Chapter Two
Archer Rossi’s foot hurt like hell, but he was still here at the appointed day and time of his ass-chewing.
He’d sensed it coming like any alert soldier would.
All the signs were there. Ian, his boss at Texas Executive Protection Management and head of the Houston Texas EP branch, wanted to see him.
In his office. Yeah, maybe Archer had gone a little over-the-top on his first assignment, but he’d wanted to make a good impression.
Instead, they’d pulled him off the job. With any luck, he wouldn’t be fired today.
He needed this job, his first one since arriving stateside after retiring from the U.S.
Army. It was important to prove he could still do the work required of him.
“You can go inside, Mr. Rossi.” The young assistant indicated the double solid oak doors. “He’s ready for you.”
Ian Jacobs, Regional Vice President read the nameplate on the door.
He was on the phone when Archer walked in, and waved for him to take a seat.
“Yes, sir. We’re on it. I’ll put my best man on the assignment.”
Two more seconds and Ian hung up and gazed at Archer with a disappointed look, which said it all: He was not Ian’s best man.
Archer cringed internally but told himself that was fine.
He’d known he would have some adjusting to do when it came to the civilian world, but he hadn’t expected it to be this difficult.
He’d dealt with his foot, but he’d also been mentally cleared and regularly attended private therapy sessions to deal with some minor PTSD.
His job involved danger and protecting others from it.
Archer had a heightened sense of danger due to his training, so the job seemed perfect.
Executive management protection was high-level security usually reserved for heads of state, celebrities and other high-profile individuals.
But in his desire to show he was as capable as the others, he’d been too zealous and made a mistake.
“Why do you think I called you in here, soldier?”
“To chew me out, sir,” Archer responded, and after a brief pause added, “But I am hoping you will not let me go.”
“I’m not going to let you go.” Ian shook his head. “You’re a good man and I meant what I said. You have a career here if you want it, but we’re going to have to find the best assignment to ease you into this.”
“Sir, please do not put me behind a desk.”
Part of the company focused on cybersecurity and assessing those threats; that wasn’t what he’d signed up to do.
Archer wasn’t cut out for life behind a desk.
He’d always been an adrenaline junkie and wanted to be on the front lines of any assignment.
What’s more, he was still perfectly capable, even after the accident.
Being put behind the desk, to Archer, meant he was finished.
Useless. He didn’t see himself that way.
“No, that’s my job.” Ian said. “But you’re going to need to calm the hell down. You can’t do your job well if you view everything as a damn threat.”
Good point. Archer wasn’t sure how to respond to it.
He took a second to compose himself before he spoke.
Every once in a while, particularly when under duress, Archer found himself slipping back into a slight Italian accent.
He’d speak haltingly, too formally, sounding as if English was his second language.
Which it was, of course, but he’d been in this country since age twelve.
He rarely spoke Italian anymore, and if not for his mother, he would have forgotten the little Italian he still remembered.
“In my defense, I did not know the man was her brother.”
“Yeah.” Ian closed his eyes, leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I gathered that.”
Archer had been part of a team involved with transporting a well-known reality TV celebrity who had received death threats, when a bulky man broke protocol and came at Archer’s client, hand in the jacket of his pocket.
It all happened so fast.
“Gun!” Archer had shouted, before throwing his body over the man, knocking him to the ground.
There were screams, ensuing chaos, the client was whisked away in a car and in due order Archer found out the man was pulling out a phone not a gun.
Not only that, he was the client’s brother.
Archer had imagined the gun; he’d preemptively acted and had done absolutely nothing to secure his client.
If anything, he’d put her in danger by creating a huge distraction.
Fortunately for him, the celebrity liked Archer.
She’d convinced her brother not to sue him or the company and asked Ian to please not punish Archer, by pointing out that her brother could definitely be perceived as a threat.
And though she’d wanted Archer back, the assignment was given to someone else.
“I get it,” Ian said. “It makes sense. You’re still adjusting.
I think we might have put you in the middle of high-stakes action too soon.
We’d just been raised to code orange, and the brother is huge, and he was coming at her suddenly.
I spoke to the others and they all agreed.
What I think you need is a little warm-up assignment.
Something to show you where the real threats exist and don’t exist in the civilian world. I’ve got just the thing for you.”
“I appreciate this.”
“Are you familiar with the town of Charming? It’s a little beach town just south of Houston. About a thirty-minute drive or so, depending on traffic. I got a call from Patch Lambert.”
“The NFL player?”
Archer wasn’t much into football, more of a soccer guy himself, but he’d seen the player providing commentary on a postgame wrap-up show a few nights ago. Still sharp as they came, the former Dallas Cowboy player knew the game better than most.
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“Problem with an obsessive fan?”
“Well, not exactly.” Ian picked up a piece of paper and handed it over to Archer.
“More like a new onslaught of hate mail, phone calls, and threats seemingly from someone upset about a statement he recently made on ESPN. Years ago, when Patch defected from the Cowboys to the Niners, he made a few enemies. Then he returned, and not long after, retired at the height of his game. Things were fine for a while, but now this. Somebody’s sending death threats to Patch because he complimented the Niners defense and criticized the Chiefs. ”
Dio mio. American football fans were ridiculous.
“Sounds serious,” Archer lied. “I’m on it.”
“Hang on. The thing is, Patch already has a security detail. He wants a bodyguard for his only child, a daughter.” Ian’s finger traced a paper on his desk. “Zoey Lambert.”
“Okay,” Archer said slowly. “I understand. Sometimes you need a bodyguard for family members. Has she also received threats?”
“Not exactly.” Ian winced. “There’s an overzealous boyfriend involved, but none of us are taking that very seriously. Not even Patch. We’ve looked into it and the dude is harmless.”
