She grinned. “Streets. Where else?”
“The streets. Meaning you fight dirty. That’s cool. You want a job?” The words popped out, and Brock wanted to kick himself. That’s what happened after four beers—impulse took over and his mouth went on auto-pilot.
He hadn’t meant to get into this with her. He’d been taught to protect those around them. The weak. The misfortunate. The ones you loved. Those were the rare ones. He’d always had to watch out for the folks who needed someone. He’d always hated the idea of meeting his maker on foreign soil and having that tear someone up back home—and it had ended up costing him.
But Slade was looking to expand the teams with support staff. Slade had said he also wanted to get some females on board. There were some jobs that needed a woman to do things that a guy couldn’t, like follow a female suspect or a client into a bathroom. Slade wasn’t the kind of guy to put women in danger, but the truth was that females could be a great distraction. He glanced at the girl—yeah, he’d bet she’d clean up to be totally distracting.
She hadn’t said anything, and he wasn’t sure if that was because she hadn’t heard him or was thinking things over. He was about ready to write her off—and that was a relief—when she asked, “What’s the pay?”
He glanced at her. It was her call to dive into this, and Slade would make sure she stayed safe. She’d get training. She’d never go out without back up. That actually might be something this girl could use. If he left her on the streets, there’d be no telling what might become of her. He gave a nod. “Good. Really good.”
She stuck out her hand. “I’m Keira Mantz. I don’t use drugs and I don’t sell them. I’m not up for anything illegal and I have no intention of ever being anyone’s property!”
She had enough aggression in her tone that Brock shook his head. But he also grabbed her hand and shook it. She had a firm grip. “Well, don’t go all Amazon man-hater on me.”
“Why not?”
He glanced at her. Her mouth had twisted into a grimace, and he figured something had put her off men in general. Maybe Toad—or maybe just guys like him. Pity about that, but it’d be better for the job if she wasn’t there to snag a guy. “Okay, go ahead with that. I can’t guarantee anything, but I can take you to meet Slade. He’s got to make the final call on you working for him. You want to stop and pick up anything before we head out to meet up with him?”
She shook her head. “I’m more than ready to leave my old life behind. All of it.”
Brock put his eyes on the road. He knew about that. Sometimes life just got shitty enough that all you could do was leave the wreckage behind. He pulled out his cell phone to call Slade and set up a meet. The corner of his mouth twitched. Slade was going to love this girl—he just knew it. Brock snuck one more glance at her.
If she was coming on board with Slade’s team, that put her off limits. Totally. Pity about that, because Brock wouldn’t have minded seeing what she looked like under that big shirt of hers. But work came first. Always. That was one rule Brock was never breaking.
Chapter 2
Keira Mantz stepped off of the private plane, her nerves just about vibrating. This was the first time Slade was trusting her to run an operation. She’d had three months of training—weapons, hand-to-hand, covert ops—and three months of working with other teams in support roles.
She’d glimpsed Brock occasionally during all of that, but most of the time he’d been other places in the world. She’d learned fast that he was one of the best at Slade Security. She wanted to be that, too. This was her chance to prove herself.
The flight halfway around the world had been one of the most luxurious she’d ever taken—Slade Security flew their people in private jets, and Keira still wasn’t used to that kind of pampering. It made her nervous. Life had taught her you never got anything good without paying for it, so she was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. What was this job going to cost her in skin? Well, only one way to find out. She’d just have to dive in and see if she was up for this kind of life.
Stepping off the plane’s steps and onto Jawharan soil, she tugged her jacket straight and glanced around.
Not an arid desert, she thought. The landscape she’d been expecting was nowhere to be found. Oh, sure there were distant mountains that looked dry, and she’d read up on Jawhara—it had deserts, but it also had oil, forests, beaches, and tax laws that invited the rich to make this a favorite watering hole. She could see the attraction.
She headed inside the airport to the limo waiting for her. Lush plants seemed to be everywhere—in pots, hanging from the rooflines and clinging to the walls of buildings, both outside and inside, or pushing up from the ground. She spotted date palms waving in the breeze that brushed over her skin. The air smelled of nearby ocean and carried a hint of spice and diesel exhaust from the jets.
The limousine driver waiting for her caught her eye. He looked ex-military, which she approved of—that meant the Sheikh was hiring good people. She gave a nod to the guy, and he moved to open the car door for her. She slipped into the car, pulled off her designer sunglasses, and admired the taste of the Sheikh of Jawhara.
She’d been through his profile five times. Kamal Mehalel El-Jawhara was one of the richest men in the world, and one of the most camera shy. He’d also fallen in love with an American girl, and planned to marry soon. That was good, since it meant he’d have a crown prince soon, maybe, but also not so good in that there was some anti-American sentiment in this part of the world.
Sheikh Kamal had to walk a fine line between keeping his ties to the west and keeping his country secure and his neighbors happy. It couldn’t be an easy job, and she could understand why the sheikh was a little overly concerned about security.
She’d been given a brief paragraph on the main players inside the palace, too, and so far it all looked good on paper. However, the kind of money that bought these luxuries—leather seats, a bottle of Dom sitting in an ice bucket, state of the art electronics that included satellite TV—had her rubbing her palm on her bare thigh.
Was she ever going to get used to this? The limo smelled of leather and new car—and it rode like a cloud, not a bump making its way to her. She’d be playing with the rich and powerful all right. She tried to settle.
She was supposed to be the epitome of a well-dressed, well-educated, society girl. She’d dressed the part, dripping designer everything, most of it Donna Karan, and she could act the part when needed. She’d been coached and had hung out with some models in New York. The trailer trash part of her only came out under the worst stress.
She thanked genetics for the high cheek bones, good skin, and long legs she’d been blessed with. The fashionable figure—model slim—had come from a childhood where there was never enough to eat. But she knew how to work her booty—something that came in very handy in securing the safety of the rich and pampered of the world, especially the men. None of them ever complained about having a beautiful woman attached to their sides. The women were a different story.
How was the woman she was here to protect—Erin Malone—going to react? Would she be one of those jealous bitches, or one of the wilting females, or even one of the spoilt ones who always liked to push boundaries?
Keira flipped back her hair and settled into her pose—wealthy socialite and Erin’s old friend, here to see how Erin was setting in
with Kamal Mehalel El-Jawhara, the reigning Sheikh.