Protecting the Enemy (The Protectors)

by Samantha Chase

  He yawned. He actually sat there with his eyes on me and simply yawned.

  I said, “I work to protect people. It’s not glamorous, and it’s not pretty, but it’s what I do and you need to deal with it. I don’t want to wear a suit every damn day.” I held up my hands in front of his face. There were scars, and they were roughened from manual work—unlike his perfectly manicured ones. “My job can be dirty, and sometimes there’s pain involved—the people who hire me pay me to get dirty and sometimes to even risk my life, but it’s what I do.”

  My dad stood, took off his wire-rimmed glasses, and carefully placed them down on his desk before walking around it to face me. “Maxwells don’t do grunt work,” he said carefully, almost through clenched teeth. “Maxwells don’t work for other people. Other people work for us. You’re dishonoring the Maxwell name by doing what you’re doing.”

  “That’s absurd,” I said, my own teeth clenched so tight that my jaw hurt.

  “It’s the way that it is, Sebastian. Deal with it.”

  I shook my head. “Maybe that’s the way it is in your world but not in mine. I don’t get off on sitting at a desk while I dictate to others. I enjoy working with people, helping people, and getting my hands dirty when need be. There’s real honor in that. Not sitting back in my big comfortable chair while other people do the work.” My father just gave me a bland look. “This is what I’m going to do with my life, so you’d better get used to it.”

  Now he sat down on the corner of his desk with his arms crossed. “Look, your mother has informed me that I need to humor you right now. You were hurt while you were deployed, and some soldiers have a hard time adjusting to life back in the real world. I get it.”

  I knew that he didn’t, but I wanted to hear the rest of his little observation.

  “I’m going to let this go on for only so long, Sebastian. You’re a Maxwell. And this”—he gestured to the office at large—“is where we work. It’s where we’ve worked for three generations, and I’ll be damned if you’re going to go off and play at being some sort of servant while I have to wait for you to come to your senses.”

  “I’m not playing at anything. Security is what I do now. Not this.” My words were curt and to the point, but I could see that the old man wasn’t the least bit intimidated or impressed.

  “I tolerated your enlisting and becoming a Marine. I was angry at first, but then it seemed to impress people when I told them, so it was a good PR move. I lost count of how many times people told me that what you were doing was honorable. But now that you’re home, you can play hero while doing the job that you were born to do. You don’t need to prove anything else. You survived serving in the war, and it’s enough now. You belong here.”

  He just didn’t get it. He never had. And I realized right then and there that I could talk until I was blue in the face, and it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference. I was going to have to actually show him.

  “No. You belong here.” I turned to walk out of the office but turned back when he called out my name.

  “You have this commitment to Gentry, and I’ll let you have it. But if you walk out that door now without apologizing and committing to a schedule here at the company, you’ll never get another referral from me for your business. If anything, I’ll make sure that no one in this city ever uses your services.”

  He stood there, looking smug, and I wanted to run over and choke him until he saw things my way for once. He thought he won. He thought he had me over a barrel. I took a step toward him. And then another.

  “If all your referrals are going to be for babysitting services, then I don’t want your help.” His eyes widened for the merest of seconds—I almost thought I’d imagined it—and then they were merely slits.

  Oh shit.

  “I can see that you’re not ready to be reasonable on this just yet. So I guess it’s up to me—yet again.” He walked back around his desk and sat down, then reached for his glasses and his report before looking up at me. “Finish this business with Gentry. And then we’ll talk.”

  I wanted to argue. I really did. But I knew that I needed to talk to the guys first. I didn’t want to be the reason for us getting blacklisted even before we had the chance to get our business off the ground.

  What the old man was doing was what he did best.

  Blackmail. Plain and simple.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d done it with me.

  He’d done the same thing after he found out I was dating Ali all those years ago.

  John Maxwell would always get his way, no matter who he had to hurt and manipulate in the process.

  Even if that person was his own son.

  Three

  Ali

  It was Friday before I could get back to the Gentry house again.

  Cheryl had a dozen other events in the works at the moment, and half of them were happening sooner than Gentry’s charity gala. But fortunately there was a ton of work to do on-site to prepare for the gala, and I was the drudge who got to do things like taking measurements and drawing the layout of the event spaces. On Friday, I convinced Cheryl that this needed to be done as my top priority, so I got to go back to the house—this time by myself.

  Gentry wasn’t at home today, which meant his normal entourage wasn’t either. So the only people I needed to avoid were the regular domestic staff, which seemed to consist of a couple of people. A housekeeper let me in and just pointed me in the direction of the ballroom.

  This was going to be perfect. I’d have my run of the house without anyone getting in the way or getting suspicious.

  Sebastian wouldn’t be here either today, which I told myself firmly was a good thing.

  I definitely couldn’t think about him any more than I already had, not if I wanted to complete my mission and get justice for my family.

  I was glad he seemed to have changed.

  I was glad if he was doing something different and trying to pull out of his father’s grip.

