Defenseless (Somerton Security #1) Read online

  Wonderful.

  “Just make it work for three days. That’s all I’m asking.”

  “How do you propose I do that? You said he’s ditched every operative you’ve assigned him. What makes you think I’ll be any more successful?”

  The muscle in Ethan’s jaw jumped, and his blue eyes pinned Georgia to her seat. “Because I’m motivating you.”

  Translation: you’re fired if you don’t make this work. Perfect. An impossible job and a client she knew next to nothing about.

  “Look, you know what your problem is?” Ethan leaned forward. “You care. Worse, you want to care. But experience has taught you over and over that caring only leads to pain. And it can.” Ethan reached for her clasped hands, and Georgia pulled away reflexively. He sighed. “I know the last nine or ten months have been hell. First with Will”—he swallowed hard—“then finishing your tour and deciding not to extend your commitment. Things have been rocky in your personal life for a while now, and I was hoping you’d find some stability here, figure out what you wanted to do.” Ethan sat back; his tension and irritation slid from his shoulders on a heavy exhale. “I just don’t know how to help you with that anymore.”

  Shame hit her fast and hard, flooding her system with the angry hiss of nervous wasps. Ethan knew everything, but they’d never talked about it, and if Georgia had her way, they never would. She didn’t bring personal drama to work. And that was all this was anymore. Personal drama. Personal history. Buried deep where it couldn’t hurt. With just one exception.

  “You could tell me how Will died,” she forced out, twirling the bezel on her watch. The steady click-click-click soothed her. “You know more than you’ve told me, Ethan. I know you do.”

  Ethan shook his head. “You also know I can’t.”

  “You mean won’t,” she said, belligerence as much as frustration fueling her words.

  “Fine. Won’t. Either way, I need you to stop asking, stop digging. You’re drawing attention you might not want. Besides, you know more than anyone that there aren’t any answers out there for you. Will’s missions were classified—national security isn’t something I take lightly, Georgia.” Ethan pulled his fingers through his hair on a rough sigh. He was, as always, married to the rules. Unwilling to deviate from protocol, not even for her. “Will was Delta, and you knew what that meant. So did he. You need to find a way to let it go.”

  Needed to, yes, but Georgia couldn’t bring herself to actually do it. Accepting she’d never know how her brother died, what he died for, where he was—it felt too much like abandoning him, something Will had never done to her, even when it had cost him dearly. She could do no less for him.

  “Some agents are great because they’re cold,” Ethan said, seamlessly redirecting their conversation. “Distant and focused, they see the big picture and get the job done. They don’t care who they work for or why they’re needed. Those are just details. But here’s the hard truth . . . You simply aren’t one of them.”

  Ethan held up a hand as Georgia wrestled with the urge to defend herself. She was a lot of things—and her record might not be spotless—but she was good at her job.

  “I recruited you because you care. You need that personal connection, that flare of respect for the people you’re working with. Because you invest. You connect. It’s your greatest asset as an operative. But you’re holding back, refusing to get to know the people around you. And if you can’t learn how to draw a line, how to balance professional distance with genuine care, then you’re never going to make it in this business.”

  Then maybe this wasn’t the business for her. Georgia didn’t know. What she did know was twofold. First, getting too close to a client was a recipe for disaster. And second, she couldn’t take losing anyone, or anything, else—not even her job.

  A knowing smirk ghosted over Ethan’s face. “Consider this an opportunity to get your equilibrium back. Play nice with Parker—I don’t care how. He’s agreed to work with a security detail on the condition that whomever I choose has ‘more brains than balls’—his words, by the way. And as I suspect you have too much of one and none of the other, that leaves you uniquely suited to the job.”

  Please. The smallest boobs were bigger than the largest balls, which in Georgia’s opinion made them the superior measurement of badassery. Not that anyone was asking her.

  “I assume you can handle the next three days?” Ethan asked. “No commitments you need to cancel?”

  He knew better. Outside of an African violet she kept on her counter, Georgia didn’t do relationships. The uncomplicated demands of a sun-loving, water-it-when-you-remember plant was all she wanted.

