Chapter Forty-Two
Kiyah
“Damn it. He’s early,” Grant grumbled when the doorbell chimed as we made ourselves presentable after our spontaneous romp in the hay.
“He’s not early. You just lost track of time,” I said, admiring my hair that I’d twisted into an elegant knot.
“Can you blame me?” he asked, slapping me on the ass, wearing a satisfied smirk.
“Not at all. And if it weren’t for Kieran’s party, I’d spend the rest of the day in bed with you.”
“Don’t tempt me, Ki.”
The doorbell rang again. I glanced at Grant in the mirror and found that he was still bumbling around looking for his socks that were probably kicked under the bed.
“I’ll answer it,” I volunteered, leaving the bedroom.
I trotted downstairs, feeling lighter and more energetic than I had a few hours ago.
I approached the security monitor by the front door and peered at the tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark gray suit.
His hair was close-cropped, and it was clear from his features that he meant serious business.
I pressed the button to speak.
“Hello? How may I help you?”
“Good afternoon. I’m Mr. Ross Stone with Sentinel Security. Am I speaking with Mrs. Baker?”
“You are. May I see your identification?”
For a moment, he seemed taken aback, but I didn’t give a damn. I wasn’t taking any chances. He produced his driver’s license and security badge for confirmation, holding them up to the camera.
“Thank you,” I said, opening the door. “Please come in.”
Mr. Stone side-stepped me and entered, eyes flicking around as he assessed our home.
“You’re thorough. That’s a good sign that you take your safety seriously. Yes, Sentinel is here to protect you, but everyone has to do their part and be proactive.”
I nodded. “I agree.”
He finally shoved his hand out in greeting. I accepted it, giving him a firm shake while maintaining eye contact. His eyes darted away a little too quickly, and he dropped my hand like it was on fire.
I didn’t want to read too much into it, but Granddad’s lessons were returning to the surface.
In business, never trust a man who can’t look you dead in the face. He’s a god damn liar.
“Will Mr. Baker be joining us soon?”
“He should be down shortly. Please, join me in the sitting room. Would you like coffee?”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Baker.”
I motioned to a chair. He sat and retrieved a tablet from his leather briefcase, swiping a finger across the screen. I shifted awkwardly in my seat and folded my hands in my lap.
“How long have you been with Sentinel?” I asked, trying to fill the silence with small talk.
“If it’s all the same to you, Mrs. Baker. I’d like to wait to discuss when Mr. Baker is present.”
“Excuse me?”
He glanced up from the screen and smiled tightly.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I assume Mr. Baker might have some of the same questions. It would be inefficient to repeat myself.”
I was about to tell him to get the hell out of my house when I heard Grant’s heavy footfalls on the stairs. He materialized a few seconds later, looking dapper and wearing his getting-down-to-business face.
“I apologize for my tardiness. You must be Mr. Stone,” he greeted as Mr. Stone stood to his feet.
“I am. Thank you for having me and considering Sentinel Security,” he said, shaking Grant’s hand firmly.
I squinted curiously when it seemed that Mr. Stone’s grip lingered just a second longer than normal, almost like he was sizing Grant up.
Grant’s posture tightened ever so slightly. I wondered if he picked up on it, too.
“We appreciate you making time on such short notice.”
“Of course. We make a habit of being available when clients need us most.”
Mr. Stone’s gaze flicked briefly toward me before returning his focus to my husband. My skin prickled. It felt like he couldn’t stand the sight of me.
Either this man is a racist or a misogynist. Probably both.
“You’ve briefed yourself on our situation, correct?” Grant asked.
“Absolutely.”
“Good. Then I’ll be direct. We’re not looking for showy detail. We need discretion, and most importantly, loyalty.”
“Understood. Sentinel Security prides itself on operating covertly and effectively, with 100% allegiance to our clients. We discreetly and decisively eliminate risks without hesitation.”
Grant shot me a look, the thrill in his eyes unmistakable. Mr. Stone told Grant exactly what he wanted to hear.
Stone might as well slide the tablet over so Grant can sign on the dotted line. He’s sold.
“That’s….” Grant pauses to rub his hands together—something he did when he wasn’t trying to appear too eager. “That’s reassuring. I would never want it to come down to that, but my family’s safety is all that matters to me.”
“Tell us about Sentinel,” I interjected, earning a soft look of disapproval from Mr. Stone.