  That didn’t mean anything would change what had happened between the two of us.

  I had to start in the ballroom—which would be the main event space—or it would look strange, even just to the housekeeper. So I rushed through the layout and measurements of that large room and then the terrace and pool area before I could finally let myself explore the rest of the house.

  I started in the east wing, where I found a formal dining room, which got just a cursory investigation. Then I entered the library.

  The library was one of the old-fashioned kind with wood paneling, built-in bookshelves, and big, antique furniture. It looked like it belonged in an English mystery, in which there would naturally be hidden safes or secret tunnels.

  It was obviously a public room, though, which meant there was almost no chance of Gentry hiding any incriminating work information in it.

  Even so, it would be stupid not to look around since I was here. I checked the desk drawers and then the historic trunk against the wall. All of them were empty, so evidently this whole room was just for show.

  Gentry probably never even bothered to read all the classic books that lined the shelves.

  He was no doubt too busy cheating and swindling and destroying people’s lives to sit down and read a book.

  I walked over to the shelves and felt a strange sense of yearning as I scanned the titles. I hadn’t read very many of them—just the ones assigned in high school classes. I’d always assumed I would read more classics in college and graduate school, but I’d never gotten that far.

  On a silly whim, I pulled a leather-bound copy of Darwin’s Descent of Man partway off the shelf at my eye level. If this really were an English mystery, a hidden door would pop open to reveal a tunnel or secret room.

  Nothing happened. Of course.

  I walked past the fireplace and pulled out another book—this one a copy of Villette, which I had to reach up for. Brontë was no more successful than Darwin at revealing secrets.

  Unable to resist, I tri
ed one more time before I moved on. I leaned over to grab a copy of The Seven Dials Mystery. If anything levered the hidden door, then Agatha Christie would.

  She didn’t. I hadn’t really expected her too, but it was still a little disappointing.

  “Sadly, Agatha Christie doesn’t open a secret door.”

  The male voice was familiar but so startling that I gasped and straightened up with a jerk.

  Naturally, I hit my head on the edge of a shelf since I popped up so quickly.

  “Ouch,” I said, rubbing my head and turning around, knowing exactly whom I would see.

  And there he was, looking just as handsome and having just as warm a smile on his lips, in his eyes, as he had the other day.

  I was uncomfortably aware of the fact that this was twice that he’d caught me with my butt prominently displayed.

  “I wasn’t looking for a secret door,” I said, knowing even as I said it that he’d never believe me. What else could I have been doing pulling out three random books in a row for no reason?

  His smile broadened, and it was like sunshine breaking from the clouds, transforming his face in a way that took my breath away. “Of course you weren’t. But if you were, I’d check Dickens on the right side of the mantle.”

  I slanted him a questioning look, but his smile had lessened into a look of encouragement. He didn’t appear to be teasing me, so I walked over to look at the row of beautifully bound Dickens novels. “Which one?”

  “Old Curiosity Shop.”

  I reached up and tilted out the book, feeling a silly sort of thrill that this library did house some sort of secret compartment, room, or tunnel.

  Old Curiosity Shop is a large volume, if you’ve never actually picked it up before. I pulled it out by the top, which was the way hidden doors were always opened in books and movies. Instead of catching some sort of mechanism, the book fell all the way off the shelf and fell with a loud bang to the floor.

  I stared down in surprise at the book on the polished wood floor.

  After a few seconds, I heard Sebastian chuckling softly behind me, and I realized what happened.

  The bastard was teasing me. He thought it was hilarious that I’d fallen for it. He was just having fun with me.

  I was such a little idiot.

  I whirled around and glared at him, which just made him laugh even more. He walked over so he was standing right next to me, his eyes soft like they’d been the other day.

  It was really hard to be mad at a guy who was looking at you like that, but I did my best.

  “It’s not funny,” I said, although it was maybe just a little funny. “I thought you were serious.”

  “I know you did.” He leaned over and picked up the Dickens novel from the floor and slid it back into the shelf. “It does look like a library that should have secret tunnels—or at least a hidden bar—but no such luck. Gentry doesn’t have that much imagination.”

  “Oh.” Something about the way he said it gave me a shiver of hope since it didn’t sound like he even liked Ken Gentry.

  Maybe I’d been right. He wasn’t really like his father and grandfather and uncle and all the other Maxwells, who used people for what they needed until they’d used them up.

  Maybe he was different—even more than he’d been in high school.

  “What are you doing in here anyway?” he asked, standing just a little closer than polite personal space would call for. He seemed inordinately big and hard, and I was tempted to reach out to touch his shoulder or chest.

  Fortunately, I resisted the silly impulse.

  “I need to get the layout and measurements so we can finalize our plans. People might wander into this room, and Cheryl is really big on making sure all areas are ready for guests.”

  I thought it was a very good excuse and sounded perfectly plausible. I even showed him the sketch pad and measuring tape I held. I was quite pleased with myself since espionage clearly wasn’t a natural gift of mine.