  “No, I got this.” Though she still wasn’t entirely sure what “this” was, she knew Ethan well enough to know he wasn’t going to share any more. Pressing would likely get her another scowl and a muttered, “It’s classified.” Words she’d heard far too often and couldn’t stomach anymore.

  Georgia rose and stuffed the keys into her messenger bag. For the first time in forever, she was approaching a job with equal parts interest and dread. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t just a little bit intrigued.

  “Give Parker a chance. Who knows, you might actually like the guy.”

  Maybe, though nerds didn’t usually do it for her. Too passive. Too desperate to bang the prom queen. Still, everything Ethan wasn’t saying about Parker had certainly caught her interest. Maybe the brain had a big mouth, a high security clearance, and felt like sharing.

  “Parker’s important to me, Georgia,” Ethan said as he stood and walked away. “Make this work.”

  He left the “or else” to hang unspoken, heavy as the memory of just what could happen when Georgia let herself care.

  The persistent buzz of her cell phone interrupted Georgia’s ride up to Parker’s loft. She couldn’t imagine who’d be calling. Ethan had just left, so that ruled out work. She didn’t have any family, and the few friends she could claim were still active duty and posted around the world. Fishing her phone out of her bag, Georgia tamped down the realization that somehow, in the last six months, she’d allowed her life to slide into a depressing hole she couldn’t seem to climb her way out of. All she had left was her job, and if she didn’t pull her head out of her ass, she’d lose that, too.

  She supposed she could go back to school, try to survive four years among peers she’d outgrown and couldn’t possibly relate to, but the idea held little appeal. Mostly she was sick to death of taking the universe’s jabs on the chin. She needed time to figure out what she wanted.

  Georgia brushed back the curl of anxiety and checked her phone.

  Isaac. Because of course he’d be calling now. Her ex always had uncanny timing and the inherent ability to say exactly what she was afraid of hearing at the exact moment she was most likely to believe it. She pressed “Decline” and clenched her phone. It was hardly the first time he’d called or texted since their breakup—though he’d certainly been more persistent lately. And because she’d been weak and lonely once—or twice . . . okay, a few times—after her brother’s death, she knew exactly how the conversation would go. Isaac would tell her how much he missed her. That he wanted to see her, to apologize for being a jerk.

  You were the best thing to ever happen to me, babe. I can’t be myself with anyone else, G. They all want something from me. Or her personal favorite: Will was my friend, too. Please let me take you to dinner.

  She’d already fallen for that line of bullshit and sworn she’d never take another cab ride home with her panties in her purse and her pride in that asshole’s bed.

  Georgia shoved her phone back into the outside pocket of her bag and prayed that someday the thought of Isaac wouldn’t make her so damn homesick. Several years older than she was, Isaac had been a foreign service officer at the embassy in Argentina when Georgia was stationed there as a marine. They’d bonded over kung fu movies, savory street food, and local Malbecs. The fact that Isaac and Will became friends had been
the icing on the cake. It was hard, less than two years later, to look back on that time in her life and remember how naive she’d been. How young. How she’d been absolutely certain of her future.

  Now, as the elevator dinged on the seventeenth floor, Georgia wasn’t sure of anything.

  One big, happy family. She’d known better than to buy into that dream. She wouldn’t allow herself to forget the lesson again.

  Stepping off the elevator, Georgia determined to push the call from her mind. She needed to get her head on straight and focus on the job at hand. She might not be certain of much, not even her chosen career, but she was dead sure she wanted to choose her own path forward. As far as she was concerned, she was done playing defense, done fielding life’s volleys. It was time she went on the offense and dealt a few game-changing blows of her own. From this moment on, she was taking charge.

  She squared her shoulders, tried on her practiced smile, lifted her fist, and knocked. Then knocked some more. Then pounded on the industrial steel until her fist hurt. What the hell was she supposed to do now? Ethan had clearly advised against just letting herself in, but how long was she expected to stand outside and wait?

