Defenseless (Somerton Security #1)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2017 by Elizabeth Dyer

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542048637

  ISBN-10: 154204863X

  Cover design by Eileen Carey

  For my elementary school librarian, Mrs. Webb, who shared with me her birthday and her love of reading. Thank you.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  If Georgia Bennett were a glass-half-full sort of person, she’d probably find the gently falling snow beautiful. Lying flat on her back, the wind knocked from her chest, she had the perfect view of the fat, wet flakes. She supposed she could add “optimist” and “hopeless romantic” to the list of character traits she didn’t possess and didn’t want.

  “You’re about as graceful as a cow on ice, you know that, Bennett?” Her boss’s voice oozed amusement, setting fire to cheeks that already stung from the frigid air.

  Georgia glowered at Ethan, who appeared above her with a smile. Cursing, she climbed back onto her feet, grabbed the mirror of the car next to her as her legs threatened to go out from under her. Again. She scowled at Ethan’s chuckle. People constantly accused Georgia of being cold-blooded—and maybe they were right. Sand, triple-digit heat, and the distinctive cologne of unwashed marines she could handle. Add Humvees and semiautomatic weapons, and she’d consider it a party. But howling wind, biting cold, and snow blowing off the Chesapeake? Oh hell no.

  Ethan casually stood against his car, beanie low on his brow and a cup of coffee in his gloved hand. He watched, his amusement about as subtle as a middle-aged senator’s hair plugs, while Georgia slipped and slid her way around the SUV. Damn East Coast winters. And damn bosses who dragged her out of DC right as a storm was bearing down on the coast. Fresh out of the Marine Corps, she’d planned on getting a tiny apartment in San Diego and enjoying the sun while she figured out what she wanted to do with her life. Why the hell hadn’t she stuck to that plan?

  “Come on, Bennett. My coffee’s getting cold, and I’ve got somewhere to be.” Oh right. Because the jackal striding away as if ice bothered only the pathetic and uncoordinated had offered her a job. A job she liked, and one she was now in serious danger of losing.

  Resigned, Georgia adjusted her messenger bag and smothered her attitude. You can’t afford to lose this job, she reminded herself as she carefully picked her way across the parking lot.

  Steel and brick rose in front of her, the upper floors of the fancy loft-style complex disappearing into the undulating gray of the gathering storm. She stepped into the lobby, stomping the snow and slush from her boots on the welcome mat, and looked around. Exposed beams, brickwork, and what looked like reclaimed-wood flooring dominated the space. The finishes screamed high-end. No surprise, given the waterfront location and proximity to downtown, but at least the building had character—an obvious personality it wore proudly in crumbling mortar and the wavy imperfection of single-pane industrial windows. With any luck, her client would fit the building and not the address.

  Georgia doubted she had the patience for one more posh DC assignment, no matter how much she wanted to keep her job. Kidnappers, stalkers, and political plots, she could handle. Yappy dogs, shopping trips to Dupont Circle, and the carefully pinned and tucked exteriors of Washington’s political housewives made her twitchy. That sort of fabricated perfection was unnatural—creepy, even. So when an environmental activist had approached Congressman Dickinson’s wife, criticizing her for the mink draped carefully around her shoulders, Georgia had hesitated. It hadn’t helped that every time Mrs. Dickinson deigned to acknowledge Georgia it was with a haughty stare that conveyed in a single dismissive sweep that Georgia, with her blue-collar attire and military bearing, was nothing short of a cumbersome burden to be borne with ill-tempered irritation and poorly feigned manners. The distaste was mutual, and for a split second, Georgia had wanted to see how airborne paint and polished perfection mixed. In hindsight, letting the congressman’s wife become a walking Jackson Pollock exhibition probably wasn’t the way to go. But then again, Georgia prided herself on precision, not tact.

  Which, apparently, was the problem. According to her boss, it wasn’t enough for Georgia to keep her clients alive and well. Oh no, she also needed them to like her. Specifically, she needed this client to like her. Ethan had made it very clear that if she couldn’t manage to make a personal connection with her next assignment, she’d be looking for a new job. She had to admit that given Mrs. Dickinson’s completely overblown reaction—really, it wasn’t as if she’d been shot—it was a minor miracle Ethan hadn’t fired her already. No doubt she had good old-fashioned nepotism to thank for that.

  And maybe just a smidge of guilt.

  Staring down the barrel of a last-chance assignment, Georgia figured it was probably too much to hope she’d be assigned to a client with a personality. Maybe someone who, like the building they lived in, turned their imperfections into strengths. She’d do her job regardless, but damn, it would be nice to actually respect a client. She used to feel like her job mattered, like the people she worked with made a difference in the world. Like she made a difference. But lately it had all become so routine—as hollow and vacant as the carefully crafted smile she’d practiced that morning. People liked others who smiled. The Internet said so.

