Chapter 5
He sipped on his half-empty mug of lukewarm tea and tried not to make a face. Water brewed through the persnickety phantom monk was fine for coffee, but it made for a significantly subpar cup of tea. He really needed to get a proper kettle in here. Maybe he’d purchase one this weekend.
Absently, he started a mental to-do list for the weekend.
A grocery run was in order. If he was lucky, the grocer would carry kettles too, and he wouldn’t have to wait for an online purchase to arrive.
Or he could stop at a supermarket on the way home from Sunday dinner with his grandparents in Cincinnati.
Though he loved visiting with them, he also dreaded it.
Every time he came, they welcomed him with open arms. Told him how proud they were of him.
But before the day was out, one or both of them would ask if he’d figured things out yet.
They knew this security gig met his financial needs, but no matter how much he tried to convince them he was happy, they could see he wasn’t truly content. But for now, he had to try to be.
That was part of the reason he’d moved to Kincaid—he’d needed space, a change, a way to support himself while taking an indefinite break from the career he no longer felt suited for.
And at first, he’d hoped to force himself to get over his PTSD or whatever it was that had shattered his ability to do his job.
His self-imposed exposure therapy hadn’t really worked though.
He still hadn’t figured out how to come to grips with what happened two years ago.
On a surface level, he’d improved just enough that he could drive by the scene of the crash, but he had to fight against a panic attack every single time.
It wasn’t enough. He still felt like he was barely functioning sometimes.
He wished he could confront the man responsible—but that was impossible.
The perpetrator was dead. And he couldn’t bluster his way through new contracts until he felt confident again.
“Do it scared” might work for some careers, but not his.
People didn’t seek out a bodyguard for the fun of it.
They called when their safety was on the line.
And if he couldn’t even protect himself, he had no business trying to protect someone else.
At this point, he’d almost be willing to settle for analyzing what had happened on the road that fateful night.
But he had no memory of the incident that almost took his life.
One minute he’d been sitting in his parked car outside a client’s house.
Next thing he knew, he was waking up in the hospital with several broken bones, a concussion, and a nasty gash on his head.
The police said he’d been drugged, along with his protectee, Corina Roberts—now Corina Jessup, from what he’d learned—and everyone else in the house.
That didn’t explain how he’d ended up thrown from his vehicle after going through a guardrail.
He wouldn’t have been driving—at least, he didn’t think so.
The plan had been for him to spend the night keeping watch outside while everyone else slept.
Try as he might, he couldn’t come up with a scenario where he would have left his client unprotected.
But either he had done just that—which he doubted, considering the drug in his system was a sedative, not a stimulant or hallucinogen—or the man threatening Peter’s client had orchestrated the “accident” while Peter was out cold.
Whatever the case, the only one who might know what happened that night had taken his knowledge with him to the grave. Peter would never know the details.
Either way, he had failed. There was no guarantee he wouldn’t again, and next time it might cost someone their life. He couldn’t take that chance.
So when a friend had mentioned this security gig, he’d jumped at the chance to transition to something with lower stakes. None of the businesses here operated overnight. Meaning no one would die if he failed again.
And the fact it was in Kincaid had seemed like a bonus.
Though part of him would like to forget his failures, another part felt like he had unfinished business here.
Didn’t hurt that Kincaid was a decent place to live.
And despite its small size, when he’d finally accepted that he needed professional help to deal with the PTSD, he’d been able to find a local therapist willing to take him on as a client when a space opened up.
Last month, Peter had finally gotten in, and his first couple of appointments had gone well.
Perhaps there was hope for his situation yet.
As he lifted the sad excuse for a hot cuppa to his lips again, a shadow flickered at the edge of one of the screens.
Peter straightened, zeroing in on the live feed but not alarmed yet.
It could be a deer or raccoon. There was a large population of both in the area.
But when a figure emerged a minute later, he frowned.
That was clearly a human, and a suspicious-acting one at that.
Despite moving purposefully, as if they belonged there, the person kept their head down and their hood up, ensuring the cameras would have no view of their face.
He watched as the figure glanced over their shoulder toward the road, then skirted along the edge of the building toward the main entrance. Eyes glued to the screen, Peter rose. This wasn’t looking good.
The person reached the doors, gave an appraising tug. When the locked door didn’t budge, they lifted their eyes. Looked straight at the camera.
Peter’s blood chilled at the sight of the black ski mask.
The person tugged the door again. Cupped their hands around their face and peered through the glass.
Then they abruptly turned and started making their way around the building, but in the opposite direction they’d come.
They rounded the corner and disappeared briefly before reappearing on a new screen.
Were they looking for another way inside?
He wasn’t sure, but they didn’t look like they were leaving.
He’d need to confront them before they decided to force their way in.
As protocol demanded, he put in a call to the local police’s nonemergency line and let them know he was going to check things out but was requesting a patrol car swing by.
That done, he holstered his phone and drew his weapon before quietly exiting his office through a side door that led directly outside rather than through the main lobby.
A cool breeze ruffled his hair, and he paused to listen for signs of the would-be intruder.
Other than the soft shushing sound of leaves moving with the wind, there was nothing.
The person was on the opposite side of the building from where he was.
He could circle around back, meet them head-on, but that would take longer.
Deciding on the shorter route, which would also give him the additional benefit of approaching them from behind, he headed around front. He shot a quick glance at the main parking lot as he lightly jogged the length of the building toward the corner where the figure had gone.
He slowed as he neared it. Listened. Still no telltale sound from the masked person. Adrenaline rising, he stepped around the corner. Spotted the hooded figure.
He lifted his weapon. “Freeze! Security.”
The person spun toward him. At the same instant, a soft rustling sounded behind Peter. Before he could move or react, something solid crashed into the back of his skull.
And everything went black.