He should’ve expected this. Like his bodyguard, Mathers had eyes and ears everywhere. Boone was his most trusted associate, and even he wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that Mathers had him tracked and followed. He almost expected it and long ago decided not to check his personal phone or vehicle for any signs of tampering.
Besides, it wasn’t like he didn’t have a constant read on where his employer was. Theirs was the perfect arrangement. And since he respected their partnership as much as he did the man, Boone was honest with him. Besides, it would be much better coming from him. Mathers needed him too much to lash out. But Pope? Yeah. Collateral damage.
“Pope spotted Grace on the perimeter of Ophelia early this morning. She was standing on the porch and she wasn’t alone.” He paused, bracing his big body for Mathers’ reaction, then added, “They were being intimate with each other.”
“Intimate how, Boone? I highly doubt she started fucking him in the open.”
The crude word didn’t seem to fit his hypnotic and lyrical lilt. Boone blinked when he heard it, then waited a moment to clarify. “A kiss.”
“With this man.” At Boone’s nod, Mathers said, “I see.”
Boone stood at attention, his hands folded behind his back, his eyes staring straight ahead. The quiet in Mathers’ voice was as spooky as it was dangerous.
Shit.
Mathers reached up, tapping his chin. A crazed gleam bloomed in his dark blue eyes, though his voice was as soft and cultured as always. “So Grace has let the distance help her forget that she’s been claimed. Maybe it’s time we remind her.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But how?” It wasn’t an invitation for Boone to answer. Mathers was talking out loud, his brain going a mile a minute as he worked out the next step of his plan. “I can’t risk her running again. She’d expect a tracker, so that won’t work. How would I find her again? No. We have to get her where she’s safe. Comfortable. She forgot about me? That might just work to my advantage. And when I get her back? She’ll learn what a huge mistake she made.”
If they got her back.
That Ophelia was more of a fortress than some quaint B&B. Even with Pope’s considerable lock-picking skills, he hadn’t found a way past the alarms without triggering them. From Hamlet mutterings, seemed like the proprietor had some trouble a couple of years ago and the security measures were put in place. Smart on her part, but damn if it didn’t make his job any harder.
At this point, Boone was ready to go in, guns blazing, and drag the woman out by her hair. Screw this bullshit. It was taking too long. If he thought he could get Mathers to agree, he’d have Grace with his employer by morning. Then Mathers would be happy, they could focus on the business again, and Boone could start looking for a lady friend of his own.
But that’s not what Mathers wanted. And Mathers was the boss.
So he waited for further instructions, standing by Mathers because that was what he chose to do.
Money didn’t buy him. Respect and loyalty did. Back when they were kids, before Boone went off to war and Mathers still let him call him Tommy, the two forged a bond that nothing would break.
Money didn’t hurt, of course, and Mathers certainly had bucketloads of it. But the insane amount Mathers paid him was a bonus when compared to the debt he could never repay. Thomas Mathers saved his life twice: once, when they were idiot boys and Mathers jumped in the middle of a fight and took a knife that was meant for Boone; and again, when he was discharged from the Marines and he needed a purpose.
Working as Mathers’ bodyguard gave him one. In that line of work, he could use his considerable set of skills. He protected while he intimidated, scoping out dirt on the competition and gathering intel, then standing back as Mathers’ genius business mind made them all fucking rich.
Nothing stopped Mathers. He might have played the part of the playboy bachelor, but Boone knew the obsessive, dark heart that beat in the center of that cold, ambitious man. He knew it—and he admired it.
So Mathers had a flaw. It could’ve been worse. He might want to get his dick wet without worrying how he did. This way, Boone only had one woman he had to worry about instead of a whole line of them.
Small mercies. After a lifetime of all the shit he’d seen, and the things he had to do, keeping tabs on a ballerina was the least of his worries. He could track her in his sleep, keep Mathers up to date on her movements, and still have time to focus on some of his employer’s other less savory—and more fiscally rewarding—ventures.
When Mathers finally had his woman, he’d get his head back on straight and remember what was really important. Until then, it was up to Boone to anticipate the man’s needs. And making sure the business was still running smoothly was the most important one of all.
While they fucked around outside of Hamlet, he had some of his trusted guys on it. If it wasn’t for his loyalty to Mathers, his devotion to making life as easy as possible for his employer, he’d ask to be relocated to the city. The fresh air and shitty hotel food were giving him hives.
At least the pornos they offered were inventive and worth being trapped in his half of the connecting suite.
Just when he was hoping that Mathers would return to his side and maybe give Boone a couple of hours alone with his television, he heard the tell-tale, thoughtful tapping of Mathers’ expensive dress shoe against the floor.
And then Mathers murmured, “The wedding.”
Boone nodded. The damn
wedding. How could he forget? They’ve been planning it for weeks. He thought it was pathetic when he learned what a fucking viscaria was. Now? He was basically fluent in florist speak and could spot the difference between windflowers and poppies in a catalogue. He even had to help Mathers choose a wedding dress for his runaway bride. It was a good thing he was as big as he was. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have put it past Mathers to order him to try it on.
“Are the invitations printed yet?”