Singe (Guardian Protection #1)

Because apparently Guardian Protection is the only place the mentally insane can find employment?

He didn’t wait for me to respond. “Because they know he’d take a bullet for them. No questions asked.”

My eyes nearly rolled out of my head as Johnson reached forward and patted Leo’s shoulder.

Being a mall cop had never sounded more appealing than it did in that moment. And, if I quit this job, that might be exactly what I’d have had to do for a while. I doubted that would come close to covering my monthly bills. But, then again, I wouldn’t have had to pay an attorney to defend me on assault charges.

“That’s great news,” I smarted. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I am not one of those men. I appreciate the opportunity to work for you, but this childish bullshit is not what I signed on for.”

“You’re right.” he answered immediately. “Which is why Johnson will be working in Indianapolis for the next few weeks while you settle in.”

“The fuck you say!” Johnson boomed.

Leo once again found his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Yeah, I do fucking say.”

My surprised gaze jumped to Leo. Holy. Shit. Did that just swing my way?

He kept talking to Johnson. “If you got a reason to hate him, it’s probably a good one. However, the fact that you are not willing to share this information means you know damn well it’s not enough for me to fire him. So I’ll repeat: You’ll be working with Slate and Erica in Indy until you can let this go. I’ve got a business to run, and providing you with maxi pads is not in the budget. Sort your shit. Do your fucking job. And stop fucking with Levitt while he does his. Yeah?”

Victory sang in my veins, and the fact that it still came with a paycheck made it even sweeter.

Surprisingly enough, Johnson didn’t say anything else.

He did, however, burst into laughter, adding to my suspicions about the mental status of the Guardian staff.

Those suspicions were confirmed when Leo joined him.

What the hell did I get myself into?





The moment we arrived at the hotel hosting the party, Johnson disappeared through the lobby. I didn’t pretend to care. I did, however, watch my six until I was sure he was out of the area.

Leo spent the morning introducing me to his client, a professional basketball player with absolutely no concept of reality. It wasn’t my job to judge him though, or I’d have been in the unemployment line years ago. It was my responsibility to find out the specifics of what he needed and then get down to business to fulfill those needs.

That night, those needs were to stand guard at the door to make sure no one got in or out without permission.

In the last few years, I’d taken a knife to the gut for a client, apprehended a stalker, stopped a home invasion, and a myriad of other admirable duties.

And now…

I was a glorified bouncer at a sweet-sixteen party.

And to think, I’d actually thought this position could have been a step up in my career.

As the night wore on, it was clear my job was also to be the only responsible adult at the entire fucking party while the others huddled around the open bar. By the time it was all said and done, I’d broken up four different fights—only three of those had been between kids—and thrown out two kids for smoking and countless kids for drinking. To top it all off, on two separate occasions, I’d had the stomach-churning pleasure of walking in on a couple having sex in the bathroom. One couple was way too young, the other way too fucking old. I had gone from feeling like a pedophile to a necrophiliac in the span of an hour.

The party had started at six and was supposed to run into the night, but shortly past eight, the hotel shut it down. As I walked out and hailed a cab, I swore that, first thing in the morning, I was scheduling a vasectomy.

I scrolled through my phone on the way back to my hotel and found a few new messages I’d missed throughout the day.

One from my mom, who was asking for my Thanksgiving plans. Considering that it was September, the only plan I had was eating turkey and watching football.

The next was from my ex-wife, April. I didn’t bother to read that one.

I skipped right to the next.



Valerie: Be careful at the new job tonight. I love you and miss you.



I scoffed. If she only knew the level of danger I was facing. It was only six in LA. She’d be at softball practice. I smiled to myself as I typed.



Me: Love you too, beautiful. I’ll call you in a little bit. And don’t worry. I’ll see you in a few weeks.



I made a mental note to talk to Leo—not Johnson—about what I could expect from my schedule over the next few weeks. Maybe I could volunteer for some overnights in order to get a four-day weekend to visit her.



I scrolled to the last text.



Devon: Drinks at Murphy’s. Get your ass up here when you finish.



I liked Devon. He was the only person I had remotely resembling a friend in Chicago. And he’d been able to help me find an apartment. I couldn’t move in for a few weeks, and I fully intended on asking him to help me when I did. The least I could do was buy him a drink first.



Me: OTW. Where the fuck is Murphy’s?

Devon: Bar across the street from the office.



Now, that was convenient.





This was a terrible idea. A real motherfucking calamity.

“Can I get you a drink?” the bartender asked as I nervously stared at my phone.

Johnson was late. He should have been there before I’d even walked in.

My lungs burned more with every breath I wasn’t taking. I looked up and plastered on something that I hope resembled a smile. “You’re new.”

An all-too-familiar glint lit his eyes. “I am. You come here often?”

“The fact that I knew you were new should be answer enough,” I teased in an effort to slow my racing heart.

It didn’t work. A cold chill crept up my spine as I frantically surveyed the bar.

Oh God. I can’t breathe.

“Touché,” he replied, but I barely heard him over the blood thundering in my ears.

I should go.

He’ll be here any minute.

I have to go.

He’d want me to wait.

Oh God. Where is he?

“I…um.” My throat closed, but I forged ahead. “I’ll…have a beer. Whatever craft you have on tap.”

Instead of rushing off to get me said beer, he shot me a flirty grin and leaned his hip on the bar. “A girl after my own heart.”

I remained silent and concentrated on the intense need to peel out of my own skin. When he failed to take the not-so-subtle hint, I squeaked, “Any chance I can get the beer sans your heart?”

“And she’s funny,” he mumbled, his grin widening.

A man with white-blond hair caught my attention on the other side of the bar. I jumped to my feet and reached for my purse and my sweater on the back of my chair.

Nope. Nope. Nope.

I can’t do this.