“I’m Sean Fitzpatrick, though I’m apparently Alan Wallis now. I’ve never met Raleigh Wallis personally, but I noticed in a few of the pictures on the bookshelf that we’re both gingers.”
The desire to grasp his gorgeous face with both hands and kiss the living daylights out of the handsome man was nearly overwhelming, but that would be inappropriate. He was fucking sexy, but his life was far different from mine.
I stepped into the entry hall and stood to the side so Mr. Fitzpatrick could shut the door before shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Hess. Neither Schatz nor Wallis told me much about you. I suppose I’m at your mercy, nonetheless. Have you kept many folks alive in situations like this?”
How the hell did I answer that? I stood there for a moment before I grinned. “I was a Special Forces soldier. My record speaks for itself.” That was about as vague as I could get without lying to the man.
“Cocky then. Good, good. Uh, I was about to have some coffee. Would you like some?”
I placed my Stetson on the table by the front door, where a fancy bowl was next to a small lamp. “Sure. Nice place here.” It was tastefully decorated with masculine touches, unlike the cozy country look Mom had always loved. Those frilly curtains in my bedroom were horrible.
“Yes, it’s very nice. Mine’s bigger than this, but it’s more austere. This is much homier. Anyway, did you bring clothes? A gun, perhaps?” He seemed a little judgy, but he was still damn cute.
I opened the tan suede blazer I was wearing to show him the holster under my shoulder. My Glock 22 was there with a full mag. I didn’t carry it as a rule, but that was about to change.
I also had a Mossberg 500 Tac shotgun in my truck behind the seat. I steadied my gaze on Sean Fitzpatrick. “Have you ever used a gun, Mr. Fitzpatrick?”
He returned my stare for a moment. “Call me Sean, please. What should I call you? Tall, dark, and sexy?”
The heat slid up my neck as I swallowed my nerves. I was pretty sure it was against the rules of being a bodyguard—or whatever I was trying to be—to fuck the client. I mean, he wasn’t actuallymyclient, but I was still sure there were rules for that kind of thing. “If you want, but most folks just call me Jeri or Jericho. Whatever suits you.”
He laughed, which was deep and sexy, surprising for his size. I was six-two. He came up to my chin, but his voice was deeper than mine.
“What does your family call you?”
“My father is deceased. My mother calls me Jeri.” I slid off my jacket, feeling a little too warm, though I doubted the jacket had anything to do with it.
“I’m, uh, I’m sorry. I can be a callous bastard sometimes. And stubborn. I’m probably going to be the worst person you’ve ever tried to protect.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his khaki pants. He definitely looked the part of a politician.
“Well, I find that the desire to remain alive can push people to do things they wouldn’t ordinarily do—like listen when I tell you to run or duck—without an argument.”
Sean was quiet for a minute before he nodded. “So, coffee then. How do you take it?”
“Black, please.” I followed him into a nice galley kitchen with a small table at the far end that looked like a booth. I walked over to the table and took a seat, unsure of what to say to the man.
Then I remembered my earlier question. “A gun, Sean? Have you ever shot one?”
He’d pulled out a drawer under a one-cup coffee maker and was staring at the pods inside. “No. Never. Do you like flavored or regular?”
“Regular, if you have it.” I glanced around the area where I was sitting and found pictures of our hosts, I was guessing. One was tall and thin, and the other looked like a brick shithouse. They were framed black and white pictures, but both men seemed to glow as they laughed, kissed, and appeared to joke around during the shots. They looked like great guys to be around.
“So, uh, how do you know Mr. Wallis?”
Sean closed the top on the coffee maker, pressed a couple of buttons, and then turned to me as the liquid energy flowedinto a white mug. “I don’t. His husband is a former North Carolina congressman. He’s the thin one in the pictures. They’re sickeningly in love.
“When I was helping Ben with his congressional campaign, he told me how they met. Ben was BFF’s with Raleigh’s younger sister and donated a kidney to her. She was diabetic and suffered from kidney failure. Unfortunately, she died, but Ben said he believed Raleigh’s sister brought them together. They’re both terrific guys.”
“That’s damn selfless. I was friends with all the guys in my unit, but I couldn’t say we were best friends. It was one of those things where you had your buddy’s back, but you didn’t get too close because either of you might not make it through a mission.”
It was the first time I’d considered why I didn’t have any close buddies after I got out of the Army. Nobody wanted to stay in touch because my missing foot was a reminder of what could happen to them.
Sean put a cup of coffee in front of me and sat across from me, likely taking stock of my ability to keep him safe. “You know nothing about me, but I’m here to watch out for you until the folks in New York figure out who’s trying to cause you harm. Tell me what’s happened, if you will. Schatz told me your car blew up on Friday?”
Sean raised an eyebrow. “Was blown upon Friday. And news flash, there was a body in the trunk.”
Just as I was about to question that information more, the doorbell rang. Sean headed over to answer it, and instead of yelling at him, I relaxed and let those old instincts take over. “You don’t answer the door anymore.”
