Believing Ben: Second Chance Protector Romance (Elite Forces HEAT Book 1)

1. Savannah

If the criminals hunting for my business partner didn’t kill him, I might do it myself.

I ran murder scenarios through my head while I inventoried my suitcase and overnight bag that lay open on my bed. A navy blue business suit, one white and one blue blouse, two travel-ready dresses.

Poison was an unreliable weapon, given the state of modern medicine.

Three pairs of jeans, one pair of black slacks, six T-shirts.

Stabbing would be too messy. And besides, how on earth would I convince Devlin to sit still long enough to let me run him through with—what?—one of my kitchen knives?

Two weeks’ worth of underwear, bras, and socks. A few pairs of sweatshirts and sweatpants. Two pullover sweaters. I grabbed my always-packed toiletry bag from under the master bathroom sink and zipped it into the side pouch of my suitcase.

Shooting my soon-to-be-ex business partner was out of the question because not only did I not own guns, I abhorred them.

I stood in the middle of my professionally decorated, gray with pale green accents bedroom and turned in a slow circle. Had I forgotten to pack anything important? The only jewelry that mattered to me was my mother’s gold heart pendant I wore around my neck. My electronics, other than the burner phone I’d bought last night, weren’t going with me. The only must-have items left were shoes. I drew in a deep, fortifying breath and pulled open the French doors of my closet.

I would not end Devlin Masters, which was a damn shame, because my closet was to die for, and maybe even to kill for.

But sadly, I wasn’t a murderer.

I was the cofounder and COO of Lamp;M Rare Spirits, a whiskey sourcing and distribution company. Our clientele ranged from small distilleries that wanted nationwide distribution in restaurants and bars, to high-end collectors from around the world who were searching for rare bottles of American whiskeys. We had a reputation for excellent customer service and unscrupulous business practices.

Or at least we had until cofounder and CEO Devlin had gone rogue.

But I didn’t really wish death upon him. All I wanted was to recover the money he’d embezzled so I could save the company. We had employees depending on us. The thought of failing them ripped at my heart.

It couldn’t be over. Devlin was prone to being a drama llama. Whatever trouble he’d gotten himself and our company—and by extension, me—into, it couldn’t be so bad that it would take down the business we’d spent six years building.

Could it?

I stepped into my closet, gave a perfunctory glance at the fancy dresses hanging along the wall to my left, and turned my attention to the rows of shoes to my right. I ran my fingers over pair after pair of extravagant footwear. For someone who, as a teenager, had switched between one pair each of holey sneakers, non-waterproof rain boots, and too-large, handed-down-from-a-friend summer sandals, the closetful of shoes weren’t mere possessions. They were a collective symbol of everything I’d done right after years of screwing up jobs, chances, relationships.

I lingered for several seconds in front of the first pair of designer heels I’d ever bought. Electric blue pumps with a velvet bow and fuck-me stiletto heels. I’d worn them exactly three times, but I planned to keep them until the day I died. Maybe I’d be buried in them, but not for many more years, so I needed to stay alive. And then meant getting out of town pronto.

I pulled on a pair of ankle boots and tucked a pair of sneakers into my overnight bag. I hesitated five seconds, then ten, then turned and grabbed the blue stilettoes. There was enough room in my bag for two pairs of shoes.

I zipped up my suitcase, pulled on my black leather jacket, and picked up my burner phone from the bedside table. I put it back down and picked up my iPhone, scrolling to Devlin’s text messages from last night, the first signs of life since he’d disappeared two weeks earlier. I reread the words that had knocked my steady world off its axis.

Vannah, listen carefully. Pack some bags, get out of town, tell no one.

Where are you? And WTH? Our business accounts are a mess.

I can’t explain now. FFS, you’re not safe. Leave your phone, get a burner. Get out of town!

Not safe? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

You just need to leave for a while.

Why? For how long?

I don’t know. Just go. I’ll explain when I can.

Explain now!

Devlin, do not ghost me again.

Devlin, PLEASE!

Then another ten messages from me to him over the next hour, all ignored. And then he’d blocked me. After six years as my business partner and for a short time more, the asshat had actually blocked me!

I powered down my phone and left it on the bedside table. I secured my backpack over both shoulders, shrugged my large overnight bag over that, and grabbed the handle of my largest and now stuffed-to-the-gills suitcase.

Then I picked up my burner phone and tapped the screen. It jumped to life, revealing the second string of text messages I’d exchanged last night after tapping in the number of the only person I could think of who would know exactly what to do in this fucked-up situation.

Mai and I had barely seen each other since high school, not counting the weekend she and her parents had spent with me for my mom’s funeral. But we texted every month or two, and although she couldn’t tell me the details, I knew about her stellar career in the Army, followed by her current stint in something she vaguely described as “security services”.

Now I texted her again with one word to request for her final instructions for disappearing from my life.

Ready.