One to Protect (One to Hold 3)

She’s still holding my gaze when I hear Patrick approaching.

“Okay!” His breezy voice breaks through the tension. “I’ve got it all set up. Derek and I’ll be on the balcony. It’s closed, so you won’t hear us, but we’ll be there… What’s going on?”

He stops in front of us, and I know my partner’s too smart to be fooled. “What’s the plan if Star gets in over her head?”

“I won’t.” Her voice is sharp and argumentative. “You two just stay back and let me handle it. Don’t fuck up our case being overprotective.”

Patrick nods. “Safe word. You need a safe word, T.”

“What the hell?” She’s confused, but I see where he’s going with it. He’s right.

“What’s something you can yell that you’d never say during sex?”

A laugh bursts from her mouth with an exhale. “Sangria?”

“Can you yell that?” Patrick’s running it over in his mind, and I can tell he approves already. “It’s good because it won’t alert the other patrons. They’ll think it’s just some drunken diner…”

“Hell, it won’t even alert him if he’s not paying attention.” I’m irritated that Star’s smart. She could do more with her life than this.

“Sangria it is.” Patrick leads us out of the alley. “Now we just have to get changed, head to the bar and wait.”

Hours later, we’re back at the Oceanaire.

Patrick is the only one in the bar with Star. He’s not even with her; he’s down a few seats nursing a vodka tonic. Sloan knows me, so once they’re situated, I head to the secluded balcony to wait.

The staff doesn’t even look up when I pass through the side hall off the kitchen and dash up the narrow flight of stairs.

I’ve only seen this spot from the outside. Inside is a whole different story. It’s technically not a balcony. It’s more like a closet with a window that opens. It’s tight and cramped, and it smells like musty socks and body odor. I cover my nose with my hand, thinking this is going to be a long night. What I’m pretty sure is a used condom lies discarded in the corner.

Apparently this is a hot spot for hookups. My first thought is we should’ve put Star here, but then she would’ve been too inaccessible. My second thought is what the hell did Patrick say he and I would be doing up here? Fuck it. I can’t worry about that now.

I text him to turn on the surveillance app, so I can hear what he’s seeing. His phone will be out on the bar, and the technology’s not perfected. I’ll get plenty of noise along with the conversation through my earbuds, but I’ll be able to follow what they’re saying.

He texts back they’re not in place yet, and I have to wait. Tension tightens the muscles in my abdomen. Fucking surveillance. I’ve never liked how much waiting was involved in this part of this job. It’s a big reason private investigative work lost out over corporate when Stuart and I set up the firm. I feel around the one small window looking for a latch to release it. If we have to get down there fast, one of us can jump. Pushing it open and looking down, I decide that’ll be Patrick’s job.

A blip on my phone, and I know the subject’s in the building. I’m so tense, the muscles across my upper back ache. Star’s competent. She’s demonstrated her street smarts and experience. She’s committed to this job for more reasons than just helping us. But right now is our most important moment. If this blows up, we could lose our licenses. We could be arrested for entrapment…

This has to work.

I slip the earbuds in my ears. Noise.

The ting of ice against crystal, crash of liquor bottles against racks.

Voices are speaking, but I don’t hear anything familiar.

Finally, a voice I do recognize cuts through the din.

“I’m sorry.” Star’s tone is breathy and high. Marilyn Monroe. “Do you mind if I wait here? I’m supposed to be meeting someone.”

“Of course not.” Sloan is casual, but I’m a guy. There’s a spark of interest there.

Tonight, she’s wearing a filmy black dress that ends at her knees. It’s got a high slit on the side and thin straps over her shoulders, so it’s clear she takes care of her body. We got her a very light golden spray-tan and her hair is styled loose down her back. A silver cuff bracelet, thin necklace, and small hoop earrings are her only accessories. She’s classy, but also sexy enough to get the wheels turning.

The noise of the bar is loud in my ears, and I can only imagine what’s happening. Bartenders moving fast, patrons waiting to put in drink orders. Finally, Sloan orders a Manhattan. Star already has a cosmopolitan—a drink she says is for wannabe little bitches. Whatever. So long as she keeps all that to herself.

“Oh,”

more Marilyn. “I’m sorry again. It’s so crowded here tonight. Is it always like this?”