Love on the Run (Pine Harbour Book 5)

by Zoe York

  She didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry felt weak and empty, but it was all she had.

  He shook his head. “I’m just saying, I get it. I’m a bit of a fatalist.”

  “We can form a club.”

  He grunted and the corner of his mouth turned up.

  “There might be some drama about me having a bodyguard on tour…” she took a deep breath. “With Track. If he notices you, he’s not going to take it well.”

  “If he notices me?” Dean’s eyebrows hit the sky. “He’s definitely going to notice me if he gets anywhere close to you.”

  “Yeah. That’s not going to go well.”

  “If that’s the case, it’s because he’s an asshole.”

  She liked that Dean instinctively distrusted Track. That was a refreshing change.

  By the end of the afternoon, Liana knew two things for certain about Dean Foster: he didn’t give two shits that she was a celebrity, and he took his job seriously—even if he’d never done it before.

  Somehow it made her feel better that he wasn’t doing this because of who she was. If anything, he was doing it in spite of that fact.

  When he finally left, heading back into town for the Canada Day fireworks with Hope, Liana pulled out her second phone, her secret one that didn’t contain any identifying information.

  It was what she used to read dirty stories and participate on social media sites as a random, made-up person. What she used to Google “panic attack symptoms” when she was sitting in the Savannah airport. And now, apparently, she was using it to creep on a handsome ex-cop who was strangely committed to being her bodyguard.

  A bunch of hits in local Bruce County newspapers about his former role with the Ontario Provincial Police. References to his family. Four brothers and a military colonel father.

  She clicked through to the second article about his police work and her breath stopped hard in her chest.

  Liana didn’t know a lot about the tragic death of Hope’s fiancé’s first wife, but Dean did. He’d been there that day, and featured heavily in the coverage.

  Difficult call made by law enforcement officers…exemplary service in an ambush…

  And she’d been so dismissive of his experience. What a foolish, thoughtless… she gritted her teeth. Well, sometimes that’s how she was.

  Damn it. When was she ever going to learn?

  Her hands shaking, she clicked out of the browser window and slid the burner phone back into her purse.

  Enough of that. She pinched her fingers together, then raised her arms over her head, forcing herself to be Zen. Or at least…fake being Zen. Then she pulled out her other phone—her Liana phone, that if hacked would have zero trace of porn or stalking or anything else that could be used against her—and logged in to her Instagram account.

  It had been nearly twenty-four hours since she’d posted anything to social media. If she didn’t put up something soon, rumours would start that she was in rehab.

  She propped her feet up on the railing, framing them nicely against the setting sun, and snapped a picture. Kicked off my boots after a lovely evening tour, she lied in the caption. Then she looked out at the lovely back lawn that stretched down to a forest behind Hope’s house.

  If she walked down to the trees and back, it wouldn’t be quite so much of a lie.

  She stood up and went inside. Hope had rubber boots sitting on a mat beside the back door. Not a lie at all anymore.

  The walk took all of ten minutes, and when she got back to the deck, she published the original picture and went inside.

  Chapter Six

  “What the hell is an evening tour?” Dean muttered, mostly to himself, but since he was surrounded by brothers and best friends, all of whom were as nosy as church ladies, it didn’t take long for him to get an answer. Three of them, actually, all conflicting.

  “Going out to piss in the dark at a bonfire,” his younger brother Matt suggested.

  Rafe shook his head. “Nah. It’s…umm… you know, one of those boat cruises. Like with a fancy dinner.”

  Tom Minelli chose that moment to show up and hand out new beers for everyone. “Who’s having a fancy dinner?”

  Rafe pointed at Dean. “He is. Some kind of evening tour on a boat.”

  Dean rolled his eyes and handed Tom the phone. “What does this mean to you?”