“Sentinel Security is a Texas-based firm. We provide close protection, corporate and private. Our agents are ex-military and law enforcement guys who eat and breathe ‘Protect and Serve’ with some specialized in intelligence. They’re quiet, professional, and results-driven. We’ve never lost a soul.”
“And how long have you been with Sentinel, Mr. Stone?”
“A decade this November.”
“What did you do previously?”
“I was in the FBI. Officially, I was the Director of the Intelligence Division.”
A flicker of surprise widened my eyes.
“Why did you leave?” Grant inquired, easing a hand onto my thigh.
“Honestly? Too much red tape and too many senseless deaths that could’ve been prevented. When you’ve witnessed the things I’ve seen, you start questioning who we’re really protecting.”
“That must’ve been difficult,” Grant acknowledged.
Mr. Stone nodded, rubbing his palms against his thighs.
“It was a reckoning, but I’m thankful that I’ve landed with Sentinel, where we pride ourselves in protecting everyone, no matter their status or connections.”
“Obviously, you’re proficient in intelligence. Do you have any other specific areas of expertise?”
“Threat neutralization,” he answered firmly.
Grant smirked and relaxed against the couch, but my posture remained rigid.
“You look relieved, Mr. Baker.”
“Our previous candidate turned us down. He said he didn’t want us to use his team as personal hitmen.”
Mr. Stone chuckled. “You must’ve interviewed Graham Preston.”
My brows knitted skeptically. “We did. How did you know?”
“I’m familiar with Mr. Preston. He’s strictly by the book, almost embarrassingly so. Sometimes in this business, you have to get your hands dirty. I’m sorry it didn’t pan out for you, but between you and me, it’s for the best.”
“What do you mean by that?” I asked.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—please forget I said anything,” Mr. Stone said quickly.
“That’s easier said than done,” Grant commented, still waiting on an explanation.
“It’s nothing, really. There was an incident that happened years back when Mr. Preston suffered a mental health episode that was induced by medication used to treat PTSD.
It made him susceptible to sleepwalking, and he thought he had killed his girlfriend by throwing her off the balcony, and that some winged demon flew up and saved her. ”
“Did he?” I questioned.
“No, thank God. She’d been on a morning jog.”
“That’s pretty serious. How do you know about that?” Grant questioned.
Mr. Stone smiled again—a practiced smile that teetered on deception and falsehoods.
“Sometimes, our circles overlap. I’m thankful that the drug was taken off the market. After a thorough investigation, it was discovered that the pharmaceutical company was aware of the risks and falsified its data. It wouldn’t have ever hit the market with the true data.”
Grant sucked his teeth, and a chuckle escaped me. He side-eyed me with a frown. I coughed to cover up the laughter, and eventually composed myself. Mr. Stone raised a brow.
“I’m sorry. I seem to be missing something,” he said.
“I’m sure there was a hefty lawsuit against the pharmaceutical company.
My husband is upset he didn’t have the opportunity to sink his claws in,” I replied, nearly purring.
I took no delight in my husband’s pain and misfortune, but despite his outwardly calm demeanor, I knew he was flipping conference tables in his head.
“I’d be upset too if I missed out on a $2 billion class-action lawsuit.”
“Two—I need a drink.”
“No, you don’t,” I said, grounding him with my hand on his thigh.
“Kiyah…that would’ve been an $800 million payout for the firm.”
“Yes, I can do math, honey,” I replied, leaning forward and pouring him a glass of tea.
“We could’ve retired on that money.”
“You’re talking out of your ass, Grant. You don’t want to retire. You would be bored out of your mind,” I said, trying to reason with him. I handed him the glass and a napkin and rolled my eyes at his trembling hand.
Money-hungry bastard.
“A loss like that is significant,” Mr. Stone commented. “But what’s more important is that the victims got justice.”
Grant’s shoulders slackened.
“You’re right, Mr. Stone. I was only thinking of myself and my family at the moment.”
“No need to apologize. It’s only natural to want to look after yourself and your loved ones. And please, call me Ross.”
* * *
At some point, I zoned out of the conversation. I should’ve been paying attention, but I couldn’t. Not when I felt that everything he said was too perfect, and I couldn’t tell if I was seeing things that weren’t there and making a fuss, or if my intuition was trying to tell me something.
I tuned back in.
“The best thing about Sentinel is that power doesn’t scare us, Mr. Baker. Influence only matters if you let it. Our focus is your safety—not politics.”
