Broken Bodyguard (The Nightingales of Wall Street #1)

CHAPTER ONE

TROY

“A ny chance you’re heading south soon?”

The soft urgency in Mercedes’s question broke through the din of the Manhattan restaurant. All around us, conversation roared inside the upscale Italian eatery. Our plates were empty in front of us, awaiting the renowned lasagnas and cacio e pepe that the Fairchild party had ordered. Dining out with this crew was always a lavish affair, and I had no problem enjoying the spoils.

I looked over at her, trying to figure out what ‘south’ she referred to. I must have taken too long to answer because she hurried to add, “Southern US.” She offered a small smile, but there was worry tugging at the corners of her eyes.

“I might be,” I told her, reaching for my frosted glass of beer. They never gave you the bottles in places like this, so I was forced to look like a cultured man. “What’s going on?”

Mercedes glanced at Willow, who sat between her and Trace at the long table, drawing on a pad of paper they’d brought along. Then she drew a deep breath, leaning closer to me. “If you were heading in that direction, I was thinking of asking you for a favor.”

I took a pull of beer. I was always heading in a new direction. I’d ended a six-month stint in Los Angeles back in November, and then I’d come to New York for a holiday breather, though I’d accidentally picked up a couple gigs while I was visiting. My life was like that. Always fun, always a surprise, always on the go. And I had no intention of stopping or settling down.

I didn’t know anything but transience. Since day one.

“It sounds like you need me to head in that direction.” I lifted a brow.

“I just thought that, well—” She expelled a worried burst of air, her hands finding the bump of her belly. She’d revealed a month ago that she and Trace were expecting, and it was cool to see her growing in real time. “Do you remember my sister-in-law Maddie?”

I was mid-sip when she asked the question, and the beer went down the wrong pipe. I coughed, damn near choking.

Remember Maddie? That brunette with all the curves, the soft smile, and the most infectious laughter I’d heard since…I didn’t even fucking know when? The sugar sweet schoolteacher with the little girl on her hip who’d made Jordan and Seven’s Christmas party evaporate in the blink of an eye as we chatted in the far corner?

Yeah, I fucking remembered her.

Couldn’t stop thinking about her, either.

“Yeah,” I said, setting my beer back on the table. A safe, non-choking distance away. “Is she coming north again, or…?” My heart rate picked up. Thankfully, Mercedes wouldn’t catch on to that. I didn’t make a habit of lusting after single moms who lived a thousand miles away from my security gig du jour. With my lifestyle I knew better than that.

Still, Maddie had burrowed into my brain. And even a month after our goodbyes, I still thought about her every day. I’d stopped myself from begging for Maddie’s number more times than I cared to admit.

Mercedes was just about to respond when a wave of raucous greetings overcame our conversation. Trace surged to his feet at Mercedes’s side, followed by his brothers Axel and Damian farther down the table. I couldn’t see yet who had arrived, but those three brothers knew just about everyone in Manhattan, either from advising them on their finances and investments or from rubbing elbows with them in elite circles. My best friend Seven, sitting across the table with his girlfriend Jordan, also seemed to recognize the newcomer because he pushed to standing and came around the table. I didn’t really care who was here. I needed to know what Mercedes had to say about Maddie.

“I can’t believe you had a reservation for the same time.” Trace’s voice boomed as he pulled the newcomer into a quick bro hug. I caught a flash of tattoos creeping down a manly forearm. I cleared my throat, ready to prompt Mercedes again, when Trace shouted my name.

“Trojan! I need you for a second.” Trace waved me to standing, his dark eyes shining with mischief. “I’ve been talking you up to this guy for too long.”

Now my gig radar was pinging. I had the distant urge to tell Trace to wait until my conversation with Mercedes was over, but even Mercedes looked excited by whoever was here.

I pushed my chair back from the table. Trace, Axel, and Damian owned Fairchild Enterprises on Wall Street, a successful and well-known wealth management company. After their company had been investigated by the SEC for financial fraud, the ensuing drama and ultimate name-clearing could be made into a high-drama Netflix series. If the investigation had hindered their business in any way, it certainly didn’t show. The brothers were more famous than some of the A-list actors we occasionally saw out on the town.

The Fairchilds had gathered around the newcomer at the end of the table. I joined them, nodding at the brawny, suited man. He almost passed for any other Wall Street type—button-up shirt, sleeves rolled back, pressed black pants—except for the tattoos. His arms were covered in ink, and some crept past the collar of his shirt as well.

“Nash. I’ve been wanting you to meet this one. He’s the CPO I’ve been talking about.” Trace’s dark eyes gleamed as he clapped my back, which only made me stand taller. At six four, I was the tallest one here—but Trace and this Nash guy were close seconds. “Trojan, meet Nash Nightingale.”