  Screw it. She fished her keys out of her bag and unlocked the door. If the guy wasn’t housebroken, well, she carried a Taser and could fix that quickly enough. It’d get her fired—she could try to spin it in her own mind as the most electric resignation ever—but the satisfaction of watching the inconsiderate jerk squirm would be worth it. Probably. Maybe. Okay, so she’d keep the Taser in her bag and stick with the fantasy.

  Gripping the welded handle with both hands, Georgia slid open the steel door. She’d expected it to squeal and protest, given its age and condition, but it slid open easily on silent tracks. Which made the appearance of the man standing on the other side, staring blankly at her as if he had no clue how she’d appeared, a little unnerving.

  Smoothing down her irritation, Georgia reminded herself she liked her job. “Mr. Livingston?” He didn’t say anything. Didn’t blink. Didn’t move. “I’m Georgia Bennett. With Somerton Security?” Nothing. Just a vacant stare. Worry crept in, crowding out her irritation. Was the guy hurt? Drugged? “Mr. Livingston, are you all right?”

  Georgia inspected him from the top of his shaggy head to the bottom of his bare feet. Ho-ly hell. Her mouth went dry. She’d seen a photo of him in the spread Wired had done—a candid shot of a nerd, drawn and pale, hunched over a computer, a No. 2 pencil clutched between his teeth and a gaunt cut to his features. But this guy . . . this guy was . . . was, well, Georgia wasn’t quite sure what he was. What she did know was that he didn’t just punch all the right buttons; he lit ’em up like she’d hit the jackpot on the marquee slot machine in Vegas.

  No man had any right to be so drop-dead sexy standing practically comatose in a gray, threadbare T-shirt and a pair of navy-blue Jockeys that left little to the imagination. Add in the sexed-up hair and sheet prints on his cheek, and there was just something warm and soft and utterly disarming about the guy. He was lazy Sunday mornings after sex-against-the-wall Saturday nights.

  Whew. Nerds. Who knew?

  Focus on the job, Georgia.

  “Ethan sent me.” Ah, there it was. A flicker of expression across Parker’s face, followed closely by a curl of the lip that could sour dairy. He turned and shuffled off, leaving Georgia standing in the doorway. She scrambled in after him. “Hey! You shouldn’t leave your door open!” Sexy and stupid. A combination sure to kill her interest in three . . . two . . . one . . . Yep, there it went. “Or let a perfect stranger follow you inside.”

  He glanced over one shoulder as he moved into the open kitchen. “So close it.”

  Finally, words. Clipped and irritated, but she’d take them. She slid the door shut behind her, then engaged both bolt locks. Dropping her messenger bag next to a coatrack, she followed him, hoping for a few more verbal bread crumbs to lead the way. No such luck. Parker stood at the sink, staring into the basin as if it held the answer to life’s mysteries. He scratched the back of his head and yawned as he pulled a mug out of the cabinet and set it under the Keurig. Then he stared. And stared some more, his mouth tightening as if he couldn’t understand why the coffee wasn’t making itself. Beyond irritated, Georgia snatched the mug, filled it at the tap, then poured the water into the reservoir. She had to open two drawers and a cabinet to find the coffee pods, and she slammed each one closed just to watch Parker jump and glare.

  “Sing me the song of my people,” Parker muttered as the machine finally hissed and spit, filling his mug with coffee. He grabbed a spoon from the sink, wiped it on the end of his T-shirt, and stirred in one of the pink packets of sweetener that littered the countertop.

  Georgia pulled off her wool peacoat, depositing it on a stool, and watched in horrified fascination as, with each gulp of coffee, Parker’s slack body straightened and strengthened, slowly filling with an artificial energy that took him from discarded sock monkey to Curious George.

  Oh hell. This was the guy she was supposed to get to know? Ethan wasn’t just testing her. He was punishing her.

