Chapter 1
Viper arrived at Blackthorn Security headquarters in the heart of North Carolina at precisely 0900 hours. His shirt was crisp and immaculate, his suit, while not from Madison Avenue, was the finest he could afford. His shoes gleamed so brightly that he could see his reflection in them. He wanted to look the part. This was the most important meeting of his career, and he couldn't afford to screw it up.
"Don't worry, Pat's a good guy," Blade had told him during his surprise visit last week. "I served with his son over in Afghanistan."
Viper wasn't so sure. He'd heard that Pat was a hard man to get to know. Stubborn and unflinching when it came to picking and choosing their operations, absolutely incorruptible, and a force to be reckoned with. Rumor had it that he even made the smooth-talking politicians on Capitol Hill quake in their boots. A man to be admired, but it did make him rather formidable. But then, he'd expect nothing less from a former SEAL Commander.
Pat's reputation preceded him. He'd built Blackthorn Security into an organization steeped in secrecy and rumor. His operatives were all ex-military, mostly spec ops, and they got the job done. Their success rate was through the roof, which was a lot more than could be said for most private security companies.
Viper had researched them thoroughly after Blade's visit.
Blade Wilson.
Now there was a blast from the past. He'd never thought he'd see that mountain of a man again, not since the SEAL’s last op in Afghanistan where his entire team bar one had been taken out. After that, Blade had bailed on the military—medical discharge—and the last Viper had heard, he'd gone missing—presumed dead—in the Middle East during an off-the-books assignment.
"I thought you were dead," he'd told him through a God Almighty hangover, when his old acquaintance had appeared at his door a couple of days ago.
Blade had snorted. "Takes more than a few angry Taliban soldiers to put me down. I heard you were out and thought I'd pop over for a cup of joe. You going to invite me in?"
Viper didn't have much choice. Blade was blocking his doorway and didn't look like he was going to move any time soon.
"Sure, why not? I could use one myself."
"Rough night?"
Viper ran a hand through his disheveled hair and winced at the tender spot on the side of his head. He'd literally peeled himself off the couch five minutes ago.
"Nasty graze you got there. How'd it happen?"
"I think someone hit me over the head with a bottle," he complained, feeling it with his finger. "But it's a bit hazy."
Blade studied him. "Bar fight?"
A shrug. "Something like that."
They walked into the kitchen where Viper poured two cups of coffee from a freshly made pot. He didn’t even ask if he wanted cream, just handed it to him black.
No cream in the Middle East. They’d all gotten used to drinking it black.
Viper turned to face his buddy, still confused as to why he was here. "So, you were just passing through the neighborhood and thought you'd look me up?"
"Yeah, and I've got a proposition for you."
Viper sat down a little unsteadily. His head was pounding, but he couldn't decide if it was because of his hangover or the dent in his hairline. "A proposition? What kind of proposition?"
Blade sat opposite him at the kitchen table. "I heard you'd been making a bit of a nuisance of yourself.” He'd always been very direct. Not one to beat around the bush.
"Who told you that? I was helping a damsel in distress. Some guy was laying into her. I just shoved him off." And got a bottle in the head as a screw you.
Blade glanced at the wound that Viper hadn't even bothered to clean up yet. It was still seeping, despite the scab beginning to form. "Something tells me he didn't appreciate it."
Viper winced. "You could say that. The cops didn't appreciate my good will either. Spent half the night in lockup."
Blade sipped his coffee contemplatively.
"What's going on, Viper?" he asked after a pause. "This isn't like you. You’re a SEAL sniper for God’s sake, you take out the enemy from a distance. You don't go around looking for bar fights."
"I told you, I was helping?—"
"Yeah, I know what you said. It's just unlike you, that's all. Are you bored or something?"
Viper stared into his coffee, still gently swirling from where he'd stirred it. A long moment passed where he said nothing at all. When he finally spoke, his voice was a hoarse whisper. "I'm so freaking bored, I'm thinking about putting a bullet through my head."
