Rogue Officer: A Protector Romantic Suspense Standalone (Gone Rogue)

by Patricia D. Eddy

  “Don’t hurt me,” I gasp. “I’ll send it. I just need…a minute.”

  “I’m waiting.” He stands over me, his arms loose at his sides, his gaze fixed on me. When I press my finger to the sensor to log in, the first thing that pops up is a half-composed message to Max.

  Max,

  I need to talk to you in person. This is too sensitive for the phone or email. It’s about my past. About the man who trafficked me. Please tell me you have time for us to meet before the Beauty and Style junket.

  -Sloane

  The man grabs my braid and wrenches my head back with a snarl. “Do you know what will happen if you send that email?” He pulls a knife from his pocket and presses it to my temple. “I’ll get to do much more than slap you around a little.”

  “I—I’ll delete it. R-right n-now!” The tip of the knife pierces my skin, and a single drop of blood trails down my cheek to my jaw. “Please!”

  He stares into my eyes, and his are so gleeful, so full of anticipation, I know without a doubt he’ll kill me if I give him any excuse—but he won’t do it quickly.

  As soon as he releases his hold on my hair, I rush to delete the email. “See? Done. I won’t talk to Max. Or anyone. Tell Dimitri. I promise. I wasn’t thinking. I just…I was scared.”

  Why am I talking so much? Shut up, Sloane! Or you’re going to say something that’ll get you killed!

  “I’ll tell him. Whether he believes me or not—well, you’ll find out soon enough. Now transfer the money.”

  Tabbing over to the bank’s website, I do my best to hide at least some of my password from the hulking man standing next to my bed. He hasn’t put the knife away and twirls it so the tip glints in the low light.

  Once I’m logged in, I chance a quick peek up at him. “The letter. It’s behind you. I need the account and routing numbers.”

  He doesn’t move, just rattles off the codes, and two minutes later, the money’s on its way and my heart is hammering so hard, I’m afraid I’m going to pass out. I can feel each beat in my rapidly swelling cheek. He could kill me right now. I’m still logged in; he could take the eight thousand I have in that account and disappear. But Dimitri would find him. Just like he found me.

  “Don’t be late next week, or we’ll spend a lot more time together before I let you touch that computer.” Flicking the knife, he cuts through the strap of my tank top. “And I’ll get to see what all those surgeries bought you.” His fingers dig into my jaw, and he leans in to sniff my hair. “If you tell anyone about me, I’ll cut out your tongue before I have my way with you.”

  And then he lets me go. I’m shaking so badly, I don’t trust myself to stand until I hear the front door click shut. Stumbling into the bathroom, I barely make it to the toilet before I vomit. I’m fucked. Dimitri will never let me go.

  Chapter Six

  Sloane

  As the plane starts its descent, I pull out my emergency makeup bag. The yellowing bruise spreads from my cheek all the way up to my right eye, and after a six-hour flight, I need a touch up.

  Dotting the concealer wand over the slightly swollen skin, I grit my teeth so I don’t wince. There’s a bruise twice as big on my hip where my attacker slammed me to the ground, but that one I can explain away.

  Oh, I’m just a klutz and fell on a run.

  No one will doubt me. Marina will give her standard lecture about how I should be more careful, and then she’ll cover it up with the same body paint she uses to hide tattoos. But my face? She can spot a makeup faux pax across a room in dim lighting. There’s no way I’ll be able to hide this from her.

  Why couldn’t Beauty and Style book me on a flight that didn’t go through New York City? Because of the time change, Max told them I’d need an overnight stay in the city before continuing to Zurich with Marina tomorrow evening.

  She lives in New York, and when she found out they’d not only selected half a dozen of my photos for their Christmas Book but also gave me the cover, she screamed into the phone for a good five minutes.

  What the hell am I going to do? I kept the attack a secret from everyone—even Max. The man who hurt me knew how to bypass my security system. What if Dimitri put a camera in my home? I lost all day Thursday searching bookshelves, every nook and cranny I hadn’t dusted in way too long—even my nightstand and under my bed. But I found nothing.