  And okay, maybe Georgia wasn’t entirely sure she still liked her job, but she was damn certain she needed it. The last nine months had been a revolving door of uninvited change—she didn’t think she had it in her to start a new career as well. What was she even qualified for? She had no college education, and somehow she doubted “excellent marksmanship” and “experience with explosives” rounded out a résumé. Shit, she’d be lucky if she landed a job flipping burgers.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Somerton,” called the security guard stationed behind a small desk. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  Interesting that the doorman knew Ethan on sight. Apparently this job had a personal angle he’d neglected to mention.

  That should make things much easier.

  “You, too, Trevor.” Ethan turned toward the bank of elevators, then headed for a small cluster of overstuffed seating. “Thanks for coming out on such short notice,” he said to Georgia as he gestured to a chair and took a seat.

  “You didn’t exactly phrase it as a request.”

  Ethan had called, instructed her where and when to meet him, and hung up. Since she’d been sitting in her studio apartment, practicing “Would you like fries with that?” Georgia hadn’t argued.

  “Yes, well, you weren’t my first call and hardly my first choice. Parker excels at running off the bodyguards I send, and Davis, who Parker
at least tolerates, is out of pocket for the next few weeks. Ryan was supposed to be here, but he’s stuck in New York due to weather.” Ethan grimaced. “Obviously, I’m desperate.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “You should be,” Ethan barked. “Right now my desperation and Parker’s tendency to be difficult are the only things keeping you employed. I suggest you find a way to play nice with him.”

  Her brain tripped past her irritation and caught up with the conversation. “What do you mean, ‘him’?”

  “Parker Livingston. Know the name?” Ethan asked, rolling right over Georgia’s surprise.

  “Oh God. Not the Jungle Gem guy.” She’d pulled Poindexter patrol.

  Ethan’s grin was downright predatory. He wasn’t giving her a second chance; he was giving her enough rope to hang herself.

  Practically a pop-culture icon, Jungle Gem was little more than a simple puzzle game that addicted every idiot with a cell phone who dared download it. It was basic and asinine, and it irritated Georgia she’d never made it past level 127. Wired had reported that the game had netted Livingston millions. To add insult to injury, Livingston’s reputation for being difficult to work with preceded him. It was the assignment no one wanted—and no one lasted in.

  But none of that explained why the hell Ethan had dragged her out here. She’d never understood why a nerdy app developer with too much time on his hands occasionally needed a bodyguard, let alone why he was considered a VIP client.

  Ugh. This assignment was already giving her a headache.

  “Why am I here, Ethan? I don’t do men.”

  “Sarah will be thrilled to know she’s won the office pool,” Ethan replied.

  “Very cute.” Georgia pulled her gloves off with her teeth. “You know what I mean. I work with our female clientele. It’s why you hired me.”

  “I’m glad we got that cleared up,” Ethan snapped. “Because based on the last six months, I was beginning to wonder if you had any idea at all why I hired you.” He sighed, placed his elbows on his knees, and leaned forward. “Look, Georgia, I think we both know you’re an asset to this firm. There’s no question that in terms of technical skill, you’re one of my best operatives. Hell, I practically begged you to work here. You have an impeccable background, and obviously, your references were excellent.”

  Of course they were. As a marine, Georgia had been hand-selected by her commanding officer for close protection detail. It had seemed the perfect assignment. Analytical, precise, and highly motivated, Georgia had fallen effortlessly into the often-invisible role of bodyguard. Still, that wasn’t the reference Ethan had based his hiring decisions on, and they both knew it. For Ethan, there’d been one factor and one factor only—Georgia’s brother. Ethan and Will had served together, gone through Delta together.

  Will had been there when Ethan had ruptured his eardrums in the field.

  And Ethan had been there to bear Georgia’s brother’s flag-draped coffin.

  Above anything else, loyalty had landed Georgia her job.

  “But you’re in the private sector now.” Ethan’s gaze bored into her, bringing her back from painful memories. “Our business is built on referrals and repeat clients. And in the last six months, not one assignment you’ve had has requested you a second time.” His face turned stern and hard. “Now, I could transfer you to a desk. Have you working in the office as a strategic coordinator—”

  Georgia fought a grimace and lost. Ugh. Office work meant cube, cube meant computers, and computers meant sitting in a damn chair all day. How long would it take her to actually miss the socialite crowd? It was a fate she couldn’t bear contemplating.

  “That face right there tells me exactly how well that would go.” Ethan sighed. “I can’t afford to lose you. Do you have any idea how in demand female security personnel are?”

  “Yeah, I do.” Most people assumed the private security sector was all male—and most of it was. But the reality was that women could not only do the job but, in some cases, do the job more effectively because of their gender. Georgia had interviewed with a half dozen private firms and received offers from four of them. She’d chosen Ethan. She liked the guy, liked that he kept his company small and was still interested in building an all-female unit. She’d hoped, given enough time, that Ethan would come to like her, too. At least enough to tell her how Will had died.

  If he’d suffered.

