Chapter 2 Tom
TOM
My feet pound against the dirt road as I follow the path back to the small cabin I’m calling home for the next week. My former boss and friend, Cullen Andrews, thought it would do me some good to take a vacation and visit him and his family for a while.
Relax.
But relaxing isn’t really my style.
Going from the military to working for Andrews International had been seamless—one dedicated mission to the next.
Purpose.
But Cullen’s heart attack, coupled with reuniting with his estranged daughter, had landed him here, in Clementine Creek, and full of wisdom on slowing down and enjoying the ride.
I like my ride just fine.
In the fast lane.
Luckily, Cullen’s brother and niece have no interest in his newfound lifestyle, so Andrews International will keep expanding and I’ll remain gainfully employed.
Thank fuck.
I have one retirement under my belt, but the thought of sitting at home has my eye twitching and I’ve already seen the world—the military made sure of that.
So, Chicago it is.
In the earlier years, the Andrews brothers focused on the management of funds for international clients traveling both within the United States and around the world, and the security work reflected that. Basic personal security and some travel with clients was the extent of my day-to-day life.
But each year brought new challenges and opportunities to offer additional services to clients while ensuring Andrews International is protected from internal and external threats.
Today, fund management is only a fraction of what they do.
Their business has changed, and as the head of security, so has mine.
I went from managing a small team within our city to monitoring the teams across the country while still running my own handpicked group in Chicago.
Our retention is high and our work is efficient which has allowed me to make a name for myself in the organization.
I’m nearly to the cabin when my watch alerts me to an incoming call. I don’t recognize the number, and while I’d usually let it go to voicemail, my gut is telling me to answer it.
And I always trust my gut.
Slowing to a walk, I fish my cell from my pocket and connect the call. “Oakden.”
“Tom, my name is Colt Harrington. I’m at home in Chicago, but I have a house next to Hank and Isla on the lake.”
I stop and peer out at said lake, my head turning to the side toward the property currently hidden by the trees.
I know exactly who he is, but it’s an interesting choice for an introduction.
He could have said he’s the owner of the Iron Cask, a local restaurant, or that he’s the shortstop for the Illinois Blues, or that I have a working relationship with his lawyer friend, Roan Ellis.
But he chose Hank and Isla, Cullen’s daughter and son-in-law.
The reason I’m here in Clementine Creek on vacation.
It’s personal.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Harrington?”
“I need a favor, and I don’t care how many I owe in return.”
That feeling in my gut intensifies as I pick up my pace, avoiding a tree root as I move toward the cabin door.
“I’m listening.”
“My sister is a children’s book author but she has another job that has garnered her some dangerous attention. Things have escalated to a level we—I—can’t manage on my own. I want my sister safe.”
Ah.
His sister needs a bodyguard.
A private job.
“I don’t do private security.”
“I’ll pay whatever it costs.”
I need a favor, and I don’t care how many I owe in return.
“I’m on vacation,” I tell him halfheartedly as my gaze falls on my mostly packed luggage sitting next to the bed made with military precision.
For the first time since our conversation started, there’s a hint of amusement in his voice. “Isla said she’ll have the plane ready first thing in the morning.”
“That’s a long time if you believe your sister is in danger, Mr. Harrington.”
“She’s staying with me and besides”—he chuckles—“it was Isla’s final offer. She said you were expected at dinner tonight. No exceptions.”
Typical.
Small-town living and motherhood did nothing to dampen the absolute powerhouse that is Isla Andrews.
Well, Isla Thayer now.
Time flies.
“Send all the available information you’re comfortable with as soon as possible and I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Thank you,” Colt says, “and tell Hank and Isla I said hello.”
The line goes dead before I have a chance to respond, only to have a text light up the screen.
ISLA: Your flight leaves at 6am
ISLA: Dad said come over after your run
TOM: I’m supposed to be on vacation
ISLA: You hate vacations
ISLA: So, you’re welcome
TOM: That doesn’t change the fact I’m buying your kids the loudest gifts I can find for their birthday, Christmas, and any other occasion that requires a present
ISLA: That’s fine, I’ll send those to Dad’s house—that man has completely lost the word no from his vocabulary
TOM: It’s such a wonder why you’re my favorite.
ISLA: I can’t wait to tell Emerson
Shaking my head, I smirk because we both know she’ll do no such thing. She’s too much like me and neither of us want to make her cousin sad.
ISLA: Seriously though, thank you for taking on Colt’s sister—I know it’s not your usual job but it’s important to me
TOM: I’ll make sure she’s safe
ISLA: I know, now come wrangle some babies before you have to leave
TOM: Two offers I can’t refuse today
ISLA: You’re a lucky man, Oakey
The nickname is a silly one that hits me square in the chest like it always does, but she’s right—I’m a lucky man.
A lucky man, indeed.