That was a smooth answer… too smooth.
“Do you coordinate with law enforcement if things get dangerous?”
“When it benefits the client. Otherwise, we prefer to handle matters internally. Fewer moving parts that way. You understand, right?”
“I understand,” Grant answered. “We’ve thought about going to the police, but with little to no evidence, we’d be laughed out of the building.”
“I hate to say it, but corruption runs rampant in police departments, from the bottom to the top. They can’t be trusted to protect anyone but their own interests.”
“What is your retainer?” Grant asked.
“Normally, we’d charge $100k for a case like this with full residential coverage, travel security, and cyber monitoring; however, I can offer our services today for $80,000.”
“Why the discount?” I inquired, narrowing my eyes suspiciously.
“Longevity. These issues you’re having with Mr. Branson will not disappear overnight. It’ll be several months, maybe a year, before he loses interest, if he loses interest.”
Grant cleared his throat beside me and crossed an ankle over his knee.
“Thank you for the consideration, but money isn’t an issue. We don’t need a handout.”
Mr. Stone didn’t flinch. “It’s not a handout, Mr. Baker.
It’s a calculated investment. We prefer long-term contracts with clients who understand the gravity of what they’re facing.
You’re not hiring bodyguards—you’re hiring surveillance, discretion, and possible neutralization.
That kind of work requires trust and consistency.
” He leaned forward slightly, voice steady.
“The discount isn’t charity. It’s an incentive.
Because if we’re going to be in your lives for the next twelve months, I’d rather start on solid ground. ”
Grant tapped his knee with his thumb as he considered.
“How soon can you deploy?”
“We can have a protective detail here by sunrise tomorrow.”
“Do you mind if my wife and I step aside to discuss?”
“Not at all.”
“Feel free to help yourself to refreshments. We will only be a minute,” Grant said, helping me off the couch.
“Take your time. Do you mind if I take a look at your security system up front to see what we’re already working with?” Mr. Stone asked.
“I don’t mind,” Grant said, leading me to his office. He shut the door behind us, and I exhaled, leading me to his office. He
“What do you think?”
“I don’t like him,” I confessed softly.
“What don’t you like about him?”
“Something about him feels… rehearsed. It might sound crazy, but I feel like I’m talking to a shell of a person and no one is home.”
Grant rubbed his jaw, eyes scanning the floor like he was silently weighing his words.
“I hear you,” he said finally. “I do. But do you think there is the slightest possibility that you might be reading into things?”
I folded my arms, ignoring the churning in my stomach.
“Look, I know I’ve been stressed. Hell, we all have been stressed, but I know how I’m feeling, and this is not paranoia. This is instinct. He’s too polished. Too perfect. I felt like I was sitting across from a damn skin walker.”
“A skin walker. My God,” Grant whispered, leaning against the desk. “Mr. Stone was the Director of Intelligence for the FBI. He’s trained to be unreadable and detached. I agree that he’s rigid and doesn’t exactly have a shining personality, but this isn’t a personality contest. This is survival.”
I looked up at him, voice low. “I am trying to survive.”
Grant didn’t argue. He just nodded slowly, the crease between his brows deepening.
“Kiyah, you have the right to be comfortable with your protection detail. I want to meet you in the middle, but our options are limited, my love. I screwed up with Preston. I’ll take accountability and fucking own that.
I’ll get on the phone with him, apologize, and see if he reconsiders, but if he doesn’t, what are our options?
We can’t be sitting ducks, and this is not just about us.
What about our family? They need protection, too. ”
I swallowed hard, my gaze drifting to the closed door. “I hear you, Grant. There’s just something I can’t shake, and the fact that I didn’t feel this way with Mr. Preston should be evidence enough that we shouldn’t move forward.”
“How about a trial run? If you still feel unsettled after a month, then we’ll let him go.”
I’d rather not, was on the tip of my tongue, but Grant was right about us being sitting ducks. If God had mercy on us, Mr. Preston would forgive Grant, and we could kick Mr. Stone to the curb.
“One month, Grant. But you need to be on the phone with Mr. Preston apologizing, sending gift baskets, whatever you need to do to get him to agree.”
He crossed the room and physically unfolded my arms, wrapping them around his torso.
“I will make this right. I promise.”
I wanted to believe that everything would be alright, but life had been constantly giving us lemons, but not a pitcher to hold our lemonade.