“I don’t understand.” Archer shook his head.
“Patch is being a rather sly father and using that as an excuse to hire a bodyguard for her. He’s very protective of his daughter, and Zoey isn’t exactly low profile.
She throws a big party every September, apparently, which once got a mention in the local society papers.
It has her father worried due to the timing of these threats.
It would be easy to make the connection, and even if the threats are only directed at Patch for now, he’s worried they might target her to get at him.
And…he doesn’t want her to know he’s received death threats because it will only cause her distress. ”
“So what’s my approach?”
“You’ll be on-site security detail in her home. Stay on until Patch’s security detail is satisfied there’s no longer a threat.”
This sounded like Archer’s nightmare. He would be a glorified security guard for an entitled rich girl.
“I appreciate this, sir, but doesn’t Ronan Sheridan live in Charming? Or have a fiancée or cousin who lives there? He might appreciate this one.”
“Yeah, well, he’s in Greece right now.”
Damn. Ronan had been given the coveted assignment of being part of an elite team guarding a head of state.
Archer understood he was too green for that one, but it was exactly what he wanted to do someday.
Archer missed the feeling of being on edge, alert, feeling alive every moment—this job wouldn’t give him that.
But he had to swallow his pride and appreciate that at least he wasn’t being let go.
“She owns a boutique called…um, Glamtique.” Ian grimaced, reading over his notes. “You’ll transport her to and from work.”
A boutique? Was he going to have to stand like a doorman at a shop? Archer couldn’t help but feel he was being punished. Probably because he was.
“Is there nothing else for me?”
Ian shook his head. “Do well on this one, and I’ll graduate you to something better. I’m assuming this won’t go on for long. The father already has his own security team in place. This is mostly just covering all the bases—a temporary thing.”
“When she has a wealthy father?” Archer gave Ian a doubtful look. What were the odds it would be temporary?
Ian steepled his fingers. “His daughter, if I haven’t mentioned, is thirty. How long do you think she’ll tolerate a bodyguard spying on her every move?”
“So, this is not her idea.” Archer smiled with relief.
“Not even a little bit. He had a difficult time talking her into it.” Ian stood. “Whether she likes it or not, that’s not our problem. We have a job to do. And I’m counting on you to do it well.”
Archer didn’t see a way out of this. He’d take the job, prove himself and go on to bigger and better things.
He reached across the desk to shake Ian’s hand. “Sir, I will not let you down.”
* * *
The next day, Archer packed a bag and drove from the condo where he’d been staying in Houston, to Charming, Texas.
When he got off the highway, he took a scenic road along the seawall that drove him past the bay.
He spotted a lighthouse in the distance and a boardwalk.
If nothing else, the scenery lived up to the town’s name.
It might not be the worst thing in the world to hang out here for a while.
Last night, he’d given himself a pep talk.
He just had to get through this big party of hers.
He figured in about two weeks or less, the daughter would be so sick of his interference—or her boyfriend would be so jealous—that she’d beg her father to call off the dogs.
She’d be tired of him in a week, and he would have shown himself to be a team player.
Archer arrived as scheduled to meet his client, who he expected would not be happy to see him.
When he opened the door to the shop, the door chime rang in a tune that sounded like angels on high.
A woman immediately greeted him with a smile, and Archer nearly swallowed his tongue.
What were the odds this woman was his assignment? He couldn’t possibly get that lucky.
This woman had long legs and wore a yellow shirt and matching skirt that accentuated every curve. Her dark brown hair fell around her gorgeous face in ringlet curls, and she had a smile that could stop time.
It could also stop the power of speech, apparently.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Zoey, the owner. Can I help you find something?”
Dio mio. He’d reached a new level of anxiety because now his thoughts were in Italian.
This had to be Zoey Lambert. He loosened his tie because suddenly it was way too hot in here.
When he didn’t reply right away, she must have felt compelled to fill the silence. “I don’t have very many male customers…” She looked behind him. “Are you alone?”
“Yes,” he said, with a dry throat, tamping down his accent. “I work alone.”
She laughed. “That’s cute. Well, shopping can be considered work if you think of it that way. But I’m here to make it fun. I can direct you to a few one-of-a-kind items I carry. What size does she wear?”
“Size?”
She seemed to be…saying words…indicating she thought he was a customer. He should correct her, but he was too busy watching her glide across the floor like a dream.
“Yes. Dress size, or shoe size? You don’t know?” She cocked her head and stared at him as if he was a simpleton. “Is she about my size?”
“Oh, um…uh…”
Why couldn’t he just tell her the truth? Speak, Archer! Speak!
“She’s probably shorter than me. I’m pretty tall for a woman. I’ve got some gorgeous vintage boots that just came in. Do you happen to know her shoe size at least?”
Archer was still staring at her. Any minute now, he’d think of something to say so she’d stop mistaking him for a customer.
He shook his head.
“Oh, well, you’re not much help at all, are you?” She laughed and tossed her hair. “How about some jewelry? You can never go wrong with that, but unfortunately my pieces, while vintage, are costume. If you want something spendy like a diamond, you’ll have to go to the jeweler.”
She began to sort through necklaces, pulling out one with blue and greens stones set in gold, holding it up for him to inspect. Then she put it down and held up a sapphire ring. She quirked a brow, those chocolate brown eyes devouring his soul.
Archer held up a palm. “No, no. You do not understand. I am not here to buy anything.”
“Then, what?” Understanding seemed to dawn in her eyes and she put the ring down and slowly backed up.
“Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand. “I am Archer Rossi, your new bodyguard.”
Zoey dropped the ring. “Oh, hell, no.”