"Jesus, man. Why don't you get help?"
"Hey, don't panic. I'm not suicidal, not really. I just don't know what to do with myself. I thought about getting a job, but I'm not qualified for anything, except maybe working on the oil rigs up in Alaska. I don't want to be a fucking security guard at a shopping mall. This not knowing what to do is killing me." He ground his jaw and clutched his mug so hard he thought it might break.
"That's why I'm here," Blade said.
Viper glanced up.
"I've got a job for you."
He frowned. "Where?"
"Where I work, at Blackthorn Security."
"You work for them?" Everyone on the private security circuit knew about Blackthorn Security. Ex-Special Ops guys on off-the-book assignments for the U.S. government, as well as some private clients. Most of the time, they were talked about in hushed tones with a degree of reverence usually reserved for legends in the field.
"Yeah, I'm the Ops Manager. I started the company with Pat Burke after I got back from Afghanistan. I was in a dark place, and he came to me with his idea, and we took it from there."
Viper stared at him. "I had no freaking idea, man."
"Not many people do."
"So, what does the esteemed Blackthorn Security want with me?"
"We have a job that requires your particular skill set, and we're pretty swamped at the moment. Business is booming and we’re still recruiting operatives. There's a lot of bad crap going down in the world."
Viper scoffed. Blade didn't have to tell him that. He'd been involved in more than his fair share of it over the last decade.
"You've done personal protection work before, haven't you? I seem to remember you guarding those oil engineers out in Iraq a couple of years back."
"Yeah, although that was a sideline. A special favor for the Navy." He shrugged. “You know my skillset is somewhat different.”
"I know." Blade gave a slow grin. "That’s what makes you perfect for this job. We've got a client who needs close protection around the clock. She's a very important client, a personal friend of Pat's, and she's been getting death threats."
"Who is it?"
"Doesn’t matter. It's a job. We could really use your help on this one, man. If all goes well, we'll sign you on full-time. Pension plan, dental, the works. We have ops all over the world. It's a great opportunity."
Viper hadn't had to think about it for long.
After Blade had left, he'd showered, gone to the nearest walk-in clinic and got three stitches in his head, then called Blade back and accepted.
His stitches had been removed yesterday, and while his scar was still red and ugly, it was healing fast and was partially covered by his hairline.
"Wait here," the receptionist told him and picked up the phone. "Your nine o'clock's arrived, sir."
She smiled at Viper and stood up. "Follow me, Mr. Morgan."
They walked through a set of thick, glass security doors and down a short corridor. His shiny shoes sank into the plush carpeting as he gazed out of large, spotless windows on the right-hand side that overlooked a busy street. In the distance, the imposing structure of Fort Bragg loomed, a reminder of their roots and the disciplined precision that underpinned their operations.
The receptionist knocked on a door, then opened it without waiting for a reply. Shooting him a professional smile, she said, "Mr. Burke will see you now."
Viper took a deep breath. It stilled his nerves, not that he really had any. Calm, control, stillness—the traits of a sharpshooter. He’d learned years ago how to silence his mind, vanquish his nerves, wait patiently for the shot. He used the same technique now, as he nodded his thanks, then when he was ready, went inside.
The Commander stood up. At over six foot with a face made of granite, he looked every bit the tough former SEAL Commander he was reputed to be. "Ah, Victor Morgan—or do you prefer Viper?”
“Viper, sir.”
A nod. They shook hands. “I've heard good things about you. Excellent job in rescuing those hostages in Colombia. Could have been much worse than it was, if not for your brave act."
Viper shrugged it off. "I did what anyone in my position would have done, sir."
Pat locked his dark eyes on him. "Nonetheless, it was very well done. I'm sorry you got discharged over it. How are you feeling?"
"Fine. Never been in better shape."
"Bullet wounds all healed up?"
