In His Keeping (Slow Burn #2)

She’d carefully considered her options when she’d gone to retrieve the contents of a safe-deposit box her father held at one of the local banks. He’d set it up so that if she were ever in trouble or need, she could access cash and alternate identity, including driver’s licenses and passports—three total in all.

It had never occurred to her to question her father as to why the thought had even crossed his mind that she’d need such things. She knew well how protective he was of her and so she’d shrugged off his actions as him being paranoid and overprotective. But perhaps he’d been all too right in preparing for the worst, because that was now what she was facing, and she was grateful for her father’s foresight. She’d lived her life in a protective bubble, and now, for the first time, she didn’t have her father to fall back on and have fix all her problems. It was up to her to get herself out of the mess she was in.

The people pursuing her would likely suspect her to do just the opposite of what she’d done. They would expect her to dress in an unassuming manner, try not to look like the daughter of a wealthy man rather than boldly going out in public with a car and clothing that would attract attention. In essence, Ari was hiding in plain sight, hoping that she was right about them looking for someone trying to hide the trappings of money and prestige. And if they’d been watching her, which she assumed had to be the case, or at the very least had done their homework, then they’d know she normally dressed casually, preferring jeans and a T-shirt to designer clothing. More at home in flip-flops than the elegant heels she wore right now. And well, she had no qualms about ditching the heels and fleeing barefoot if it came to that.

Her stride was brisk and confident, her chin slightly lifted so she had an unobscured view of her surroundings at all times. She took in everything, searching for any sign of threat. Anything that looked . . . dangerous, though she wasn’t sure how someone saw imminent danger. If everyone wore a warning sign screaming danger, then no one would ever be caught off guard, so the notion was silly that she could somehow spot a threat in the steady stream of people bustling down the sidewalk.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she entered the building, glad to be off the busy street and out of view of anyone watching. She signed in at the security desk, using one of the aliases she’d retrieved from the safe-deposit box, making sure she didn’t appear nervous and agitated when both had their vicious claws firmly entrenched in her chest. After receiving her badge to get through the turnstile to the elevators, she hurried through, her anxiety mounting with every breath.

Her father had told her on more than one occasion that if something were to happen to him, or if Ari needed help, she was to go to Caleb or Beau Devereaux, preferably Caleb, as he was the oldest. He hadn’t explained his relationship with the Devereauxs, but he’d been adamant that she trust only them and no one else. And just as she hadn’t questioned the need for cash and aliases stashed in a safe-deposit box, neither had she queried him about his relationship with the Devereauxs, although she found it odd that she’d never met the men he’d told her to turn to if necessary.

She just hoped her father was right. Already, they’d been betrayed by men her father trusted. Who was to say the Devereauxs were any different? But what choice did she have?

She had none. Her lips formed a grim line as she stepped from the elevator on the floor Devereaux Security Services occupied. She had no choice but to trust the men her father evidently trusted and pray she hadn’t made a huge mistake in going to them for help.


Beau glanced up from his desk when the silent alarm triggered a flash of light to his office, notifying him that someone had just come into the lobby of their firm. His office was strategically placed with a two-way reflecting mirror so he could monitor and form an impression of a potential client. People often gave themselves away when they didn’t think they could be seen or heard.

A petite woman walked hesitantly toward their receptionist, Anita, and from his vantage point he could see her hands tremble, though she tried valiantly to hide that fact. He frowned, taking in the fact that she neither removed her sunglasses nor her scarf and instead remained hidden. Disguised, no doubt.

He pressed the intercom button that would allow him to listen in on the conversation between the woman and Anita, his interest piqued. He found himself leaning forward as though it gave him the advantage of being closer, though the glass separated them.

At one point, the woman, still silent, glanced sideways, her gaze resting on the glass wall. Since he couldn’t see her eyes, he had no idea what she was thinking or if she suspected someone was watching her. But he got the uneasy feeling she knew exactly what the glass really was.