  Tom whistled. “It means Liana Hansen has nice legs. Look at those—”

  Dean yanked the phone back. “Not the legs, you idiot. She said, ‘Kicked off my boots after a lovely evening tour.’ I left her at Hope’s house a couple of hours ago and she doesn’t have a car.”

  “So? She’s famous. It’s probably staged to look like something.”

  Dean frowned. “Maybe.”

  He didn’t like that idea at all.

  Maybe he’d ask her in the morning.

  “Can I see?” Olivia asked, handing their nine-month-old daughter to her husband.

  Dean passed the phone over to her, confident she’d focus on the real point of the photo.

  His confidence was misplaced.

  “Wow, she really does have nice legs,” Olivia said, but as Dean lunged for his phone again, she was up and away—her arm outstretched as she scrolled down the page. “Okay, I think it means like…taking a walk. There’s a couple of responses with a hashtag about southern style and southern girl.”

  Mollified, he held out his hand, nicely this time, and she slid his phone back into his grasp. He didn’t miss her wink.

  “What?”

  She grinned. “You’re awfully concerned with Liana Hansen.”

  “She’s my new client. My first client. I’d like to get this right.”

  “Creeping on her Instagram is part of the professional obligation?”

  “It’s not creeping. I’m more interested in what other people are saying about her than…” Her legs. Except he hadn’t made it down to the comments, had he?

  He’d lock that down better tomorrow.

  Olivia just patted him on the shoulder. “Can you give Rafe a ride home after the fireworks? I’m pretty sure they’re going to terrify Sophie, so I’m going to jet now.”

  “Sure. Of course.”

  She gave him a friendly smile that didn’t say anything like, ha, caught you peeving on your client or really? You haven’t noticed she’s drop dead gorgeous?

  Because of course he had.

  And it was immaterial to the case.

  It wouldn’t be the first time that Dean had to work around inconvenient attraction. He’d worked with attractive fellow officers, interviewed attractive suspects…no big deal.

  Except he couldn’t stop hearing that breathy hello in his head.

  It wasn’t just that he’d noticed she was attractive. That he could put in a box.

  But she was so…raw. Vulnerable. And yet strong, still, and he’d found himself wanting to soothe her in ways that went way beyond the professional.

  He knew this was a saviour complex rearing its ugly head. He rarely stumbled into it. He wasn’t that nice of a guy. But any time there was a power imbalance, it was a risk. And Liana Hansen trigged all the major points for him.

  He could see, clear as day, that her ex was an asshole.

  And Dean wanted to be the anti-asshole for her. Stand between them, as she said. Hell, that’s what being a bodyguard was—she was casting him as the white knight herself, and he didn’t have the rules that he’d been bound by in uniform.

  Temptation curled and coiled in his gut, dark and hot and unexpected.

  She’d already offered herself once.

  But he couldn’t save her and creep on her legs at the same time. No matter how nice they looked against the sunset.

  * * *

  — —

  * * *

  The bonfire was down to coals by the time Sean showed up, reminding Dean he hadn’t had a chance to talk to Dani.

  Fuck it. He needed to tell Sean he was worried, and then leave it alone. He was going to be gone
for a while, anyway. Give his kid brother a chance to figure shit out on his own.

  He got up and grabbed a Coke from the cooler, because he had to work in the morning and drive home sooner than later. “Hey man,” he said, raising his voice. “You want a beer?”

  Sean gave him a wary look that Dean totally deserved for mothering him earlier. “Grab me a Coke instead.”

  Dean tried and failed not to show his surprise to that, but he grabbed another pop and made his way around the fire, joining his brother on a wide, flat log. “Here.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You have a good day?”

  Sean nodded absently. “Listen, I’m sorry about this morning.”

  “It’s fine. I’m a nosy motherfucker sometimes.”

  “Truth.”

  They sat together in silence for a few minutes, then Sean groaned and looked sidewise.

  Dean didn’t like that look. “What?”

  “I’ve been tapped to go on tour.”

  Oh. “When?” he asked, his heart thumping hard against his ribs. “Where?”

