3. Owen
CHAPTER 3
Owen
I 've already been at my club since an hour before dawn when my best friend and number one employee, Caleb Banks, walks through the front doors.
“The hell man, did you sleep here again last night?” he asks as he comes to stand at the bar, looking at me where I sit on a stool going over some paperwork.
“I slept at my apartment,” I say, finishing checking over the list in front of me before I slide it over to him. “I just wanted to get the jump on things before I have to head out on assignment.” I tap the paper as he sits on a bar stool to look it over. “I know you've done this before, but it gives me peace of mind to go over it with you, so here's the checklist.”
“The same checklist we've gone over the last three times you've had to rush off on an assignment,” Caleb says. “Do you remember when I pulled you out of that enemy fire match in Afghanistan?”
“Yes,” I grumble.
“You think I can do that but not manage your club while you’re gone?” He has a shit-eating grin on his face. If he wasn’t a brother to me, I might consider punching him just to wipe it off.
“I know you can,” I say. “This shit isn’t for your benefit. You know I’m a control freak.”
“Oh, I fucking know,” he says, laughing. “You never let me drive when we were overseas.”
“We’re alive because I never let you drive.”
“Whatever, Salty,” he says, using the nickname he’d given me when we were first assigned to a unit together in our Air Force days.
I’ve never been a huge people person, and Caleb is as friendly as they come. He’d tried to make friends with me that first day on assignment, and I’d barely given him a two-word response. He’s called me Salty ever since. He shakes his head, motioning to the list.
“Let’s go over this so you can breathe,” he says a little more seriously.
“Thank you,” I say begrudgingly. He’s the one person I’ve remained in contact with since separating from the military, and since my parents passed years ago, and I have no siblings to speak of, he’s as close to family as I’ll ever get. I give him shit, but I appreciate his understanding when it comes to my control needs. Chalk it up to too much chaos when I was enlisted, but ever since I’ve been out, I’ve needed to execute my life with a severe level of control or I can’t breathe.
“This is what you trained me for,” Caleb says after we’ve gone over the list. “It’s why you partnered with me in the first place, besides the fact that you wanted to see your bestie every day,” he laughs. “I’m here for when you get called off on assignment for six months to a year at a time. I’ll take care of your baby.” He motions to the nightclub around us that’s empty. “This baby being your club.”
“You've never let me down,” I say. “And that reminds me, I want you to be sure to have somebody double check the roof access is locked every night. Someone forgot last week and I caught a few people up there.”
Caleb scribbles the note down on his checklist, nodding. “I'll handle it.” He smirks at me. “I know that’s an owner-only privilege.”
“Fucking hell,” I grumble, shaking my head. “I never should’ve told you.”
“Don’t say that,” he fires back. “I’m proud of you for doing something for yourself for once. Now if you could only get your mystery girl to meet up with you?—”
“Yeah, yeah,” I cut him off, trying to act casual when I feel anything but.
My fingers itch to reach into my pocket for my phone, already excited to send Kitten one of our daily texts. That night two months ago on the roof haunted my dreams in the best way. Sex has always been fun, but with her?
It’d been electric.
Addicting.
And once she returned my text a couple weeks after that night? I’d been hooked on her personality too. She’s the complete package, and I don’t even know her name.
I resist the urge to text, not wanting to wake her up since it’s still only seven in the morning. I know she gets up early for work—not that she's ever officially told me her profession, lest it take away from the mystery—her words, not mine—but I figure it’s still too early.
Caleb heads off to handle some of the items on his checklist, and I pull out my tablet, opening the email from Senator Casson. After officially hiring me yesterday, he’d sent over an email packed with information about his daughter and anything he had on the ex-patient of hers who was stalking her.
I do my best to focus, shoving thoughts of Kitten out of my mind in order to ground myself in the task at hand. This assignment will be six months, maybe more if I don’t handle the situation quickly. I spare a split second to silently grumble about the way this assignment will interrupt my daily flirtation with the girl who stars in my dreams every night. I can’t be texting her on the job like I can here at the club, but it’ll be fine. Knowing her, she’ll understand, and it’ll make connecting with her every night after the job is done that much sweeter.
I read through Senator Casson’s files, noting the patterns I've seen in several stalker cases I’ve worked before, though this one is a bit more personal since he’s an ex-patient.
“Anything interesting?” Caleb asks, returning with the checklist ticked off in full.
“Stalker case. Daughter of a senator. She’s a therapist. Stalker is a former patient,” I explain, having already gotten clearance from the senator to do as much. Caleb doesn’t just run my nightclub when I’m away on assignment, he’s also my go-to tech guy. Seriously, I’m good with computers, but he’s next level and assists me on cases if I’m ever in a jam.
“Damn, that’s a juicy one,” he says. “Need me to run background checks?”
