Chapter One
Grim
Whoever said it never rains in Southern California has clearly never been here.
It’s coming down in buckets, and I need gas.
Driving back and forth from my Los Angeles apartment to my new job in Sage Canyon, a small town just east of Temecula, is becoming a pain in the ass. Granted, I don’t work a nine-to-five job, so I’m not required to go into the office often. Except when my boss calls an all-hands meeting for nine o’clock in the morning.
Instead of dealing with morning rush hour traffic, I opted to drive up tonight. I’ll sleep in one of the unfinished rooms set up in the massive new building that houses Shadow Security. It’s pretty impressive, if I do say so myself. I’m excited about the job, just not the commute.
If I’m honest, I’m not a big fan of change when it comes to work.
I can go with the flow on a mission—that’s my specialty—but a whole new company, new boss, new base location, even newco-workers, makes me nervous. Not socially, but professionally. The job we do as elite bodyguards requires a high level of trust, and I don’t have that with everyone. No matter how much they’ve been vetted.
Luckily, the rain stops like nothing happened just as I’m pulling into a gas station. It’s a little after eight, so dark out, but the place is well-lit and not far from the freeway. I get out of my truck and swipe my credit card before putting the nozzle in the tank and letting it fill. There’s an older model van parked on the opposite side of the gas island from me, with no one inside.
I’ve just pulled out my phone to see if I have any texts when the door to the van creaks open. I see a tentative hand and then a tangled mass of blond hair before a petite woman practically tumbles out. She catches herself, holding on to the door, and cautiously lifts her head.
Beneath the cascade of messy hair, she’s beautiful except for how pale and wasted she looks. I can’t tell for sure because of the fluorescent lights, but there seems to be a bruise on her face too. She’s not at all steady on her feet, and she sways a bit before lifting her chin and trying to focus on me. Brushing hair out of her face, she blinks a few times.
“Help me,” she finally whispers, leaning heavily against the side of the van. “I need?—”
Before I have a chance to react, a guy who looks about thirty-five comes around the back of the van, momentarily startled to see the woman clinging to the door. Then he smiles with a look that appears fond.
“Honey, Itoldyou to stay in the van,” he says in a soft, well-modulated voice. “You’ve had a lot to drink. You should lay down.” He wraps an arm around her and pulls her against him. She winces, pushing at his chest before seemingly giving up the fight.
“She can’t hold her liquor,” the man says to me with a friendly smile. “I’m going to put her to bed and let her sleep it off.”
The woman mumbles something, but I can’t hear it.
Everything inside me is torn.
I feel like I need to verify that she’s okay but he looks like an average, clean-cut middle-class guy in jeans and a polo shirt. The only red flag is the fact that she asked for help and what might be a bruise on her face. I can’t tell for sure. And did she ask for help because she doesn’t feel safe or because she’s so drunk she doesn’t feel well? Is it a red flag or something that’s none of my business?
She seems more relaxed now, or she’s on the verge of passing out, and the nozzle clicks loudly, alerting me that my tank is full.
Slowly and carefully, to buy myself some time, I put the nozzle back in the pump.
“Have a good night!” The guy calls as he helps the woman into the passenger seat of the van instead of into the back, where she came from. As he awkwardly lifts her, her blouse rides up and there’s an obvious and ugly bruise on her ribs that no lighting can disguise.
Now I’m paying attention.
That’s red flag number two.
I watch as he puts the seat belt around her, snaps it into place and then closes the door of the van. Her head lolls to the side as he jogs around to the driver’s side.
I don’t like this.
I have nothing but my gut and a bruise that could have been the result of anything, but it goes against everything I stand for not to do something. To at least verify that she’s okay. But he’s pulling away and I’m?—
The woman’s head lifts and she turns. Wide, frightened eyes meet mine, and one hand is splayed on the glass.
“Help me.” I can’t hear her, but I have no trouble reading her lips.
Red flag number three.
I watch as the van pulls up to the street, pausing to wait for a break in traffic. That gives me the opportunity to jump back in my truck and put it in gear. I pull out behind the van, and the driver eases onto the highway going south. Since that’s the direction I’m going anyway, I follow.