Nash stuck out a hand, which I shook firmly. His eyes were a dizzying shade of blue, something between clouds and lake ice.

“Trojan, it’s great to finally meet you. You come highly recommended.”

I looked around at the Fairchild brothers. “I didn’t realize I was being recommended.”

“We are perpetually recommending you,” Axel said with a grin. To Nash, he said, “If you need a connection, this guy has got it. He pulled an ex-CIA operative out of his ass for us once when we needed one.”

Nash smiled in a calculating way. His gaze hadn’t moved from me, and I could tell he was sizing me up for something. Though I didn’t know what for, I was more intrigued than I wanted to let on. The Fairchilds were part of my inner circle now, so I trusted their judgement. Which was why whatever Mercedes was about to ask me to do, I already knew my answer. And if the brothers were talking me up to a potential employer, I could bank on it being a good next gig.

“I’ve got more where he came from.” I cracked a grin, and Axel burst into laughter.

“Trojan is best friends with Seven, who heads our family’s security detail,” Trace told Nash. “They’re old military buddies turned security experts.”

“Why haven’t you joined your friend’s business?” Nash asked quickly. The question almost caused me to take a step back. I could sense the awareness behind the question. Astute, this one.

“Seven has his own firm,” I explained, “which is New York-focused. I, on the other hand, want to keep traveling the world while skirting complicated tax returns.”

Nash grinned, nodding. “So traveling is important to you?”

“Among other things.”

“Very diplomatic way of saying he’s going to need a very high salary,” Axel added. I was ready to elbow Axel—not because he was wrong, but because it thrust us into salary talks when our appetizers were just about to arrive and I could barely pry my mind off what I might learn about Maddie at the other end of the table. But this was how business deals worked in Manhattan. It was breakneck or nothing.

“A high salary will be no problem,” Nash said smoothly. His white-toothed grin and understated but expensive-as-hell rings struck me as right on par for the elite circles I’d heard about through Seven. But Nash also had a rough edge that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Like he wasn’t from here, or if he was, he hadn’t come from wealth.

“As long as the work ethic is there and long hours aren’t an issue,” Nash went on. “I’ll be honest, I don’t want to hire anyone that doesn’t come with a recommendation like you’ve gotten from the Fairchilds. Close protection officers are a dime a dozen, but the good ones are harder to find. And I haven’t come across a single CPO with a recommendation like yours.”

Nash’s words hung in the air, and for a moment, the entire restaurant shrank away. Somehow, I was on the cusp of a job offer. Ten minutes ago, I’d been debating between red or cream sauce. The time was right, though. I was nearing the end of my current short-term gig here in the city, which meant I needed to figure out where I was heading next. This was the life of a qualified CPO who didn’t like to stay in one place for too long.

“What sort of protection are you looking for?” I noticed Trace, Damian, and Axel had quietly faded away, leaving Nash and me to negotiate on our own. I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my khakis. If I had to negotiate a new contract while waiting for lasagna, so be it. Wall Street, I’ll play the game your way.

Nash took a step closer, his ice-blue gaze darting around as though searching for spies. When he spoke, his voice had dropped a few decibels. “My brother and I have experienced a…change in income. We’re eager to hire someone who can come along for the ride and be okay with a slightly more unconventional approach than what’s typical in Manhattan. We’re not looking for protection from the paparazzi. We need protection from…haters. The occasional kidnapper. Things like that.”

Something clicked inside with the use of the word ‘hater’. The Fairchilds were the kings of unconventional on Wall Street and had garnered their own set of enemies. From the sound of it, Nash Nightingale was new money, much like the Fairchilds had been when they came onto the scene a decade ago. It only made sense they’d befriend someone like this. And as for the occasional kidnapper…that was par for the course with most wealthy people. They were usually targets for thieves, whether for robbery, or a well-timed hostage situation that led to a hefty ransom.

Nash needed an outsider. Like he was. Like the Fairchilds were. Like I was.

“Trust me, I have no allegiance to how things are done in Manhattan,” I told him. “My last gig was in California, and before that, Paris. I’ve worked in ten countries over the last five years. Consider me a neutral party.”

Nash’s dental ad grin grew even wider. “Good. I’m a little tired of the rules here, and I’d like to find somebody that has a broader perspective.”

“Broad and willing,” I cracked.

“How do you feel about a trial run?” Nash’s dark brow lifted imperceptibly. “A few weeks in Ecuador. We’re leaving next week. You come with us, get to know me and my brother, and then we can see how we feel about terms moving forward.”

Ecuador. A few weeks. Equal likelihood of this turning out to be a drug deal or investment opportunity, but either way, I was down for the adventure. “Sounds like a plan.” I fished out a business card from my wallet, handing it to Nash. “Send me the travel info, where we should meet, all the details. Plus your salary offer. I’ll be there.”