He nodded. "Weeks ago."
Pat's gaze lifted to the wound on his temple.
Viper held his tongue. The Blackthorn Security boss would have been told about his little bar fight and stint in the holding cell down at the Cumberland County Sheriff's Office. Too bad, there was nothing he could do about that now. Would it scupper his chances? He sure as hell hoped not.
He needed this job. It was more than just a job—it was a lifeline. Blackthorn Security. Hell, he would be lucky enough to be offered a position as a PPO at any firm, let alone here.
"Is that going to be a problem for you?" Pat asked pointedly.
"No, sir. It won't happen again."
Pat nodded and moved on. Viper exhaled.
"I think Blade explained what we need?"
He nodded. "Yes, sir. You need a personal protection officer for a client."
"A personal friend," he corrected. "I knew her mother."
"Yes, sir."
"And I understand you're keen to take on the role?"
"Yes, sir."
Please...
He clenched his fists under the table.
Pat nodded and looked him up and down. "Your reputation speaks for itself. If you're in agreement, then we can sign you on for a trial run. One op, and then we’ll take it from there. How does that sound?"
Viper hissed out a slow breath. “That sounds good.”
Pat slid a document over the desk towards Viper. "It says this is a probationary phase, and after this assignment ends, we'll make you a permanent offer. Short and sweet. I didn't have time to go into detail. You know the risks, you’ve done this before."
He gave a stoic nod, picked up a pen, and signed on the dotted line.
"Excellent." Pat grinned, and the granite cracked a little. He seemed less intimidating now. "I believe our client is waiting, so you can meet her right away."
"She's here, now?" Viper sat up straighter.
"Yeah, I asked her to come in so I could introduce you."
He'd been so sure Viper would say yes. That stung a little, but then, who wouldn't? It was Blackthorn Security. He'd be a fool not to accept the position.
Pat picked up the phone. "Show her in, Maisie."
A few minutes later, the office door swung open, and—Holy Hell!—in walked the most stunning woman Viper had ever seen. Tall, close to five foot ten, with legs that stretched all the way to Canada, a Marilyn Monroe hourglass figure, and features that could grace the cover of a magazine.
He was momentarily speechless. Then he stumbled to his feet.
Pat reached out an arm. "Izzy, come on in. I want you to meet your assigned personal protection officer, Viper Morgan."
The woman walked in and looked him over. Her expressive brown eyes studied his face lingering on his mouth, then dropped to his chest, flickered briefly over his biceps, before lowering to his legs. Now knew how women felt when guys ogled them. Right now he felt like a piece of meat on display.
She gave a little nod, as if to say, “you'll do”, then stuck out her hand. "Izzy Beaumont. Good to meet you." Her voice was like cut glass, posh and crystal clear.
He puffed out his chest,—may as well look the part—forced a smile and engulfed her proffered hand in his hard, rough one. Her skin was soft, her nails perfectly manicured. A sensual exotic fragrance wafted over him. Floral, with a hint of something alluring. Vanilla, maybe. His gaze met hers. "Likewise."
She dropped her eyes first, pulling her hand away. He waited until she'd sat down, then resumed his seat.
"I take it you've told him about the death threats?" Her question was directed at Pat, but she was annoyed, he could hear it in her voice. Because he hadn’t let her get the upper hand, or because she didn’t want a bodyguard to begin with?
"Briefly. Why don’t you fill him in on the details?"
The stunner turned to Viper. He tried not to stare at her long, smooth legs ending in high-heeled sandals, or the coral nail polish on her toes. The short summer dress she wore had risen up around her thighs. He had a fleeting image of those legs wrapped around him.
What the fuck?
Where had that thought come from?
He hardly knew the woman. Swallowing, he banished the indecent image to the furthest recesses of his mind.
"I don't know if you're aware, Mr. Morgan, but my father, Richard Beaumont, recently passed away."