  If he’d been alone.

  There was so much she didn’t know. So much the Department of Defense wouldn’t say. So much Ethan wouldn’t tell her. She couldn’t accept their scripted statements, their shallow offerings of “We regret to inform you” and “William Bennett died in the service of his country.” Will deserved more than hollow words and empty condolences.

  All the medals, American flags, and three-round volleys couldn’t make up for the one honor Will hadn’t received, the only honor that really mattered. His legacy would be lost; no one would remember him. The army had seen to that.

  Georgia couldn’t, wouldn’t, do the same.

  She needed answers. Which meant she needed Ethan, regardless of whatever reservations she had about day-to-day life in the private sector.

  “Lucky for you,” Ethan continued, ignoring the change in Georgia’s mood, “I’ve got a gap in Parker’s protection detail, and you’re the only person capable of filling in.” He withdrew a set of keys from his inside pocket. “Key fob gets you into the building and operates the elevator. The gold key is for Parker’s loft—13E. I’d knock first, and loudly. I woke him up ahead of your arrival, but I doubt he’s had his coffee yet.”

  Just waking up? At one p.m.?

  “I’m sure I don’t want to know, but . . .”

  Ethan’s grin held a hint of malicious humor, but he didn’t make her wait. “He’s not exactly housebroken.”

  “What does that mean?” What the hell was she signing up for? Despite Livingston’s difficult reputation around the office, details were thin. She suspected Ethan quashed rumors before they really got started, which only added to the interest and speculation. Still, normally Ethan sent her a dossier: photos, facts, addresses, schedules, and contacts—details about the job. A threat assessment and a biographical profile. So far the only thing she knew was—what exactly? That she was babysitting some nerd who “wasn’t exactly housebroken.”

  “Parker’s not the usual client. He’s a little . . . different. Has his own schedule, his own method of doing things. And as usual, he’s adamant he doesn’t need private security.”

  “Then what am I doing here?” Georgia asked as she slipped the key and fob onto her key chain.

  “I’m limited as to what I can say here, but since you’ve got the appropriate background checks in place, I can tell you that even though Parker’s wealth comes from app development, the US government considers him a high-value asset. He regularly consults on issues of technology and national security.”

  National security? “What the hell is a second-rate game developer doing dabbling in national security? Are we in danger of running out of ways to waste time?”

  “Judgmental and uninformed.” Ethan tsked. “Maybe it’s a good thing I took you off socialite detail; they’re starting to rub off.”

  Georgia let a scowl seize her face. Over her dead body.

  “Look.” Ethan glanced at the clock on his cell phone. “I know you’re used to working with a specific threat or escorting a client to a particular event or function. This assignment is obviously different. Due to the nature of Parker’s work”—Ethan glared at the snort she choked back—“his security is carefully monitored.”

  “Then why doesn’t the DoD assign him a detail?” Georgia asked.

  “Sometimes they do.” He pinned her with a heavy look. “And sometimes we aren’t all in agreement when it comes to threat assessment. So I’m pulling you and tasking you with a seventy-two-hour assignment. Maybe less if Ryan makes it out of New York. That should give me enough time to follow up on a
few things and reevaluate.” Ethan rolled his neck, agitation bunching his shoulders and lining his face.

  That was it? That was all the information he was going to give her? “I’m not a babysitter, Ethan. And I’m not entirely comfortable with an assignment with no clear threat. Why are you concerned enough to assign a bodyguard when the DoD isn’t?” The situation was unusual in the extreme and made Georgia nervous as hell. Withholding facts in their line of work was not only dangerous, it was criminally stupid. Yet Ethan seemed determined to give her as little information as possible.

  “It’s probably nothing,” Ethan admitted. “Parker and I consult on the same government task force.”

  Translation: Parker and Ethan were part of the same covert, and likely off-book, unit Will had mentioned once or twice. And now something had gotten under Ethan’s skin, and it was itching.

  “In the last few months, Parker’s raised a few concerns that have been largely dismissed or ignored altogether. And though I’d never tell him, there’s no question that at any given time Parker’s the smartest man in the room. Unfortunately, his intelligence is coupled with a dogged determination to constantly prove he’s right and a complete dismissal of military protocol.” Ethan sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I have to look into his concerns, follow up on some rumors.”

  “What do you need from me?” Georgia asked, though she shouldn’t have bothered. She knew Ethan well enough to understand she couldn’t pry answers out of him with a crowbar.

  “Just give me a few days to clear my doubts. I don’t want to worry about the safety of a high-value civilian with Parker’s capabilities and clearance.” Ethan sighed, some of his tension bleeding out of his frame. It was almost enough to make Georgia regret giving him such a hard time in the first place. Almost. “It should be an easy assignment, but Parker . . . He’s brilliant, but the guy doesn’t have the sense God gave a lemur sometimes,” he muttered, his frustration making the vein at his temple throb. “Given Parker’s penchant for pissing people off, you two should get along great.”