by Elle James
“Declan was there when I needed him. He and his men went to bat for me, and for Riley when things got sticky for her, too. They’ll help you. And Mustang’s a good man. He’ll take care of you.”
“I want to say I don’t need anyone to take care of me but...” A shiver shook her wet frame. “Apparently I do. I’ve never had a man shoot at me or hold a gun to my head.”
“Oh, sweetie.” Grace pulled Emily’s bedraggled form into her arms. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. Hopefully the team can help figure out who did this to you and why.” She turned Emily and gave her a gentle shove in the direction of the bathroom. “For now, get cleaned up and warm. Everything will look better once you are.”
“Thank you, Grace.” Emily entered the bathroom and closed the door behind her, leaning against it to keep from falling. Another shiver shook her, and another, until her entire body quaked with the tremors. She knew it was shock setting in. If she didn’t get into a warm shower soon, she didn’t know what would happen. She could pass out or die from hypothermia. After Mustang went to the effort of saving her, that would be a crappy way to repay him.
She pushed away from the door and took stock of the beautiful bathroom. Six of her apartment bathrooms could fit in the space. White quartz counters and sinks shone, sparkling clean. A large bathtub invited the guest to fill it full of warm water, bath salts and oils. Bypassing the tub, Emily walked to the shower, turned on the faucet and waited for the water to warm.
Her hands shook as she stripped out of her wet clothing and dropped the garments to the smooth, tiled floor.
When the water was warmer than her skin, she stepped beneath it and let it run over her head, shoulders and the length of her body. As the heat chased away the chills, she squirted a liberal amount of shampoo into her palm and smoothed it over her hair, digging her fingers in, determined to wash away the smell of stagnant water.
Emily leaned her head back, closed her eyes and let the water sluice over her. As the soap bubbles slid down over her breasts, a sudden image intruded on her thoughts. An erotic scene, completely at odds with the suspenseful one she’d just lived through. Maybe it was a coping mechanism, but she couldn’t get the thought out of her head. One of Mustang rubbing his hands together to create lather and smoothing them all over her body.
Shocked by her own imagination, Emily opened her eyes and took in a deep, steadying breath. She had to be having some kind of post-traumatic lust for the man who’d saved her. She didn’t know Mustang from Adam. He could be married, for all she knew. Her heart pounded against her ribs. She could be having lustful thoughts over a married man.
Grabbing the bottle of body wash, she completed her shower in record time, scrubbing every inch of her skin to remove traces of mud and ditch water.
When she emerged from the shower, she found a neat stack of clothing on the counter and a fluffy white towel.
She smiled at Grace’s thoughtfulness.
Her lips turned down as she dressed. How could she face Mustang when she’d just been thinking about him naked?
Chapter Four
Mustang paced the floor of one of the spacious living rooms in Charlie’s mansion. He’d been inside the home a number of times since going to work for the rich widow. Still, he didn’t feel comfortable surrounded by the opulence millions of dollars could afford to buy. He preferred the comfort of his own little house. The one he’d purchased since landing the job with Declan’s Defenders.
In all of the years he’d been on active duty, he’d never established roots in any one place. Since signing on with his brothers in arms to a decent job with a steady income and benefits, he’d decided it was time.
His friends had given him a hard time about having a home without a partner. Mustang didn’t care. It was his, and he could do anything he wanted with it. If he wanted to paint the walls purple with green polka dots, he could. He didn’t have to ask permission of a landlord or the government.
Though he’d prefer to be at his own house, he wasn’t about to leave until he knew Emily was safe. Even then, he didn’t want to leave without her. After saving her life, he felt responsible for her. Since her attacker had gotten away, she couldn’t be one hundred percent safe.
“What do you know about Emily?” Mustang asked Declan.
“Only that she’s a friend of Grace’s, works at a university teaching Russian and performs as an interpreter when needed.” Declan shrugged. “I got all of that today when Grace told me Emily was in trouble.”