"I'm sorry," he said. He didn't have a clue who Richard Beaumont was.
"Thank you." She paused, studying him. "To give you some background, he was the founder and CEO of Omega Enterprises, a mining conglomerate with interests all over Central and South America. When he died, he left the company to me. I am now the majority shareholder."
Viper had heard of Omega Enterprises. Money and power. That was quite a responsibility for one so young. She looked maybe twenty-four, twenty-five, which made her eight or nine years younger than him.
"I think these death threats are related to that."
"Do you have them with you?" Viper asked.
"No, I gave them to the police."
"There are copies in Miss Beaumont's file," Pat informed him.
Viper nodded. He'd look them up later.
"Anyway, the police believe I've got to take them seriously, so I sought out Pat, who said he could help. I understand you have prior experience in this area?"
Viper nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
"Okay, good. Well, I'd like you to start immediately, if possible. I'm leaving for San Diego tomorrow. It's kind of a working vacation, and I want you to come."
Viper glanced at Pat, who nodded. "Don't worry, Viper is ready to accompany you. We'll have to sort out the license for his weapon, but otherwise, he's good to go."
Guess he was going to San Diego.
Izzy smiled, the first time since she'd walked into the room. "It's a fashion shoot for my new swimwear line. To be honest, I could do with a break. It's been a very trying few weeks."
"I'm sure." Pat smiled fondly. "Have fun and don't worry about a thing. Viper is as good as they come. You're in safe hands." When he wasn't drinking himself into a coma and getting involved in bar fights, yes.
She arched a perfectly shaped brow. "You can pick me up at five o'clock tomorrow morning. We fly out at seven-thirty."
"I'll need a list of those traveling with you," Viper said. "In order to vet them."
She hesitated, then nodded. "Of course, I'll see my assistant gets that off to you ASAP."
Her assistant?
He was battling to reconcile the swimwear line with the mining conglomerate. What did one have to do with the other? But he kept his questions to himself. All would be revealed in time when he had a chance to look over her file.
"See you tomorrow, then, Miss Beaumont."
She gave a terse nod, then turned to his boss. "Thank you, Uncle Pat. I appreciate your help."
Uncle?
Damn. When Blade had said friend of the family, he wasn't kidding.
Pat came around the desk and embraced her. If he was embarrassed by her term of endearment, he didn't show it. "Any time, Izzy. You know that."
Viper's eyes widened even further. Human contact from the formidable Pat Burke. Who would have thought it?
Izzy Beaumont swept out in her cloud of designer perfume.
"She's quite something, isn't she?" mused Pat, staring after her. "Done remarkably well for herself since her mother's death."
"It must be challenging, running the mining conglomerate."
Pat laughed, deep and growly. “Izzy's got her own fashion empire. She's what they call an influencer, I believe. Not that I'm one for social media.”
Viper’s eyes widened.
“She’s got millions of followers. That makes her a very important asset to fashion brands. She's got her own swimwear line, as you heard, and a signature perfume. I understand she's in talks for other ventures too. Quite the entrepreneur, is our Izzy."
Our Izzy?
"You're related to her, sir?"
Pat's eyes flickered. "Not in the traditional sense, but I've known Izzy since she was a baby, and as her parents are both dead, I feel a certain responsibility towards her. She's my goddaughter."
Goddaughter.
Holy crap. He'd better not screw up.
Viper cleared his throat. "Thank you, sir, for the opportunity. I'm honored to be working for Blackthorn Security."
Pat shook his hand. “Glad to have you on board.” His hair was turning silver at the sides, but he was still a rock of a man. Stocky and broad, he was built like a wrestler and clearly worked out regularly in the gym. Even his handshake was crushing. "Maisie will show you to your desk, where you can prep for tomorrow. There's quite a bit more on Izzy and her father’s company in the file, and you should check out her Instagram profile—see what all the hype is about." He masked a grin. "I think you'll be surprised."