Nash pocketed the card, offering me a final handshake just as the server appeared with a steaming tray of food. “Enjoy your meal, Trojan. It was great to meet you.”

Nash strode further into the restaurant, and I returned to my seat to a round of cheers from the brothers.

“Done deal or what?” Damian asked as he slung his arm around his girlfriend Jessa.

“We’re going to South America together.” I laid my napkin back in my lap, watching as the server set out small platters of oysters, scallops, and crabcakes. “Feels pretty done to me.”

“Sounds like you guys are already end game,” Axel said.

“Things happen fast in the Fairchild world, I’ve learned.” I forked a scallop as the plate made its way to me. “And here I thought we were just going to enjoy dinner together.”

“There’s no such thing as downtime with these guys,” Seven murmured, grabbing a piece of bread from the bowl being passed.

“South America sounds exciting,” Mercedes said with a grin. “Trace and I went to Chile last year for a wine tour. It was incredible.”

“Only drank Petit Verdot for four days,” Trace chimed in.

I took a quick sip of beer, more than ready to return to the most pressing matter at hand: what Mercedes had been about to tell me. “That sounds fancy. Mercedes, what were you in the middle of telling me before Nash showed up?”

She shook her head, waving it off. “It was nothing. If you’re going to be starting something with the Nightingales, I don’t want to interfere—”

“It’s no bother,” I reassured her, even though I had no idea what she’d been about to suggest. I just knew that it was attached to Maddie. “Is everything okay?”

Mercedes sighed, crumpling slightly. “Technically, yes? I just…I’m worried about Maddie.”

Now we were getting somewhere. “Tell me more.”

“She’s been back in Louisville for the last few weeks, and she’s been having some issues getting my brother to finalize the divorce.” She drew a measured breath, gnawing on the inside of her cheek as she cut a scallop in half with her fork. “I’m worried things might get ugly. I have a feeling Jericho isn’t going to make it easy on her.”

Jericho, Mercedes’s brother, was now Maddie’s ex. I’d heard him mentioned once during my conversation with Maddie, but she didn’t linger there, and I got no details other than he was the father of Maddie’s daughter Grace, who had also joined her in New York City for the holidays. A fist formed in my gut as the pieces started to click together.

“Has Jericho been violent in the past?”

Mercedes’s throat bobbed. “Manipulative is probably a better word. He has a knack for playing dirty. He was the one who originally broke me and Trace up when we first dated a decade ago, though I never found out until years later. And then Trace experienced Jericho’s ways firsthand when he was staying in Louisville a year and a half ago. My brother will ruin your life without laying a finger on you.”

“Sounds like a winner.” I frowned down at my plate, suddenly not hungry. I didn’t like knowing this about Maddie’s ex. Now I was dying to do something about it.

“He’s horrible. I can’t wait until we no longer share the same last name. He and I haven’t spoken for over a year and I have no intentions to change that.”

“How’d you come out so nice?”

She laughed bitterly. “Don’t you know? Southern girls are supposed to be sweet. Southern boys just take what they want.”

I took another pull at my beer and cleared my throat. “It doesn’t sound like Maddie is safe around him.”

“I don’t think anybody is safe around him. Jericho’s been getting more erratic, based on what I’ve heard from Maddie. And that’s what makes me scared.” Mercedes paused to tend to Willow, who asked for help—and it could only be from Mercedes—with drinking her lemonade. When Willow was satisfied, Mercedes turned back to me. “Anyway, I was going to see if you had plans to go anywhere near there and convince you to make a pit stop and check in on her. But it sounds like you’ve set your plans now, so I’ll see about sending someone else—”

“I am heading that way, actually.”

Her green eyes widened. “Oh. You are?”

“Yeah.” I wracked my brain to think about who in my network was in that area. Who could I call up or pretend to visit? “I’d planned to visit my friend’s cabin after my gig here ended. Even with the Nightingale offer, I can still do that. I’m pretty sure his cabin is in northern Kentucky somewhere.”

She clutched at the sides of her face. “Oh my goodness. This is perfect! I thought it would be a long shot, so I almost didn’t ask.”

I didn’t tell her that I’d rent a cabin if I had to, just to make sure Maddie was safe. My protectiveness didn’t make sense to me. I’d spent a total of eight hours with Maddie and her daughter Grace, yet I’d said goodbye to her that night feeling like I was leaving my wife behind. I didn’t form connections like that, the type where it felt destiny was somehow at work. The connections I had usually involved a dating app, one night, and zero follow-up.

But Maddie was different. From the second I saw her, I felt like I’d known her for years. And I couldn’t say why.

“I’d be happy to check in on her,” I told Mercedes.

And I meant it with every cell of my being.

Here was my chance to see if that connection with Maddie had been a holiday fluke.