I never have trouble falling asleep. I train hard, I work hard, and when my head hits the pillow, I’m asleep. But tonight, I’m distracted by the woman lying in a bed only paces from my room, and guilty that I’m even thinking of her when my sister’s in danger.
Why Skylar?
Why Violet?
I can’t shake the feeling that it’s someone after me, someone seeking to get revenge. The list of my enemies is as long as my arm, and I can’t even begin to decipher who it could be. I never heard the name Derrick Dossier before tonight.
She promised she’d help me. I know she will. Together, we’ll find Skylar.
I fall into a deep and dreamless sleep and don’t move or wake until my alarm clock sounds a few hours later.
I stifle a groan and smack the alarm off, get to my feet, and head to the bathroom. Use the facilities, wash my face, scrub a hand through my hair. I sleep bare-chested, the dog tags I wear glinting in the bright overhead lighting. They aren’t mine, but I won’t take them off. They remind me of the man who made me who I am today, for better or for worse. They remind me how I got here.
Where’s Skylar?
Is she hurt?
Is Violet?
Did she sleep well?
I don’t drink, but for once, I understand the appeal of a Bloody-fucking-Mary.
I tug on a tee, jeans, and a pair of socks and boots, then check my phone.
No messages, which shouldn’t be surprising since I only slept a few hours. I glance at the clock. Six thirty. She’s supposed to meet me at the target range at seven.
I’ve got just enough time for a cup of coffee. The door to her room is shut tight, no sound from the other side. She might be tired, but so am I, and if she’s working with me, she’ll learn to deal with sleep deprivation. She’d better not be late.
The house is either wide awake or most of my staff never went to bed last night. I pay them well to work hard for long hours and give them all six weeks of paid leave throughout the year. I guarantee them the best benefits of any other private firm on the East Coast. They’re loyal to the core.
A door slams in the distance, and I pause on the landing. Someone shouts, then Joe’s voice—deeper, calmer—replies.
Armand? Did Joe do what I told him to?
I find Alma at the landing. She’s already dressed for the day, her hair tucked into a solid blue bandana, a dustpan in hand. I tried to hire her just to do the cooking, but she insists on doing the cleaning as well. So, I hired a small staff to assist. This house is huge.
“Good morning, Mr. Master.”
“Morning, Alma. What’s all the noise?”
“I don’t know, sir. I keep my business to myself, you know.” She gives me a tight smile, swiping her rag along the side tables until they shine. She doesn’t suffer dust or fingerprints. Someone could rob our place, and she’d have the prints wiped off before the cops could arrive.
Not that we’d need them.
“But I think,” she says, turning so I can’t see her face. I’m sure she’s smiling, though, because she’s always smiling. “Your little lady has already awoken.”
My little lady?
She is little, I’ll give her that.
“Has she?”
“Yessir. She came down earlier looking for a few things.”
I’m walking down the stairs as Alma fills me in but have half an ear out for Armand and Joe.
“What was she looking for?”
“Cucumbers, filtered water, fresh mint, and some moisturizer.” I’ll have her make a list tonight of everything she needs.
“And?”
“I got her everything she requested, sir.”
“Thank you.”
The smell of coffee wafts past me, along with the low murmur of voices in the kitchen. I trot down the remaining steps and head to the kitchen. Violet’s nowhere to be seen. Joe’s sitting at the head of the table with a cup the size of a Great Lake in front of him, along with a few others. They all look up when I enter.
“Morning. Anyone seen Miss Price?”
“Morning, sir,” Joe says, his eyes twinkling at me. “I believe Miss Price is ready for her… instruction?” He leaves enough of a pause between his words to make the other men guffaw. I’ll give him a fucking lesson.
“At the shooting range?” I don’t want her there without me. We’ve got weapons that would blow the arm off a giant.
“Yessir.”
“She has no shooting experience. I don’t want her at the range without someone who knows how to shoot.”
“No shooting experience?” Joe looks baffled. He’s probably wondering why I hired someone with no shooting experience, but I don’t owe him an explanation.
On paper, she’s got skills. She’s got many things she can offer my team. In real life, I want a hell of a lot more than her skill set.