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“Gentlemen, this isn’t a funeral, so there’s no need to act like it’s one.” Bart turned that friendly gaze on Parker. “How’s your son, Captain McKenna?”
It took Parker a moment to answer. It’d been five years since anyone had addressed him by his army rank. And as for his son, Zach, it surprised him that this billionaire would even know his son’s name, much less bother to ask about the thirteen-year-old. Of course, Bart was probably aware of every last detail of Parker’s life.
Bart no doubt knew about Amy, her death and the unborn daughter who’d been buried with her.
Parker pushed those memories aside, or rather tried. Five years of practice hadn’t helped much with that. “My son’s doing good,” he lied.
Bart nodded and seemed a little disappointed that Parker hadn’t attempted the truth.
“We’ll talk more about that later,” Bart said practically in a whisper. “Maybe a change of scenery will make things better for both of you.” With that cryptic remark dangling in the air, Bart looked back at the others. “First though, I should probably tell you why I invited you here. Plain and simple, I need your help.”
“Help?” That came from Harlan, the assassin, and he practically growled it.
“Help,” Bart cheerfully clarified. “Actually, this is a job offer. I want all of you to work for me at Corps Security and Investigations. I’ll double whatever salary you’re getting now and will pay for all relocation costs for you and your families.”
No one said a word, but Parker could almost hear the mental mumbles. If it sounded too good to be true, it usually was.
“Yes, I did say double the pay,” Bart continued. “But it’s my guess that money isn’t what brought you here. And it’s not what will make you accept my offer. This is a chance to be part of a brotherhood again. A fresh start. An opportunity to help others and yourself.”
“Freedom,” Parker mumbled a little louder than he’d intended.
“That, too,” Bart assured him. He made eye contact not just with Parker but with every man at the table. “Each of you has a particular set of skills that will come in handy in your first assignment.”
“The assignment information is on your PDA,” the right-hand man, Nolan, provided.
Parker hesitated but finally picked up the device, turned it on and saw a picture of the Texas governor, Lila Lockhart.
“Lila’s an old friend,” Bart continued. He grinned, and even though the gesture bunched up his wrinkles, his face also lit up. “And with her second term in office winding down, she’s mulling over whether or not she’ll make a run for the White House. Imagine that, gentleman. You could be looking at the next president of the United States.”
“What does she have to do with us?” Wade asked.
“Everything,” Bart answered. What was left of his smile faded. “Governor Lockhart and her family have been receiving threats. Nothing violent. Not yet anyway. But there has been some escalation. She’s getting several letters a week with the same handwriting. Same tone. The person isn’t happy with her current policies. Lila wasn’t too concerned until recently, when someone slashed the tires on her daughter’s car.”
“Go to the next picture,” Nolan instructed.
Parker did and saw the photo of the attractive blonde. The governor’s daughter, no doubt. She had her mother’s blue eyes.
“The governor’s security couldn’t stop the tire slashing?” Parker wanted to know.
Bart shook his head. “Her daughter, Bailey, doesn’t live in Austin at the governor’s mansion. She lives in a small town up in the Texas Panhandle where the Lockharts have a family ranch. Bailey owns a day care there.” He paused, gathered his breath. “Lila is concerned for her children, for her hometown and for anyone who might be in the path of those who wish her harm. She asked me to provide security and lots of it.”
“That’s the job?” Nick challenged. “To protect an entire town and a possible presidential candidate?”
“It is. This won’t be a short and sweet assignment. All of you are looking at a long-term commitment that won’t end until the threats end. The job will also require all of you to relocate to Freedom, Texas.”
Parker was sure he blinked.
“Yes, Freedom,” Bart verified though Parker didn’t say a word. “Interesting name for a town, huh?”
Parker made a sound that could have meant anything, or nothing. But yes, it was interesting and so was that face in the picture. Bailey Lockhart. She looked wholesome. Beautiful.
Vulnerable.
“Mull it over,” Bart insisted. And he repeated that to the others: Matteo Soarez, Wade Coltrane, Harlan McClain and Nick Cavanaugh. “If you want the job, be in Freedom in two days to start work. Until then, enjoy the hotel’s amenities on the house. Since I own the place, that shouldn’t be a problem.”
Bart chuckled, snapped his fingers and the waiters began to pour into the room. There were at least a dozen, and all were carrying silver trays or pushing serving carts.
Parker couldn’t take his attention off the picture on the PDA screen. “She’s in danger?” Parker asked Bart.
Bart nodded. “Very likely.” He didn’t say anything else for several seconds. “I failed at protecting my own family, so Lila and her kids are like my family now. I can’t fail again. Do you understand that, Captain McKenna?”
Hell. He more than understood. He was living with that kind of failure and knew how it cut right to the bone.
Parker glanced around the table and wondered if every single one of them knew that kind of pain.
Was that why they had been brought here?
Parker didn’t know the answer to that, but he did know one thing. He already had enough blood on his hands. He was moving his son and himself to Freedom.
And this time, Parker hoped like hell he could stop another woman from dying.
Chapter One
Someone was following her.
Bailey Lockhart was sure of it.
She glanced around the parking lot of Cradles to Crayons Day Care and Preschool. No other vehicles were there yet, but that would soon change. In the next forty-five minutes, her staff and teachers would arrive. The kids, too. And the quiet parking lot would no longer be so quiet.
But for now, it was just her.
And her stalker, of course.
Bailey huffed. She was so tired of this nonsense. The hang-up calls. Her slashed tires. The worry all of this was causing her mother, a woman with enough on her mind since she was governor and had a state to run.
Bailey just wanted all the fuss to end. Heck, the culprit was probably just some teenager out of school for the summer and with way too much time on his or her hands. It wouldn’t be a first. Her mother, Lila, had been a politician since Bailey was a kid, so Bailey had gotten used to taunts and behind-the-back gossip.
