It was a job. It paid obscenely well. His boss, Chance McCormick, was his oldest friend from back in the days when thousand-dollar suits and guns were just parts of their imaginary cops versus gangster games.
David missed those days, and not just because he’d been young and innocent and so very clueless about what being a cop or a gangster really meant. He missed them because they were exciting and free. Because they were never, ever boring.
Because holy fucking god, he wassobored.
This sort of mind-numbing inaction was exactly what he’d wanted when he’d quit his job at the Boston Police Department. Extreme monotony was the hope he’d clung to when the Superintendent of BPD SWAT had asked him to reconsider—had even gone so far as to tell David he wasneeded. It had hurt to walk away from that, but David had known the truth that he wasn’t willing to share with his superintendent or anyone else—no one was going to need him anywhere near the station, let alone his gun, if he couldn’t keep his shit together.
He’d seen too much.Donetoo much. It had been time for a change.
The issue had then become figuring out what the hell he was going to do with himself. At thirty-two, he was too young to retire and too old to completely start over. He’d always planned on being a cop. He’d gone to school at Suffolk University, around the corner from the police headquarters, and studied criminal justice. Hell, he’d even interned with the BPD. It was all he’d ever wanted. All he’d ever known. Until he’d realized he didn’t want it anymore—that he’d barely lasted a decade, and it was already time for something different. Something less exciting. More stable.
Like working in personal security for McCormick Associates.
The good news, aside from David having exactly what he wanted, professionally-speaking, was that he’d discovered he had an above-average aptitude for staying alert and vigilant through teeth-grinding levels of tedium.
In hindsight, this also explained his grade in statistics class.
He watched his charge make her way to the bar where no one was checking IDs and reminded himself it wasn’t his job to do anything about that unless her dad, Harold, who wrote the checks, added it to the list of things for David to monitor. Since dad was on the other side of the room, smiling at his pride and joy as she took the cosmopolitan from the bartender, David guessed his orders weren’t going to change.
At least Harold wasn’t likely to ask David to sleep with his daughter, which is more than could be said about his last client’s desires regarding his wife. Aside from being unprofessional—and possibly illegal—at eighty-seven, Doris was a little above David’s usual age bracket.
David smiled, then put on his sternest frown when he realized he’d garnered the attention of several people around him. Of course, the bad-ass look worked even better for some people. David was flattered, and the tall blond guy giving him the once-over was fucking hot in those slim-tailored slacks, but David was here to work.
Once he got off shift, his big plan was to go home, start a fire, reheat the leftover pasta from the night before, and make some fresh mozzarella to go with the tomatoes he’d buy at the Haymarket later this week.
He was so busy salivating over that idea, he almost didn’t notice the newcomer pop out of the kitchen.Almost.
Right hair color. No tray of samples like everyone else was hauling out of the kitchen. David leaned to the right to see around the line for the bar and was on the move as soon as he saw the man wasn’t wearing a hotel uniform.
He could be a manager. Or a guest who’d gotten lost. But none of those people would keep their face turned away from the room, or their shoulders up so high.
David wove through the tables, heading straight toward Andrea. She didn’t notice, but her father stood up, his eyes narrowing on David’s face before scanning the room.
David knew his instincts had been right when Harold jolted as if he’d been struck and whipped his head around to stare at David with wide-eyed alarm.
Oh joy. It seemed the troublesome ex-boyfriend had decided to pay a visit.
When David and Chance had first met with Harold and Andrea, all they’d shared was a name and a photograph, which meant all David had known for certain was that Prentiss Harrisonthe thirdsounded—and, okay,looked—like an entitled, spoiled douchebag. Chance had investigated further but found no criminal history. No school disciplinary actions on record. No gun permit. According to Harold, Prentiss was just “a jerk” who’d turn up where he wasn’t expected or welcome and sometimes make a scene.
David fervently hoped a scene was all that was about to happen. A scene he could handle and end quickly with the help of the hotel staff. But the itch at the back of his neck made him move a little faster. He could see the ex’s face now, and he looked completely different than in that picture. Pale and grim. And worse—desperate.
David had witnessed what desperation could drive people to do.
His heart rate kicked up another notch. He touched Andrea’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”
“What?” She spun in her seat, took one look at his face, and turned to search for her father.
David followed her gaze when she gasped.
Fuck.
Lover-boy wasn’t coming toward them, but was zeroed in on Harold. As far as David could tell, Prentiss-the-douchebag hadn’t even picked Andrea out of the crowd yet. David scanned the room. He was being paid to protect Andrea, but there was no way he could leave the father defenseless. Not when he could see a bulge in the back waistband of Prentiss’s pants.
A dude named fuckingPrentissshould not be capable of being scary, but here they were. He scanned Andrea’s friends and picked one with her phone in her hand.
“Stand up, pretend to answer your phone, and walk toward the lobby. Keep your voice down and call 911. When you get to the lobby, tell the staff we have a serious security issue and they should also call the police. Do you understand?”
She stared at him blankly.
