Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
The elevator hummed as it descended, a steady drone that matched the low buzz of irritation in Asher Rhodes’s bones.
He leaned against the back wall, arms crossed, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder.
The job—a three-week gig babysitting a paranoid tech exec—had wrapped up rather…
abruptly, and he was done. Done with the city, done with the client’s ridiculous demands, done with everything but the promise of his own bed back in Boston.
He’d grab a coffee from the shop in the lobby and then get on the road. With luck, he’d be home in six hours, probably closer to seven, considering the Friday night traffic between Philadelphia and home.
The elevator dinged past the tenth floor, and his phone vibrated. He fished it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. Bartlett, Asher’s boss at the agency. He wasn’t surprised to hear from him, only that the call had come so soon.
“Yeah?”
“You want to explain what just happened?” Bartlett’s gravelly voice crackled.
“He didn’t need protection. He’s just an arrogant jerk who wants to look important.”
“You just described three-quarters of our clients. Those are the clients who pay our bills.”
As if Asher didn’t know that already. He’d be lucky if he still had a job by the time the elevator reached the lobby. He wished he didn’t care, wished it didn’t matter.
It did matter, and he did care, but there were lines he wasn’t willing to cross.
“From what I heard,” Bartlett said, “he was assaulted, and you did nothing to protect him.”
“He wasn’t the victim. The woman who assaulted him—”
“It was a woman—?”
“—was his assistant. Five four, maybe a hundred fifteen pounds. And she slapped him because he grabbed her. He had it coming.”
“Your job was to protect him.”
“From a woman he’s harassing? Abusing? You really think I’m gonna do that? Would you?”
“You’re leaving out some of the story, at least according to the client.”
Asher couldn’t help a little grin. Not only had the woman slapped him, she’d kneed him in the groin.
The client had ended up doubled over, screaming obscenities as the woman had fled the room.
“Look, I get it.” By the irritation in Bartlett’s tone, that didn’t mean he approved. “But times are tough. We needed that client.”
“What would you have had me do?”
“At least make a show of helping. Escort the lady out. My understanding is you didn’t move from your spot at the door.”
“It took all my energy not to knock the guy’s block off. I wasn’t about to pretend he didn’t deserve what he got. I signed up for this gig to protect people from guys like him.”
The elevator stopped and a family stepped on. Dad, mom, two kids. The younger, a curly-haired little boy, looked up at Asher and grinned, showing off some missing teeth.
What would it be like to have a family—and the means to support one? Enough money to stay in a five-star hotel with valets and concierge service?
Asher had never known that kind of security when he was a kid.
The elevator doors closed, and the numbers ticked down—six, five…
“This is my fault,” Bartlett said. “I shouldn’t have sent you out on your own. It was too soon.”
Irritation and worry churned in Asher’s stomach. “Respectfully, sir, I don’t need a keeper—”
“Apparently, you do. Someone to keep you from walking out on a paying client.”
Asher hadn’t walked out. He’d been ordered from the room when he hadn’t protected the client from an innocent woman who gave him what he deserved. Had the client really thought Asher would stand there and watch him assault his assistant?
Would Bartlett’s keeper have expected him to do that?
Asher needed this job. He needed to prove himself and his abilities. With his experience, he shouldn’t be an underling but a team leader. He’d been trying to prove his abilities since he’d started working for GBPA a few months before.
Seemed one decision had set him back, maybe permanently.
The elevator doors opened, and more people got on. More people to hear him getting dressed down by his boss.
Through the phone, Bartlett sighed. “I got a new job for you. This one’s high priority—someone who is actually in danger.”
“Details?”
“Forbes Ballentine, that billionaire up in Maine? You know who I mean?”
Everyone from coastal Maine had heard of the Forbes family. “Yes.”
“His business could mean a lot of paychecks. He’s throwing cash at us for a protection detail, and you just happen to be available.”
Asher shifted his weight, his mind already running scenarios. Forbes Ballentine. He knew the name, of course. Everyone who grew up in Shadow Cove had heard of Forbes Ballentine. “Recent events make him think he needs protection?”
“Not him. His girlfriend’s sister, Cecelia Wright. She’s Grant Wright’s cousin. You remember him and Summer?”
Asher knew Grant, who’d been one of GBPA’s early hires. He didn’t work there anymore, but his wife, Summer, was a part-owner. It had never occurred to Asher that Grant Wright might be related to Cecilia Wright.