  Parker looked at her over the rim of his mug and slid an assessing gaze over her as if seeing her for the first time. “So. Who’re you again?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Parker studied the woman—he was fairly certain she’d introduced herself, but information gathered pre-coffee didn’t count—glaring at him from across the kitchen counter. Damn, that full mouth set in stern disapproval was sexy. Huh. That didn’t make sense. He took another sip of coffee. Hmm. Nope, still sexy. Usually coffee worked like beer goggles in reverse, rendering whatever, or whomever, he was staring at less interesting or attractive. Wasn’t working on the woman in front of him, though. Each sip illuminated something new and interesting. The way her hair, curly and wild, sprung away from her hat as if frustrated at her attempt to contain it. The way she crossed her arms in disapproval, propping up a generous pair of breasts, obvious even under a bulky cable-knit sweater. The way she tilted her chin and stared him down, as if she expected him to say or do something stupid at any moment. The lush curve of her lower lip alone had him contemplating just how stupid he wanted to be.

  The answer? Pretty stupid, he decided, as he let an impression of her form—wicked delight wrapped up in a fierce femininity that drew him to live dangerously and damn the consequences. As he thought more about it, about her, he decided to amend his answer. He wanted to be incredibly stupid.

  Damn, if this was a dream, it was a doozy. Coffee and a woman who looked like she’d be feisty as hell in bed. Maybe he’d have himself another cup and move the incredibly stupid portion of his dream back to the bedroom.

  “Are you listening to me?” she demanded.

  You said stuff?

  “Yes, I said stuff!”

  Huh. He must have said that out loud. Obviously he needed the aforementioned second cup of mojo. Mmmmm, maybe that should be mojoe. He snickered as he set himself to the task of making it.

  “I’m Georgia Bennett, with Somerton Security.” She huffed out an irritated breath, disturbing the curls around her face. “Ethan sent me.”

  Oh. Not a dream, then. Bummer.

  “What day is it?” Parker asked as he swept his hand over the counter, collecting all the scattered crumbs of sweetener from coffee he didn’t remember making. The caffeine was kicking in, and reality was rapidly encroaching. He’d need at least one more cup to deal with it. Hell, it’d probably take a third to tolerate the scowling woman standing in his kitchen. Ethan, the bastard, had no doubt timed her arrival for when Parker would be at his weakest, his most vulnerable. Ethan knew all too well that Parker was basically worthless first thing. Asshole had probably counted on it to ensure his latest guard dog made it through the door.

  “The twelfth.” Her expression as he brushed the neat little pile of fake sugar into his fresh cup of coffee was nothing short of disgusted. Oh well, waste not, want not.

  “No, what day is it?�
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  She looked at him like he was an addict scooping his fix out of a toilet, but she answered. “Thursday.”

  Interesting. Last he’d checked, it’d been just after 2:00 a.m. on Tuesday. That explained the mess of sweetener packets on the counter and the stack of cereal bowls in the sink. At least he’d finished the last of his coding on his latest program and sent it off to his team. He’d have to check on their progress after he dealt with Ethan’s newest pet gorilla. Although that descriptor didn’t really suit the woman standing in front of him. Ethan must have finally taken the whole brains-over-balls thing seriously. Parker smiled. Or maybe Ethan just had a twisted sense of humor. Either way, it was time to find out exactly what made Miss Georgia Bennett tick. It was only fair; if he was meant to put up with her, she should damn well have to put up with him.

  “So. Ethan sent you.”

  “That’s what I’ve been explaining for the last twenty minutes. Think you’re awake enough now, or do you need another dose of caffeine?” She snatched her hat off her head and dropped it on top of what he assumed was her coat.

  “I should be good for the moment.” He walked out from behind the island and into the living room. “You might need a cup, though. You’re a little grouchy.” He gestured to the Keurig. “Help yourself before you leave.”

  Oh, if her hair could have curled with indignation the way her eyes lit with fire, she’d have made a picture. “I’m not leaving.”

  “But you didn’t say anything about grouchy, so please, help yourself. There’s creamer in the fridge, but I’d smell it first.” He scratched his stomach as he moved into the living room. Maybe he should put on some real clothes. Or at least some sweats. Then again, it was his house, so he could dress how he wanted.

  “Look, Mr. Livingston—”

  Oh yuck, no. That took her from smoldering badass to irritated schoolteacher. “Parker’s fine.”

  “Parker, then.”

  She sighed but followed him into the living room, without coffee.