I shake my head. “The senator’s team already provided me with the details there. But he told me the stalker is slippery. No one, not even the local police, can track him down. He still shows up to the daughter’s place of business regularly though to leave notes. I may need you to try and locate him if I hit a wall.”
“I’ll be here,” he says. “But this should be easy money for you,” he continues. “Big, scary, salty motherfucker like yourself…” He gestures to me, and I cock a brow at where he points to the tattoos running down my neck and beneath my shirt, and over my arms. “He’ll take one look at you and realize the shit he’s pulling isn’t worth it.”
I grunt. “We’ll see.”
I've covered a case like this one before and it only took a week for the guy to back off permanently. A week and a stern…talking to from me that is. This could be the same thing, but the senator isn’t messing around. He paid in full for the six months with our contract open-ended for negotiations at the end of that timeframe.
Understandably, he wants his daughter protected, and the fact that he’s up for reelection and embarking on a campaign tour only makes her a bigger target. It’s a smart move on his part, and I can only hope that his daughter agrees. Far too many times I've been hired this way, and have to fight tooth and nail with my clients to cooperate.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I immediately pull it out.
Kitten: Gregory says good morning.
The text comes with a picture of a black and white tuxedo cat, the feline practically smiling up at the phone where he sits proud and regal on the concrete, his usual morning breakfast haunt outside of Kitten’s office. I have over a dozen pictures of this fucking stray cat in my phone thanks to her.
“Damn, did she send you an invite? Cause you’re smiling like it’s Christmas morning,” Caleb teases me.
“Fuck off,” I grumble, but show him the pic.
“That cat again?” he looks at me like I’ve grown another head.
“He visits her office every morning and night,” I say. “It’s a part of her life.”
“And you still don’t have a clue what kind of an office it is? Is she a vet?”
I tilt my head. “I don’t think so. She’d probably send more pics of animals if she was.” I grin down at the phone again.
“Dude, just give me her number and I can track her down for you. You’re losing it over this girl.”
“Never,” I say, typing back a quick text, telling her to give the cat an extra treat for me. “If she wants to meet me, she’ll let me know.”
Caleb whistles. “Whatever you say,” he says, walking across the empty nightclub. “Have fun on assignment, don’t bring home a cat.”
“This isn’t home!” I call after him.
“Like hell it isn’t!” he fires back, and I laugh, shaking my head as he disappears into the stock room.
I finish familiarizing myself with everything the senator sent over before saying goodbye to Caleb.
It's an hour drive to Sweet Water, and I pull into the parking lot where Senator Casson’s daughter, Dr. Zoe Casson, has her own practice.
I park and give myself a minute to check out the space, noting the damn-near ancient camera that sits at an awkward angle above the front entryway door. The parking lot is empty save for one car and mine.
Maybe she didn’t schedule a client this early in the morning because she knows I’m coming, or maybe her first client is running late. Either way, I’m getting a good look at the space, and gathering a baseline of what it looks like before clients roll in.
I head toward the front door, giving the camera a better look and shaking my head. I know the brand and know getting visuals from it is nearly impossible thanks to the ancient technology it runs off of. I'll have to fix that.
I push through the front door and a soft bell chimes to alert my presence.
The entryway is warm and welcoming, but there are two large bay windows to my right, overlooking a patio which looks strangely familiar. I could literally break into the building from there with my eyes closed. I'll have to fix that too?—
“Good morning,” a familiar feminine voice calls out to me before someone rounds the corner, hand outstretched, a welcoming smile shaping luscious lips that I’d know in my sleep.
Kitten.
A bolt of shock rockets through me, my entire body clenching. Jesus, it’s her .
The feline mask she’d worn that night had only covered half her face, but I’d recognize the sound of her voice anywhere. I’d replayed that voice moaning my name more than a few times before, not to mention I could never forget those rich dark eyes.
“I'm Dr. Casson,” she says as I take her hand, my mind spiraling. Fucking hell, it’s her. She has a stalker? The urge to crush that motherfucker roars to life beneath my skin, and it’s all I can do to shove the possessive instinct down. “You must be Mr. Thatcher?” she continues. “You’re my first appointment of the day. It’s so good to finally meet you.”
I can't form a single coherent word as my heart pounds in my chest, my mind trying to reconcile the fact that my new assignment and the dream girl I've been texting for the past two months are the same person.
She drops my hand and spins around, motioning for me to follow her. “Come on back and get settled and we can get to know each other,” she says as I follow her into her office. The space is cozy with bookshelf-lined walls and rich leather armchairs situated in front of her desk, which is neat and tidy. She settles into her own chair behind the desk as I take one of the leather ones opposite it. Her rich brown eyes are open and caring and completely oblivious to who I am.
“So, Mr. Thatcher,” she says, looking at her tablet before glancing back at me. “It says here that you wanted to meet with me regarding a recent divorce. Is that correct?”
“No,” I say, still trying to figure out how best to tell her who I am.