  Marina’s going to notice the damage to my face. Layers of foundation and concealer, styling my hair to drape just so—that won’t do shit in the face of Marina’s trained eye.

  With a sigh, I turn away from the window. Flying into New York City always triggers bad memories, and today is no different. I’d close the window shade, but the teenage girl next to me—traveling with her mother—points excitedly at the Statue of Liberty.

  I was like her when I came here from Russia. I just knew my life would be perfect. A fairy tale, even. And then it turned into a nightmare.

  “Do you live in the city?” the mother asks. “We’re staying in the Theater District, and I have no idea if we’ll have time to get dinner before we see Hamilton tonight.”

  “I’m only here for work,” I say softly, and the woman’s face falls. Regret hunches my shoulders, and I glance down at my phone. Even though I don’t live in the city, I’ve been here enough to answer her. Not everyone I meet is out to get me. I have to remember that. “Unless you can get a bite at the hotel, you won’t have time. The drive from the airport takes over an hour this time of day.”

  “Oh, wow. I had no idea.”

  “If you can afford it, take a taxi, not one of the airport shuttles. It will cost a little more, but you’ll save at least half an hour.”

  “Mom, I can just have a candy bar,” the teen says. “I don’t want to be late for the show.”

  “Emma, you are not having candy for dinner.” Mom huffs out a breath, then relents. “Granola bar first. Then candy.” She turns back to me and flashes me a smile. “She’d eat candy every meal if she could.”

  “I would have too at her age. Good luck with the traffic.” Before the mom can say anything else or draw me deeper into conversation, I lean my head back and close my eyes.

  Maybe when I wake up tomorrow morning, the bruise will be gone. But my problems won’t fade that quickly. I have to send Dimitri his second payment before we board the plane for Zurich. If I wait until we land, I’ll officially be late again, and even though I’m not at home for my attacker to break in again, I have no doubt Dimitri will find another way to get to me.

  “Over here!” Marina calls, jumping up and down, her black curls bouncing around her heart-shaped face. “Sloane!”

  Adjusting my oversized purse to sit higher on my shoulder, I duck around a large family and wrap my free arm around Marina. “Please tell me you didn’t make plans for us tonight.”

  The look she shoots me is nothing short of pure disbelief. “I would never, sweetie. We’re going straight to my place, where we’ll feast on lean protein and fresh veggies, along with sparkling cider and chamomile tea. But in the morning, we’re booked for mani/pedis, massages, and facials at the Equinox. By the time we get on that plane tomorrow night, we’re going to be more relaxed than we’ve ever been.”

  Shit. Facials. Without makeup. I hope to all that’s holy in this world there’s a scheduling mix-up and we won’t be in the same room at the same time. But I know better. Marina loves “girl time” and, if I’m honest, so do I. As long as I’m not recovering from a black eye and a bruised hip.

  Forcing a smile, I link my arm with hers. “You’re the best. Come on. Let’s get to baggage claim.”

  My makeup skills get me halfway through the evening, but after Marina brings out the fruit plate—and the dark chocolate sauce to drizzle on top—she parks herself next to me on the sofa. Before I reach for a strawberry, she draws in a sharp breath. “Sloane. What happened to your face?”

  “Huh?” I ask like I don’t know exactly what she’s talking about.

  “Come with me. And
don’t even think about playing dumb. I know what half a dozen layers of concealer look like.” Taking my hand, she leads me into her bathroom and grabs a cotton pad and a bottle of mineral oil.

  “Don’t. Please?” I shrink back, and my lips press together of their own accord. Great. I’d managed to avoid chewing them most of the day by popping piece after piece of gum, but seeing the confusion and disappointment in Marina’s eyes? I can’t help myself.

  “Sloane, I have to know what I’m working with when we get to Zurich. And I’m worried about you. Ever since we found out about this trip, you’ve been distracted. Like you’re not even happy about it. This is going to make your whole career. The cover of the Christmas Book? That’s freaking amazeballs. I don’t care if you have a massive zit. We can deal with that.”

