to check it out for myself. You’re awfully young to own a business like this, and the fact that your boyfriend bought it for you seems, well, unusual. I write a business column for the paper. I think my readers would be fascinated to read more about you and McIntyre.”

  I smile. “Well, there’s not much to tell, really.”

  “Are you engaged to McIntyre?”

  I suddenly don’t like Derek Sanderson’s interest in my personal life. He’s digging, but for what, I’m not sure. “That’s private information, Mr. Sanderson.”

  He nods. “Do you mind if I ask you this... you were assaulted by a young man named Andrew Morton just a little over two months ago at the Kingston Medical School library, where you worked.”

  “That isn’t a question, Mr. Sanderson.” He’s not interviewing me, he’s digging for dirt – either on me or on Shane, and that makes me very uncomfortable.

  “I understand that Shane McIntyre assaulted Andrew Morton at a hospital fundraiser just a few days prior to the assault on you. Do you think there’s a connection?”

  My face flushes, and I’ve had enough. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but he’s definitely looking for something. I glance at Sam, who has his fingertips up to a listening device in his ear.

  I rise to my feet, pushing my chair back. “I’d better get back to work now, Mr. Sanderson.”

  He picks up his camera. “Wait. Do you mind if I take some more photos?”

  Sam snatches the guy’s camera right out of his hands.

  “Hey!” Sanderson yells, grabbing for his camera. “You can’t do that!”

  “Yes, I can,” Sam says, easily holding the camera out of Sanderson’s reach. “This is private property.”

  Sam removes the data card from the camera and slips it into his jeans pocket. Then he hands the camera back to Derek. “You’ll get your data card back after we’ve deleted the images of Ms. Jamison.”

  “That’s my personal property! You can’t
just take it!”

  “Yes, I can,” Sam says. “Don’t worry, I’ll have it delivered to your office by four o’clock this afternoon.”

  Sanderson looks at me accusingly, obviously put out by Sam’s actions. “Is this really necessary? It’s just an article in the local interest section of the paper.”

  “There won’t be any article,” Sam says. He stares hard at Sanderson. “You got that? No article, no photos. Ms. Jamison is completely off limits to you.”

  Angry, Derek picks up his digital recorder, turns it off, and slips it in his shirt pocket. Then he slings his camera strap over his neck and glares at Sam. “We’ll see about that, asshole! Ever heard of freedom of the press?” And then he storms off.

  Sam and I watch Derek as he marches toward the exit and storms out.

  I took at Sam. “What was that all about? He only took a couple shots of me at the sales counter.”

  “Mack saw the whole thing from upstairs.” Then Sam points at his earpiece. “Mack called Shane to tell him a reporter was here talking to you, and Shane said to shut it down. He doesn’t want you talking to reporters. Shane said absolutely no publicity.”

  * * *

  The rest of my shift passes without incident, and I think I have the hang of checking out customers. I’m glad, because I’m anxious to work my way through the store and learn everything I need to learn as quickly as possible.

  I head up the staircase to the administrative offices to have a word with Vanessa. Sam’s with me, of course, and Erin joins us. She’s teetering dangerously on the stairs in her stilettos – the employee dress code is yet another thing I need to talk to Vanessa about.

  Sam opens the office door for us and we file in. Vanessa’s talking to the guy with the Harry Potter glasses who’s seated at a computer – the payroll guy, Charlie.

  I don’t relish the idea of having an audience for my conversation with Vanessa. I want to tell her to back off Sam, and I really don’t want him to hear this. I turn back to face Sam. “I’d like to speak to Vanessa alone. Would you mind waiting out in the hall?”