Mustang made another pass of the living room, feeling like a caged lion ready to bust out and roar. “Grace didn’t say anything about her work? Anything or anyone who might have it in for her?”
Declan shook his head. “Nothing.”
Stopping in front of a massive fireplace, Mustang ran a hand through his hair. “I should have killed the bastard.”
“And if you’d gone after him, you’d have left Emily unprotected.” Declan clapped a hand on Mustang’s shoulder. “You did the right thing.”
“Oh, good.” Charlie entered the living room and smiled at Mustang. “I’m glad you stayed.”
Declan stepped forward. “How’s Emily?”
Mustang hung back, wanting to know the answer and barely willing to wait for Charlie’s response.
“She’s okay,” Charlie said. “Shaken but okay.”
Mustang released a silent sigh. He’d worried she might have had injuries not readily apparent.
“She’s okay for now, anyway.” Charlie directed her gaze at Declan and then Mustang. “However, I’m concerned.”
“So are we,” Declan responded. “Emily needs someone protecting her at all times, until her attacker can be found and dealt with.”
Charlie smiled. “I agree. Who from your team do you suggest?”
Mustang’s heart pounded against his ribs as he stepped forward. “I’ll do it.”
A frown pulled at Charlie’s brow. “Are you sure? It will mean being with her 24/7.”
“He’s young, single and has the skills needed to protect Emily,” Declan said.
The corners of Charlie’s lips quirked. “Are you sure there’s not someone more suited than Mustang?”
“She’s mine,” Mustang blurted. “I mean, I’ve already saved her life once. I feel it’s my duty to protect her and continue to keep her safe.”
Charlie grinned. “I was hoping you’d feel that way. I think she will feel most comfortable with you, for just that reason.”
Declan nodded. “I agree. The rest of my men will be backup when not otherwise engaged.”
“Good.” Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Then, Mustang, you’ll be staying here until further notice. You’ll be in the room next to Emily’s.”
“What?” Mustang frowned. “Why here?”
“Unless you or Emily have an airtight security system at your homes, she will not be as safe as she can be here.”
“She’s right,” Declan interjected. “I’ve gone over all the security devices, cameras and fences. No one will get in without setting off an alarm and having half a dozen guards swarming all over them.”
“Can you or Emily top that?” Charlie tilted her head. “If so, by all means. Otherwise, I have plenty of room, as Grace and Declan can attest to.”
Mustang pressed his lips together. So much for enjoying his own home. But until Emily’s attacker was apprehended and Emily was safe to go about her own life again, Mustang would do what it took to be close enough to protect her. “I’m in.”
“Do you need to go back to your home to collect clothing and toiletries?” Charlie asked.
He shook his head. “I keep a go-bag in my truck for emergencies. I can get by on what I have stashed in it.”
“Smart man.” Charlie clapped her hands together. “Now that we’ve settled who’s protecting Emily, I’ll make sure the chef increases th
e number of plates to serve at dinner.” Charlie left the room.
Mustang’s head spun.
Declan chuckled. “Charlie doesn’t give anyone a chance to say no.” His smile faded. “But seriously, man, are you good to go with this?”
Mustang nodded. “I’m good.”
“Then get your gear and meet me and some of the others in the basement conference room. I’ll have Grace and Emily join us when they’re ready.”
Mustang headed for the front entrance.
“Pardon me, sir.” Arnold, the butler, stood in front of the door. “Are you the owner of the truck that had been parked out front?”
“I’m one of them. Declan’s is the other,” Mustang replied.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of parking both of them in the rear garage.”
“Okay.” Mustang turned. “Could you point me in the right direction? I need to collect my gear bag.”
“I’ll show you, sir.” Arnold stepped forward, his posture impeccable, his gate measured. He moved swiftly as he led Mustang through the foyer, past a living area, a study and the massive kitchen. They finally reached a back entrance. The butler paused long enough to hold open the door for Mustang to step outside into the light shining down on a porch and sidewalk that weaved through a garden.