  If only it were that easy to explain away. Or cover up. Desperate for a shred of control, I take the round pad from her, soak it in mineral oil, and gingerly swipe at my cheek. Each pass makes me cringe. Not because it hurts. The physical pain is mostly gone. But because once I’m done, I have to make a choice.

  Lie to my best and maybe only friend or tell her the truth and risk not only my own life, but hers as well.

  “Who hit you?” she demands, hands on her hips as she stares at the bruise. Tears well in my eyes, irritating my contact lenses, and the dam I built around my heart fifteen years ago crumbles into dust.

  I don’t know how I end up on the floor, but Marina wraps her arms around me and holds me until I stop crying. “Back to the couch with you. I’m going to get us something stronger than sparkling cider for this conversation,” she says as she helps me up.

  “I can’t.”

  “You’re not going to get all puffy from one drink—”

  “I’m an addict.”

  Oh, my God. What did I just do?

  I haven’t said those words aloud since I left the hospital where I got clean. Even though I never had a problem with alcohol—I’ve had all of three drinks in my entire life—my counselors told me it would be easy for me to regress if I ever touched the stuff. One addiction can easily lead to another, even if Dimitri was the one who forced the heroin on me in the first place. I didn’t want it. Until it made the pain go away. Then I wanted it very much.

  “Holy shit. Sloane, what else aren’t you telling me?”

  Oh, nothing major. My whole life is a lie. I’m being blackmailed by a Russian sex trafficker, I’m not a real American citizen, and Sloane isn’t my real name.

  I shouldn’t admit any of my secrets, but dammit. I need a friend now more than ever.

  An hour later, she knows my truth. Much of it, anyway. How I came to this country. How Max saved me. Gave me a new life. A career. Freedom. Of a sort.

  “Why didn’t you tell Max?” she asks. “He needs to know!”

  Sniffling, I tip my head back against the couch cushions and pull the cool washcloth from my eyes. “Because I was all of two hours late with my first payment and Dimitri sent a man to break into my house and hurt me. Max didn’t call me for two days. When he did, he was so excited about Zurich, what was I supposed to say? ‘Great news about the Christmas Book. By the way, I’m being blackmailed, someone broke into my house and threatened my life, and if I don’t pay them, you’ll lose your career, your freedom, and probably everything you’ve ever loved. Oh, and I’ll end up deported or murdered or in jail’? Not a conversation we should have over the phone. If at all. What if Dimitri bugged my house? Or my phone?”

  “Sloane, he needs to know. You can’t keep giving this asshole two thousand dollars every month. You’ll be broke in no time.” Marina squeezes my hand, sending another few tears burning my eyes until I drape the cool cloth over them once more.

  I thank God I can’t see her as I clear my throat. “I’ll tell him in person. It’ll be so much easier to sit down face to face. Somewhere I know we won’t be overheard.”

  “What are you going to do? About the money, I mean?” Marina asks.

  “Max knows I want to retire. I only have eight months left on my contract with Ulstrum. That’s sixteen thousand dollars. If I take out a loan, I can pay Dimitri with that money and move my savings and investments somewhere they can’t be linked to me. Overseas. As soon as I’m not obligated the agency or to Max, I can disappear.”

  Marina snatches the washcloth from my face. “Disappear? Like, what? Move to Costa Rica?”

  Shrugging, I sit up. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought everything through yet. But I have to convince my mama and sisters to leave Penza so he can’t find them either. Because he would. To get to me, he’d hurt them. But as long as they agree, it’s the best solution…”

  “Bullshit. You can’t give up your whole life because some piece of garbage sex trafficker has naked photos of you. That’s insane. In-sane.”

  God, I wish it were as simple as Marina thinks it is. “It’s not the photos. It’s everything else. I’m here illegally. My papers are forged. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been paying taxes for fifteen years, that I’ve never broken a single law since Max got me into rehab. The government would deport me and take everything. And what about Max? He knew exactly what to do when he saved me. What does that tell you?”

  “That he’s done the same thing for other women. Shit.” Marina drains the last of her sparkling cider and flops down next to me. “Sloane, you trust me, right?”