  “Leave in January most likely. Tour would be…Turkey.”

  The pause told Dean it wasn’t really Turkey. His brother was an officer, and an ambitious, career-oriented one. If he wasn’t a professional athlete as well, he would have joined the regular forces like Zander had.

  And because his career was flexible, Sean had maxed out on courses and his career progression was exemplary. So “…Turkey” meant he’d been tapped to join a training mission. Northern Iraq.

  As hot as shit got.

  It would be everything that Sean wanted. And as a fellow army reservist, Dean understood the desire to serve. But it was one thing to make that call for yourself, to know you’d put your life on the line for your country.

  It was an entirely different thing for your baby brother to do it, even if he was twenty-seven and two-hundred-pounds of stubborn muscle wrapped around a whip-smart mind.

  He forced a neutral, supportive tone into his voice. “Wow. When does work up start?”

  “I’m packing up and heading to Petawawa in a few days.” Where he’d spend the next five months training with the special forces team there before shipping out. Dean could fill in the blanks.

  “Damn, bud. That’s an awesome opportunity.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You tell anyone else yet?”

  “Matt was with me when I got the call.”

  “That little shit. I tried to find out what was going on and he didn’t spill.”

  “I told him I wanted to tell you guys myself. Telling Jake next.”

  “And the Colonel?”

  Sean didn’t answer. Instead he turned his face toward the dying embers of the fire.

  Dean winced. “He’ll be proud.”

  “He’ll tell me I could’ve done this sooner if I wasn’t racing, too.”

  Ha. “That means the same thing.”

  “Yeah.” Sean didn’t look or sound convinced.

  Dean didn’t really have time to manage his brother’s mercurial mood right now, but even as he had that thought, guilt sliced through him. His father…even Jake and Matt…none of them really got that Sean was sensitive. He certainly didn’t look it. But his tough-guy routine was a cover for a fragile kid who lost his mom before he really had a chance to know her.

  If Dean ever felt alone in this world, it was nothing compared to what Sean lived every single day.

  “Then don’t tell him,” he finally said. “Just head to Pet and let him think it’s for regular training right now.”

  “He probably won’t even notice I’m gone.”

  Shit. Dean wanted to tell his kid brother that he was wrong, but he wasn’t sure about that. “I’ll miss you.”

  “Nah. I hear you’re maybe going on tour with that hot country singer.”

  Dean swallowed a growl and turned it into an acknowledging grunt instead. “Doesn’t mean I won’t worry about you. I can multitask.”

  “Ah, shut up. I’ll be fine. Nail a groupie for me.”

  “Jesus.”

  “That’s what she’ll say.” Sean laughed and ducked to the side as Dean punched his arm, then wrapped his arm around his brother’s head and pulled him close for a rough hug.

  “Stay safe, kid. Okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  Fuck. Iraq. Dean had known it was coming, but he wasn’t ready. Not by a long shot.

  Chapter Seven

  LIANA was horrified when Dean showed up at seven the next morning with enough grease to kill the entire Howard-Creswell household.

  She couldn’t control her expression as he carried in the takeout bags.

  “From the diner in town,” he said with a far-too-awake bounce in his voice for so early in the day.

  “Stop laughing at me,” she muttered at Hope, whose entire body was shaking next to her.

  Dean overheard and flashed a quick grin. “You should see the look on your face.”

  “I can feel it.” She cleared her throat and edged closer. “What sort of evil temptations have you brought with you?”

  “Frank’s breakfast sandwiches. I don’t know where he gets these English muffins, but they’re soft and big, and he makes the sausage patties himself—”

  She groaned and went to the stairs, calling for the kids to come and save her from the junk food.

  “Bodyguard misstep number one?” he asked when she came back. He looked like he didn’t quite care if it was a celebrity no-no to love a greasy egg sandwich.