  “I would have thought you’d have a laser measurer,” he said, sounding casual as he glanced down at my paraphernalia. “Cheryl seemed like she’d have top-of-the-line everything.”

  He’d taken the right measure of Cheryl in about two minutes. I suddenly wondered what his conclusions had been about me.

  “She does have one of those,” I said. “But it’s on the fritz, so I had to use mine. I’m more old-fashioned than she is.”

  “Yeah,” he murmured, leaning in a little closer to me until he was definitely in my space. “I remember that.”

  His eyes were suddenly hotter than warm, and I held my breath as I gazed up at him. It looked like he was going to kiss me, and I desperately wanted him to.

  Then I ducked my head and tried to get my mind to work again. I knew better than this. He’d been just as sweet and funny and smart with me when I was seventeen, and then he’d dumped me like I was yesterday’s trash.

  Even if he’d changed, I wasn’t going to be stupid again.

  “So were you going to measure the books?” he asked, his voice a little huskier than before.

  “What?”

  “You said you were here to take measurements, so I was wondering if you were going to measure the books.”

  “Oh. No.” I stared down at the tape measure in my hand. “I just got distracted since it looked so much like one of those old libraries.”

  He chuckled again, softer this time. “So you were looking for secret doors?”

  I couldn’t help it. I had to look back up at him. Then I couldn’t look away from his beautiful green eyes, which seemed to be full of admiration, interest, and humor. “Maybe a little,” I admitted.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  I have no idea how long I would have stood there like a statue, staring up at him, swaying slightly, waiting for something to happen.

  My phone rang then though, and I jerked in surprise before I reached to answer it.

  It was Cheryl, who had about ten questions and twenty-five suggestions for me to do while I was at the house—all of them vague and mostly unhelpful. I waved in Sebastian’s direction when he started to leave the room, trying to feel relieved that he was gone.

  I didn’t feel relieved though. I felt disappointment.

  I really needed to get it together and remember priorities.

  ***

  An hour later, I’d done all the real work I’d come here to do, but I wanted to make sure to scout out the home office while I was here.

  I knew Gentry had to have an office in the house. And that would be the most likely location for any incriminating information I could find.

  So I left the east wing and wandered into the west wing, holding the sketch of the layout of the house I’d been creating and trying to look like I was doing what I was supposed to do.

  No one was around. I hadn’t seen Sebastian since the library, so I assumed he had left. He wouldn’t have any reason to hang around here all morning when Gentry wasn’t even in residence.

  I was planning to be careful though. No sense to rush headlong into potential danger, just because the coast looked clear.

  I found a few guest bedrooms until I got to the back of the wing, where I discovered a workout room and, across the hall, a door that opened into what was clearly an office. There was a big walnut desk, computer, printer, and other office equipment, and a huge walnut credenza with what looked like file drawers.

  Perfect.

  I closed the door behind me and went to the desk, but there were no notes of any kind on the desktop, and the top drawers just held pens and paper and assorted supplies.

  The bottom two drawers were locked.

  The computer was turned off, of course, so I went to the credenza. The file drawers were all locked too.

  I checked out the locks, as if I could somehow figure out how to pick them.

  This was purely wishful thinking because I was about as clueless about lock picking as you can be.

  At least I knew where the office was,
though, and what was in it, so I could make a plan for getting into it later on after I had time to do some thinking.

  Satisfied I’d at least taken a step in the right direction, I was heading for the door when I saw it start to open.

  I had about three seconds to act, and I did the only thing that crossed my mind. I extended my tape measure partway and bent over, acting like I was just rolling it back up as the door opened all the way.

  “What are you doing in here?” Sebastian asked as I stood up and looked back at him, trying to put on a look of casual interest as if I wasn’t worried at all about his arrival here.

  I’d known it would be Sebastian. Who else would appear without warning, just where I didn’t want him?

  “I told you. I’m supposed to take measurements and the layout of the whole house.” I showed him my sketch pad again as if that would be evidence enough.

  “But guests won’t be back here.” He didn’t look angry, but there wasn’t a smile in his eyes, the way there had been on the other two times I’d seen him. “This is a private office.”

  For some stupid reason, I missed that smile in his eyes.

  “I know.” I tried for a slightly resigned tone. “But Cheryl wants the plan of the entire house, whether we’ll be using it for the event or not. I hope that’s okay.” I widened my eyes. “Should I not be back here?”

  “Probably not.” The smile sparked in his eyes again, and he put a hand on my back to lead me out of the room. “Just make things up on the plans for the private areas. She’ll never know if they’re accurate or not.”

  I giggled at his dry tone, and it wasn’t entirely for the pretense.

  He’d always been this way. So warm and funny and almost sweet.

  I wondered if it was real or not. It felt real, but that didn’t mean it was.

  “So you started a security firm?” I asked as we walked down the hall together. I figured it was a perfectly natural question to ask.