  “You have to ask after what I just told you? If any of that gets out…”

  “I know, but this is different,” she says, covering her hand with mine. “I know someone who might be able to help.”

  “No.” I sit up and grab her shoulders. “You cannot tell anyone.”

  “It wouldn’t be just anyone. My cousin works for a security firm in Boston. They help people in trouble. All kinds of trouble. No police, no government. Let me call Clive and ask him some hypothetical questions. Please. He’ll know what to do.”

  “No. This is my life, and my decision. You have to let it go.” Fresh tears tumble down my cheeks, and I’m so desperate, I’d shake Marina if I thought it would help. But whatever she sees in my eyes must convince her because she sighs.

  “Fine. I won’t say anything. For now. But…it’s an option, okay?”

  Wrapping my arms around Marina, I swallow hard over the lump in my throat. “You’re the only person I’ve ever trusted with this. The only person I ever could. But I can’t put anyone else at risk. I’m sorry.”

  Griff

  The buzzer affixed to my headboard vibrates insistently. Dax and his team have been an endless source of gadgets to make my life easier. This one syncs with my phone and vibrates the bed frame whenever I get a call or a text in the middle of the night. Since it’s barely 6:00 a.m., the text can only be from a handful of people.

  Snagging the phone, I blink hard until the screen comes into focus. Yep. Pritchard.

  Using yet another piece of software I wouldn’t have without Dax, I answer the call, then tap the screen so Austin’s words appear as text, but I can still talk to him.

  “You do realize what time it is, right?” I ask.

  “Can you get to Montgomery County AirPark in two hours?” he asks.

  “Are you even awake, man? It’s all of fifteen minutes away. Of course I can get there. Want to give me a good reason why?”

  Pushing to my feet with a groan, I trudge out to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.

  “Got a job for you.”

  “That’s it. Just ‘a job’? I told you last week, no one’s going to want a bodyguard who can’t hear shit and only has one arm.”

  Nothing appears on screen for several seconds, and I’m about to ask him if he’s still there when he starts to speak again. “You do know how Dax and Evianna met, right? He was her bodyguard, and that worked out just fine.”

  The coffee pot sputters to life, the muffled pops and sizzles as the first drops hit the glass settling me. “Dax had six years before that to learn how to function without his sight. I’ve had eigh
t months.”

  “You’re the best guy for the job, Griff.”

  I snort. “Bullshit. More like I’m the only guy for the job. You decided to start this network two weeks ago. Tell me the truth. I’m the first guy who said ‘maybe,’ aren’t I?”

  “The first. Not the only. I could send someone else, but I don’t want to. This is deep cover and needs someone with experience thinking on their feet. Someone like you. And it’s for a friend of Clive’s cousin.”

  Dammit. He’s got me there. Clive is one of Dax’s guys, and if I don’t say yes, I’d lay odds both Austin and Dax will never let me forget it. With a sigh, I pull out a coffee mug. “Fine. But if this goes south…”

  “It won’t. Pack your passport, anything you need for five days in Switzerland, and your best suit. Everything else…well, you’re flying to Boston first to meet with Dax and Clive, then you’ll be on the 8:00 p.m. out of Logan to Zurich. I’ll help run point from Edgewater. Clive’s working on your cover story now, and once you get there, we’ll adjust if necessary. ”

  “Austin?” I stop him before he can go any further, and shit. I may not be able to hear myself talk any more, but I can feel the uncertainty in my voice. “Are you sure this isn’t a huge mistake?”

  There’s a pause, and for a few long moments, I steel myself for him to admit it’s a terrible idea. “If all I needed was muscle—two good arms, two good ears—I could find that anywhere. This job needs more. It needs your instincts. Your training. I trusted you with my life in Pakistan, Griff, and I wasn’t wrong then. I’m not wrong now either.”

  The words glowing on screen are too much for me to unpack now. Too much to respond to. But they mean more to me than Austin will ever know. So I opt for the simplest reply I can manage. “Okay. Two hours. I’ll be there.”

  Chapter Seven