  She shrugged and shook her head. So what if they smelled amazing? So what if she’d already had a kale smoothie and had been about to do an hour of yoga, and now that sounded totally horrid? “Nope. Totally fine. Might even have one myself.” Part of one. A quarter. Without the cheese or the bread. And she’d do an extra hour of yoga.

  “You’re being strangely agreeable this morning.”

  She laughed. “Was this a test? See how much of a diva I would be about the scent of grease?”

  He snorted. “No. But that would be a good one. I’m going to have Zander put that in the contracts going forward. Because me and big breakfasts are inseparable.”

  “Good to know.”

  “What did you have for breakfast?”

  “A smoothie.”

  “Delicious,” he deadpanned, and she snorted. He bumped her arm with his, gently, and winked at her as he moved further into the kitchen.

  It turned out that Maya only liked cheese and bread today, so Liana shared an egg and ham and tomato sandwich with the littlest Howard—she got the egg and ham and tomato, and Maya saved her by eating the English muffin, which did in fact look extra-soft and extra-big.

  Extra-delicious, she was sure. But she had snug t-shirts and hip-hugging jeans to fit into. Bloating was not her friend while on tour.

  Once everyone was well fed, Ryan and Hope took the kids down to the lake, leaving Dean and Liana alone to get more serious about bodyguard orientation.

  He’d come prepared with more than just breakfast. He jogged back to his SUV and returned with a black utilitarian looking messenger bag, out of which he pulled a folder of papers, a slim tablet, and the little notebook from the day before. It looked like many more pages had notes scribbled on them.

  “Did you sleep at all last night?” she asked, watching him set everything out in front of her—all neatly squared off, too.

  “A few hours.” He snapped open the folder and crisply handed her the top two sheets. “Signed non-disclosure agreements from Zander and myself. Hope’s picking up our fees, but we want you to understand that we’re serious about being on your side. Nothing you tell us will ever leave the vault.”

  She ran her eyes over the neat rows of black ink. Smart. And she hadn’t even considered… “Thank you.”

  “Not a problem.”

  Mercy, he was suddenly all business. She kind of missed the winking smile from breakfast.

  “And we’ve worked up a couple of possible cover stor
ies for why you’re returning to the tour with a bodyguard.”

  “Cover stories.”

  He nodded.

  “You worked them up?”

  He set the tablet down and frowned at her. “Are you okay?”

  “Yep.”

  “Maybe you should have had more breakfast.”

  “When did you guys do this?”

  “This morning at the diner, while Frank was making the sandwiches.”

  “Oh.”

  “Nobody else was there.”

  No, she imagined not. “Everyone else was sleeping,” she said dryly.

  He laughed. “Not in Pine Harbour.”

  She took in all the work that he’d done, then looked back up at him. “Okay, I’m impressed.”

  He leaned against the table, his arms and broad chest flexing against another light cotton button-down shirt, this one a solid dark blue. He caught her gaze and held it. “We’re not playing here, Liana.”

  “I see that.” She nodded up at him. “Tell me what our options are for introducing you.”

  He waved the tablet. “We could invent a threat. Pretty easy to do, but the downside would be someone from the label wanting to get the police involved. Could also be easily exposed, although we’d go to significant efforts to cover our tracks.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know how I feel about that. It could be seen as a ploy for sympathy if it ever came out.”

  “Yeah, we agree. Next option is we fly through New York on the way to Washington. Our contacts tell us that trips to New York and Los Angeles are often times when celebrities secure the services of security agencies. Usually short-term contracts, but it could be explained away if you’re going to maybe consider buying property in one of those two cities? To maintain this story, I’d recommend we visit those cities again in those down days between tour legs.”

  She leaned back in her chair, looking at the man across from her with new appreciation. “That’s very clever.”

  He grinned. “Thank you. That one was my idea.”

  “Only problem is that I have no reason to buy real estate in New York. Maybe Los Angeles, although it’s not my favourite city.”