The slashed tires, however, were a first.
She took a deep breath, retrieved her purse and got out of her silver BMW, complete with four new tires. She’d outright rejected her mother’s suggestion that she carry a gun. Yes, this was Texas, and the stereotype was that all Texans were armed, but Bailey didn’t want a weapon in Cradles to Crayons. The children came first.
But she did grab her umbrella from the backseat. Not because it looked like rain. No. Only because she felt safer with something in her hand.
That didn’t make her feel better though.
Bailey forced herself to act as she normally would. She didn’t hurry toward the back entrance, her usual path to the red two-story building that was just as much home as her house was. She loved everything about the place even though she’d put it through major renovations when six years ago she’d converted it from the 1920s schoolhouse to the bright welcoming building it was now.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when she opened the white picket gate that led to the playground, and it made a creaking noise. It was a sound right out of a horror movie.
“I’m not scared of you!” she snarled, but she immediately hated the outburst as much as the stupid purple umbrella she’d brought as a pseudo weapon. This person was no doubt laughing about how uneasy she was.
Cursing her Chicken Little reaction, she rounded the corner and smacked right into someone.
A man.
He was as hard as the wall, and the impact knocked both her purse and umbrella to the ground. Her face literally landed against the man’s neck, and she was suddenly tangled up in his beefy arms.
A scream bubbled in her throat, but before Bailey could even make a sound, he shoved his hand over her mouth.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said.
Bailey didn’t believe him. She turned, rammed her elbow into his stomach and started to run. She made it exactly one step before he latched onto her again.
“I said I won’t hurt you!” he repeated.
Maybe. Maybe not. She tried to elbow him again, but he only tightened his grip and whirled her around to face him.
“Hell, no one said you’d be violent,” he grumbled.
“Me, violent? I’m not the one doing the assaulting here!” But she rethought that. He wasn’t making any attempt to hit her. She cursed that creaking gate and her heightened anxiety. “Sorry, violence isn’t usually my first response.”
“I would have never guessed that.” The snarkiness in his voice made her look at his face.
She had to look up to see his face. Since she was five-nine, she didn’t have to do that very often, but this guy was at least a half a foot taller than she was, and he was built like a Dallas Cowboys linebacker.
Black hair, cut short and efficient. Blue-gray eyes that were narrowed, intense. Dangerous, too, especially since he was wincing in pain—probably from her elbow jab.
Bailey suddenly wished she’d taken her mother’s advice about that gun.
“Who are you?” she demanded. Too bad her voice cracked a little when she wanted nothing more than to sound like a woman who could take care of herself.
Since they were chest-to-chest, she wiggled out of his grip to put some much needed space between them, and she repeated her question. “I asked who are you?”
“Parker McKenna.” And he said it as if that might mean something to her.
Actually, it did. She’d heard people mention the new guy who’d recently moved to town. This was the first she’d actually seen of him, though.
Bailey combed her gaze over him. Jeans, black T-shirt and cowboy boots. Not exactly unusual attire for Freedom, but he was somehow memorable in those unmemorable clothes. No. If she’d seen him before, she would have remembered.
She wiggled some more, creating some very uncomfortable body contact between them, but he finally let go of her. Well, sort of. When she started to bolt, he put her back against the wall and got right in her face.
“You need to listen,” he insisted.
They stood there, glaring at each other. Him, still wincing a bit. Her, with her breath and heartbeat going like crazy.
Because she was so close, actually touching him, Bailey saw the moment that it registered in his eyes. She was a woman. And he became aware that her breasts were squished against his rock-hard chest.
And other things were touching, too.
He stepped way back.
“I am listening,” she assured him, and she used some snark, too. “And what I want to hear are some answers. What are you doing here?”
“Watching you,” he readily admitted.
Bailey was certain her mouth dropped open. “You’re my stalker?”
That earned her a huff and eye roll. “Not even close. I work for Corps Security and Investigations.”
She shook her head, wondering what that explanation had to do with her, but then everything inside her went still. “Bart Bellows owns Corps Security,” Bailey mumbled. A billionaire businessman who also happened to be her mother’s old friend.
Oh, no.
This better not be happening.
“What are you doing here?” Bailey repeated.
“Guarding you,” he said in an isn’t-it-obvious tone.
Sheesh.
Yes, it was happening.
It took Bailey a moment to get control of her temper. “My mother hired you.”
“Technically, she asked Bart to hire someone, and he hired me. I was in the army for over a decade, and I have a lot of experience protecting people.”
She didn’t doubt that for a moment. Parker McKenna was big, strong and could probably beat anyone in a hand-to-hand combat situation.
Or chest-to-chest.
He was also drop-dead hot, but Bailey cursed herself for noticing that. He might be attractive—sizzling, even—but it was a waste of time for him to be here.
“I don’t need or want a bodyguard,” she stated as clearly as she could.
“Excuse me?”
How could those two little words make her sound like a fool?
“Someone slashed your tires.”
“Yes. Probably a bored kid who needs parental supervision or a more appropriate hobby.”
Those blue-gray eyes turned dark. “What about the hang-up calls you’ve been getting? A bored kid made those too from an untraceable prepaid cell phone?”
“So, he’s a smart bored kid who doesn’t want to get caught,” Bailey amended. “Maybe his parents gave him the prepaid cell because that fit their budget. Lots of people use them.”
At his incredulous looks, she took a deep breath and then continued. “Look, I’m thirty-one years old and run a thriving business, and I don’t need my mother or her friend to make decisions about my personal security. If I feel I need a bodyguard, then I’ll hire one. But right now, I just don’t see the need.”