The most adorable little crinkle forms between her brows as she double-checks her notes.
“I'm sorry, I must’ve made a mistake. I swore that's what you said over the phone?—”
The bell to her office chimes again, and she tilts her head. “If you'll excuse me one moment, I'm expecting someone, but I'll be right back once I tell him where to settle in.”
She hurries out of the office, looking absolutely delectable in her blue blouse, black skirt, and black pumps combo. It takes me a few seconds before I stop admiring how damn beautiful she is and get up to follow her.
I find her mid-introduction with the actual Mr. Thatcher she was expecting.
She spots me waiting outside of her office, and ushers Mr. Thatcher inside before lingering outside the doorway.
“I'm so incredibly sorry,” she says. “I didn't mean to assume you were my first appointment for the day. Are you Mr. Rolfe? The security detail my father hired?”
I dip my head in a nod.
“Okay, you're much earlier than I expected,” she says. “I'm so sorry, I had this whole introduction thing planned and I was going to get you set up with a desk or whatever you needed, but I really do have to get to this client. Are you okay out here on your own until I'm finished? You can help yourself to anything that I have in the fridge in the break room. I stocked it this morning, but once you tell me what you like to eat and drink, I can order those things.”
I can't stop the smile that shapes my lips or the way my heart is thumping against my chest. She’s every bit the sweet, caring, rule-follower I pegged her for that night two months ago. Of course, she also had a wild side that I’d been lucky as hell to see.
Well, here goes nothing.
“Such a hospitable kitten,” I say.
Her eyes flare wide, her body tensing, likely recognizing my voice saying her nickname.
She blinks a few times, confusion dancing in those brown eyes as if she misheard me.
“I really have to get back to my client,” she says, hurrying into her office and shutting the door behind her.
I stare at the closed door for a few moments. Definitely not the reunion I've been dreaming about for the past two months, but I certainly hadn’t expected her to be my client either.
Shit .
We’re going to have to figure this out.
In the meantime, while she works with her client, I get to work inspecting her office building.
It's not a terrible setup, but there are at least six entry points that are a disadvantage. Easy access points that wouldn’t take much to break into, if someone were so inclined. Not to mention there are no security cameras on the interior of the building, which I understand is unethical in her office or in the patient exit room, but she needed some in the waiting areas, the break areas, and the outdoor courtyard. That same patio I recognized earlier because she’d sent me a few pictures from that very spot when she’d been eating her lunch there a week ago. We’d chatted about the view, about the copse of trees that lined the edge of her parking lot, and how much she loved the building because of how many trees surrounded the property.
Trees someone could easily hide behind.
Fuck.
After an hour, Kitten— Zoe —finds me in the waiting area, her patient having left via the patient exit room that connected through a back door in her office.
She looks a little more grounded, but there's a heavy amount of surprise clinging to her features.
“Did this really just happen by coincidence?” she asks, tipping her head to look up at me since I’m so much taller than her, even in those heels she wears. “Silver?” she whispers.
“That's me,” I say with a little smirk. “I have to admit, you really undersold the view out there in the courtyard where you eat your lunch. Is that where Gregory comes for breakfast and dinner?”
Her full, pouty lips part, and she shakes her head, looking at me with unbelieving eyes. “No, he comes to the back exit door,” she answers, eyes a little distant. “What are the odds of this?”
“What are the odds I've been trying to meet you in person for two months and your father just happens to hire me as your security detail?” I shrug. “Pretty fucking slim. But I'm not mad about it.”
“I don't know what to say,” she says.
“I understand,” I say. “And if you're uncomfortable with this setup, you need to tell me now. I already found six weak security points here alone, so I'll need to be thorough in my brief to any replacement.” Fucking hell, it would be nearly impossible to put her safety in someone else’s hands, but I have to respect her decision on this.
“My father and his team said you were the best.”
“They’re correct in that assessment,” I say. “I’ve worked as a contractor for three years now, over a dozen different security detail cases, three of them involving stalkers. I’ve never failed or lost a client.”
She purses her lips, looking impressed, and fuck me if that doesn’t make pride swell in my chest.
“Are you uncomfortable with this?” she asks, her voice softening. “I mean, I'd get it. Especially after what happened at the club, and then our texting…situation.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “There are very few situations that make me uncomfortable, Kitten,” I say. “But I can keep things professional. If you want me as your detail, all you have to do is say so. I'll completely understand if there's a conflict of interest here putting you off, though.”
Her eyes trail the length of my body, an assessing look that she finally allows herself, no doubt taking in every detail that’d been hidden by my costume that night two months ago. She hesitates on the tattoos that snake up my neck and decorate my arms, and I wonder what she’d think of all the ones she can't see right now.
Slowly, she smiles and shakes her head. “If you can get past the complete ridiculous coincidence of the situation, then I can too.”
I nod at her, doing my best to ignore the utter relief that swarms through me. “I'll certainly do my best.”