Singe (Guardian Protection #1)

“Love you too, Pete.”

I listened until he hung up, and then I wasted not a single second before grabbing my laptop.

Three hours and five thousand words later, I called and postponed my tattoo.

Ink could wait.

Words would not.





“It’s four thirty in the morning here, Jude,” she said in a sleepy but still very bitchy voice.

Sitting in the underground parking garage of a Chicago high rise, I gripped the steering wheel of my Jeep until my knuckles turned white. “Consider yourself lucky. I was gonna call at two thirty.”

“Well, aren’t you generous,” she snipped. “What do you want?”

“I wanna know why, when I checked my voicemails this morning, I had one from Val saying Kevin took her computer away last night.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Jude. She got in trouble for not doing her chores.”

I ground my teeth and cracked my neck. “I swear to God, April. I will not repeat myself again. Working out is not a fucking chore.”

“It is when you’re fat,” she shot back.

God had not granted me the patience to deal with her bullshit. Between my nightmares of Butterfly and the new job, my mind was completely maxed out on shit to worry about without my ex-wife adding to it.

This had been going on with April and Val for as long as I could remember. I thought I’d made my stance on the issue clear before I’d left for Chicago. Apparently, I had not.

“She’s not fat!” I boomed.

“Yes, she—”

I willed my heart to slow in hopes that my blood pressure wouldn’t turn my head into a geyser. Shifting the phone to my other hand, I glanced around the parking garage to make sure no one was watching me. “What she is is a kid. There is not the first thing wrong with the way she looks. You need to pull your head out of your ass and stop trying to turn her into some socially warped version of perfection. That shit does not exist. And you and your workout schedule and fad diets are ruining the kind of perfect she already is.”

“Oh yeah? She’s so perfect that she can’t even buy clothes in the juniors’ section anymore. What’s next? The plus-size stores? Fuck that. She’s eleven!”

“That’s my point. She’s only eleven!”

She laughed sardonically. “I’m not having this conversation with you. She knows she’s fat and she’s embarrassed about it. She hasn’t worn anything but sweatpants and a hoodie to school in weeks. She’s a girl, not a homeless man.”

“April,” I growled.

“Besides, according to the quiz I found online, she does not have a healthy BMI. She needs to lose some weight and that’s the end of it.”

“You know, April, if I thought you were doing this because you were worried for her health, that would be one thing. But your only concern is what she looks like standing next to you. Now, cut the crap. Act like a mother, and better yet, while you’re at it, see if you can pull off the fa?ade of a decent human being too.”

She gasped. “You’re such a dick.”

I leaned back in my seat and straightened my suit coat. “Maybe I am, but I’m not the one fucking with a little girl’s head because I’m scared what my friends will say about her. Make Kevin give back her computer. And I mean first thing this morning. I find out you waited until tonight—”

“Fuck off, Jude,” she snapped. “She’s my daughter. I’ll decide when she gets her computer back. The same way I decide if she needs to work out or not.”

“Do not make me fly back this weekend,” I warned.

She laughed. “Fly back and do what?”

When she paused, I sucked in a sharp breath and braced, anticipating her signature blow.

“She’s not yours!”

“She is mine!” I roared.

“Not in any way that counts,” she sneered.

“In every fucking way that counts,” I corrected through clenched teeth.

“Whatever. If you’re done bitching, I’m going back to sleep. Don’t forget to pay her school tuition and I’ll see what I can do about not forgetting to give her back her computer.”

Before I could reply, she severed the connection.

“Fuck!” I slammed the heel of my hand down onto the steering wheel. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” I cursed in beat with my pounding.

Giving up on the boxing match against my steering wheel, I cut the engine and then shoved the door wide.

“Thirty minutes early?” a man called from across the garage as I folded out.

“Excuse me?” I replied, checking over my shoulder to see if he was actually talking to me.

“Come on, man. You’re gonna make the rest of us look bad.” A big guy in pair of navy slacks and a crisp, white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms smirked as he sauntered in my direction. His hair was cut short, the dark color suiting his olive complexion. With aviator sunglasses hooked on the front of his shirt, he looked every bit the role of the typical LA bodyguard. Tall, well built, menacing if he needed to be, but friendly enough for the clients to feel comfortable.

He clicked a remote over his shoulder and the taillights of a white Acura NSX blinked behind him. Either he didn’t work for Leo James or he was being paid significantly more than I was.

Stopping in front of me, he extended a hand my way. “Devon Grant.”

I took his hand in a firm shake. “Jude Levitt.”

One side of his mouth lifted into a cocky grin. “So I’ve heard. Leo briefed us yesterday.”

I made a mental note to renegotiate my salary sooner rather than later.

Scanning the nearly full garage, I noted I couldn’t possibly be the only one who liked to be punctual. “Sorry, but I’ll probably always be early.”

He shrugged and turned toward the elevator. “Smart man. Johnson’s gonna shit though. He almost never gets breakfast, and now, with you here, that almost never will become just plain never.”

I fell into stride behind him. “Breakfast?”

He stopped at the elevator and pulled a card from his wallet before flashing it in front of a square sensor located where the up button would normally be. The door immediately slid open, and we both stepped inside.

“Yeah. Leo’s wife makes breakfast on Mondays for our weekly briefing,” he answered. “We have muffins and bagels delivered for our Friday team meetings. Tuesday through Thursday, you’re on your own.”

I leaned against the back wall of the elevator as it began its ascent to the fourth floor. “I already ate,” I said, tugging on the red tie attempting to strangle me.

Devon’s dark-brown gaze flashed to mine, a humor-filled grin pulling at his lips. “You can lose the tie. We’re pretty casual around here as long as we aren’t on duty. And, even then, I don’t think I’ve seen but one of the guys wear a tie. And it was a bow tie, so I’m pretty fucking sure that that travesty of fabric doesn’t count.”