Though he’d been to the estate before, Mustang hadn’t been there often enough to memorize his way around. Since he’d be staying there indefinitely, he needed to be completely familiar with every building, gate and entry and exit onto the property. He studied what he could in the glow lighting the path.
Once inside the detached garage, Arnold flipped on the light switch.
Mustang blinked. He knew the building was large, but wow. At least twenty cars in a multitude of shapes, models, years and colors formed two rows. “This isn’t a garage, it’s a warehouse,” he muttered.
Arnold nodded. “Mr. Halverson collected cars.” He plucked a soft cloth off a shelf and ran it over the hood of a sleek, black Ferrari. “This was one of his favorites.”
“Does Charlie drive them?”
“No.” Arnold tipped his head toward a long black limousine. “She leaves the drive to the chauffeurs. The traffic in DC is more than she prefers to manage. And many of these wouldn’t accommodate her security detail.”
“It’s a shame no one drives these,” Mustang commented. “Why does she keep them?”
“You’ll have to ask Mrs. Halverson. I suspect she has a sentimental attachment to them.” Arnold folded the soft cloth and replaced it on the shelf. “Your truck is over here.” He led the way through a door into another section of the garage where Mustang’s black truck was parked next to a four-door sedan Mustang assumed was Grace’s. On the other side of the car were three more vehicles he recognized. The black one similar to his belonged to Declan. The charcoal-gray, four-wheel-drive pickup belonged to Mack Balkman, the assistant lead of the team. An olive-drab Hummer was Cole McCastlain’s, equipped to transport Dawg, his Belgain Malenoi, his former military war dog. On the far side of the line of vehicles was a Harley-Davidson belonging to Jack Snow. Gus Walsh must have caught a ride with Cole or Mack, otherwise his vehicle would have been in the lineup.
The team had agreed to meet at Charlie’s estate before the incident with Emily. Mustang had been on the way when he’d gotten the call. If he hadn’t been where he was, Emily would not have survived.
The thought drove him forward to collect his gear. An unexplainable urge to return to the house and lay eyes on his new assignment made him jerk open the truck door and grab the go-bag from behind the rear seat.
“Is that all you need?” Arnold asked.
“That’s all.” Mustang turned and headed back the way they’d come.
“Pardon me, sir.”
Arnold’s voice brought Mustang to a halt. He turned, bag in hand, to face the butler.
“Mrs. Halverson asked me to show you an alternate route to return to the main house. She said you never know when it might come in handy. Her words, exactly.”
Curious, Mustang returned to Arnold’s side. “Lead the way.”
The butler spun on his heels and marched toward what appeared to be a wall of tools. When he reached it, he pulled on a shiny wrench. The wall shook slightly and then a door opened outward. Stairs led downward, in the direction of the house.
“They thought of everything,” Mustang said.
“Mr. Halverson felt he should always be prepared for any situation.”
“What was he expecting, a war?”
Arnold shrugged. “You never know. Now, if you will follow me.” The butler descended the stairs. As he reached the bottom, a light blinked on.
When Mustang stepped through, the door behind him closed. He turned to study the mechanism to re-open it should he need to. A lever on the wall beside the door appeared to be how the lock was triggered. Committing it to memory, he hurried after Arnold.
The tunnel was bright white and well-lit. At one point, the pathway split.
Arnold paused long enough to point to the right. “That way leads to the rose arbor at the end of the garden.” He didn’t go in that direction. Instead he veered left. Soon they were climbing steps up to another door with a similar lever as the one at the garage.
Arnold pulled the lever. As he did, the light in the tunnel snuffed out.
Mustang stopped two steps below Arnold and waited until the door they’d just reached opened inward. Light from above spilled through the gap and flooded the stairwell as the exit grew wider.