Cici.
The name was a gut-punch, dragging up memories he’d buried deep—high school, her pretty smile, and the sting of her laughter when he’d dared to ask her to prom. He’d been a scrawny geek then, all braces and glasses and wild optimism.
That humiliation still burned, a quiet ember he’d never let anyone see.
The elevator finally dinged at the lobby, and the doors slid open. Asher followed the other passengers onto the polished marble floor, his footsteps echoing in the gigantic space filled with fancy chandeliers and fresh bouquets in crystal vases.
A blur in the corner of his eye had him turning just as the client’s assistant barreled into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Thank you so much! I was afraid you were going to stick up for him or something.”
Asher didn’t move, not quite sure how to handle the woman’s misplaced gratitude.
She stepped back and looked at him. “I would never have had the courage to do it if you hadn’t been there. I just knew by the look on your face that you were as horrified by his behavior as I was.”
“Rhodes? You there?” Bartlett’s voice cut through the haze. “Who is that?”
“One sec.” He covered the mouthpiece and took a step away from the woman. “No problem.”
“Where are you…?” Her eyes widened. “Oh, my gosh, did he fire you?”
“He requested a different protection officer, but—”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to get you in any trouble.”
“It’s fine.” At least he hoped it would be. “Just glad you’re smart enough not to work for a jerk like that. Good moves, by the way.”
She grinned, her head tilting to one side. “If you’re not busy, maybe we could grab dinner?”
“Sorry.” He indicated the phone. “I’ve already got another job. Thanks anyway.” He hurried past the woman and spoke into the mouthpiece. “What’s Cici gotten herself into?”
“You know her?”
Asher forced a steady, professional tone. “We went to high school together. What happened?”
“Ballentine says she found some stolen necklace tied to his parents’ murder. A jewelry store got hit today. Owner’s dead, and she saw it go down.”
The words had Asher’s heart rate ticking higher. “She’s safe?”
“She got away but thinks the killers are after her. She’s holed up at a hotel.”
Asher needed a break. What he didn’t need was to deal with the prom queen. But it was Cici. If she was in danger…
“She’s in Philly,” Bartlett said. “Job is to get her back to Shadow Cove alive, preferably with the fancy necklace.”
Cici Wright, running from murderers. That polished, perfect little rich girl he’d known had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Shopping for jewelry.
That figured.
Guarding Cici would mean babysitting the woman who’d humiliated him, who’d probably still look at him like the charity case he’d once been. He didn’t need that.
But as much as he didn’t want to see her again, he’d hate to think of something bad happening to her. And he needed to redeem himself in Bartlett’s eyes.
“This is big, Rhodes. Ballentine’s connected. We nail this, we could be looking at steady contracts. I need you on it. Tell me you’re in. If not… I guess I could send the new guy.”
Asher pictured the company’s new recruit, a former SEAL who had all the physical ability required but little in the way of strategic thinking and zero instincts for the job. “I wouldn’t trust that kid to guard my Skittles.”
Bartlett chuckled. “Everyone else is either assigned or too far away. Fact is, nobody can get there as soon as you can. If Cecilia Wright has any shot of getting out of this alive, we need to get to her now.”
Asher stopped near the lobby’s revolving doors, the bustle of Philadelphia filtering through the glass. This could be his opportunity to prove his value, his ability to handle a difficult client—and Cici would no doubt be difficult. But her life was in danger.
He’d signed up for this gig to protect people, even difficult people he’d hoped he’d never see again.
“Fine. I’m in.” He maneuvered through the revolving doors and into the muggy summer air. “I need supplies. Closest store’s ten minutes out. Tell Ballentine I’ll be at the hotel ASAP.”
“Good man. I’ll let him know and text you the address.”
“Got it.” Asher ended the call and shoved the phone into his pocket.
Get the supplies, get to the hotel, get Cici under control. He’d run this op like any other—tight, clean, no room for error. No room for old wounds to crack open, either.
He reached his truck, a battered black pickup that’d seen him through worse days than this, and tossed the duffel onto the passenger seat. As he slid behind the wheel, his phone buzzed again—Bartlett with the hotel details. He gave it a thumbs-up and started the engine.
He’d see this through for his team. And this time, when he came face-to-face with Cici, he’d keep his guard firmly in place.