They emerged into the study they’d passed on their way through the house. Once Mustang cleared the door, the wall shifted back into place. Wood paneling and a floor-to-ceiling bookcase completely hid the door.
Arnold pointed to a book on one of the shelves. “If you need to use the tunnel, look for Moby Dick.”
Mustang leaned forward and read the title on the book binding. Moby Dick.
Arnold gave him a slight chin lift. “Go ahead. Give it a try.”
Mustang pulled the book, which gave a little resistance. Instead of sliding off the shelf, it tipped and the wall moved, opening to reveal the passage they’d just emerged from.
“I’ll take you to your room.” Arnold led the way out of the study, up the curving staircase to the second floor of the three-story mansion and turned right. He walked down a long hallway and stopped at a door. “You’ll be in this room.” The butler nodded at one door farther down the hallway. “Miss Chastain is in the room beside you. There is a connecting door should you need to use it.” He pushed open the hall door and stood back for Mustang to enter. “When you’ve deposited your gear, Mrs. Halverson would like the team to meet in the conference room.”
“Roger,” Mustang responded automatically. His lips twisted. “You weren’t perhaps in the military at some time, were you?”
Arnold gave a slight nod and met Mustang’s gaze. “Ten years in the SAS.”
Mustang held out his hand. “Always good to meet a brother in arms.”
Arnold shook the man’s hand. “Always good to have help you can count on.” With a nod, he left Mustang and marched down the hallway.
For a long moment Mustang watched the former SAS operative. Only then did he notice a slight limp. Despite Arnold’s limp, Mustang bet the butler could hold his own in a fight. Mrs. Halverson was lucky to have him on staff. Though, to Mustang, being a butler was only a small portion of Arnold’s duties. He was her first line of defense in the mansion.
Mustang dropped his gear on the bed and unzipped the bag. It had been several weeks since he’d packed the duffel. He removed the items quickly, throwing clothes in a drawer and his ammo on top of the dresser. When the bag was empty, he zipped it and stored it in the closet. Then he walked to the door connecting to the other room and pressed his ear to the panel. He could hear the sound of a shower and
twisted the knob to see if it was locked.
The knob turned easily.
Rather than barge in, he released the knob and left the door closed. He would have liked to see Emily before going downstairs, but he couldn’t wait. His team was waiting for him in the conference room. He strode to the French doors, stepped out onto the balcony and leaned over to check the window of the room beside him. No trees grew close enough for someone to climb and gain entry. No ladders had been left nearby and the brick and rock walls were clear of any trellises or climbing vines.
Relatively certain Emily would be all right in the house, Mustang made his way back down the stairs, past a living room and into the study. A door led from inside the study, down a hidden staircase into the basement and a soundproof space Mr. Halverson had used as a conference room before his untimely death. A fourteen-foot mahogany conference table took up much of the room with enough chairs to seat a dozen people. The side walls contained magnetic Dry-Erase whiteboards. Several computer terminals were positioned along the walls with six monitors each, arranged in an array.
Cole McCastlain, the team’s radio operator and all-around computer guru, sat at one of the keyboards, alternating between typing furiously and clicking on the mouse.
Gus Walsh and Jack Snow stood behind him, peering over his shoulder at the information on the center screen. While they worked, they ate. A sideboard was set up buffet-style with sandwiches, salads, drinks and something warm and delicious-smelling that Emily guessed was lasagna. When Grace saw her eyeing it, she quickly fixed Emily and Mustang plates and set them on the table.
“For when you’re hungry,” she said to them both.
“What have you learned about Emily’s attacker?” Mustang asked.
“Nothing, yet,” Jack said. “We’re not even sure where to start.”
Declan, Mack, Grace and Charlie stood before another set of monitors set up with several news channel displays, the volume on each turned down low but loud enough they could hear.
Grace stared at one of the television monitors, her brows furrowed. “Emily was at the Russian embassy today. She said she was translating for the ambassador, but couldn’t divulge what was said.”