Reckless (Benson Security 1)

Joe nudged Dimitri and when he turned the guy passed him a piece of paper. When he opened it there was a note:

Perfectly adequate is seriously bad dude. You need to get yourself some skills.

And just like that, his mind was back on Megan.

Chapter Ten

Dimitri took Callum’s words seriously. That’s why he found himself outside Megan’s apartment door at five o’clock the next morning—he’d set up some training. As he knocked on the door, he admitted it was probably a little early to get started, but he’d spent the night tossing and turning, frustrated that things weren’t moving fast enough with the case. And what better way to work out his frustration than with Megan.

He paused. He needed to rephrase that. The images going through his head had nothing to do with combat training and a whole lot to do with the two of them in one bed. Limbs entwined. Glistening skin. Desperate moans. He broke out in a sweat at the thought. Maybe hanging out alone with Megan wasn’t such a great idea after all. He was just about to abandon his plan, in favour of a cold shower, when the door opened. He wasn’t really surprised to find Julia, rather than Megan, frowning at him.

“It’s five in the morning,” Julia said by way of hello.

Dimitri knew she wasn’t quite awake because she looked him in the eye when she spoke to him.

“You’re always first in the office. You get up early, what’s the big deal?” He walked past her and into the tiny hallway.

“I don’t get up this early,” Julia grumbled as she shut the door. “Why are you here?”

“I’ve got a training session with Megan.”

Her mouth gaped. “At five in the morning? You must have a death wish.”

Dimitri ignored her. He knew what he was doing. Mostly. “Where’s her room?”

Julia let out a long huff of air and pointed down the hall. “Last door on the right. I need a cup of tea.”

She pulled her thick brown terry robe around her and headed off to what Dimitri assumed was the kitchen, grumbling under her breath as she went. Dimitri shook his head as he watched her go, wondering if the woman owned any clothes that weren’t brown. He sauntered down the hall, taking note of every detail of his environment as a matter of habit. Dimitri knew the apartment was one of two on the top floor of the building. Back in the day, this floor would have been the servant’s accommodation. Which explained the low ceilings, tiny rooms and narrow hallways. With its cream coloured walls and grey carpet the place screamed generic rental property, which is what the whole building had been before Benson Security bought it.

Without hesitating, Dimitri knocked at Megan’s door. There was silence. He banged the door with his fist and called out, “Yo, Buffy, time to train.” Nothing. “Megan,” he shouted. There was a mumble from inside the room. It sounded a lot like, “Go to hell.” Then there was silence.

Guess she wasn’t a morning person. With a shrug, Dimitri turned the handle and let himself into Megan’s room.

The curtains were shut and the room was dark, but the light coming in from the hallway meant he could see inside the room. Under the tiny window was a double bed. Wedged into the rest of the floor space was a desk and chair, an old armchair, a set of drawers and a rickety old wardrobe. Benson Security needed to take better care of its staff. Although, to be fair, they’d put him up in a nice hotel nearby so he couldn’t complain. He wondered why Megan was living here instead of the hotel and made a mental note to ask her later.

He reached for the light switch beside the door and flicked it on. Nothing happened. He looked up and saw the lightbulb had been removed. Huh. With one generous step he was over at the desk and flicked on the pink sparkly lamp. The lump in the middle of the bed mumbled something before blonde hair disappeared under the pillow.

With a grin, he picked up one of the books piled high on the desk. What the hell? His eyebrows shot up at the title: How to be a bodyguard—personal security, the idiot’s guide. He shuffled through the rest. Beginners guide to firearms, The dummies’ book of spying, Cold War Spy Craft and How to make it as a mercenary.

Dimitri stared at the books dumbfounded. He was actually pretty glad Megan was out cold, because he was speechless. With absolutely no guilt about snooping, he switched on the open laptop to see what else the crazy woman had been doing with her spare time. Sure enough, she had bookmarks to all sorts of YouTube channels. He followed the link to the first one, where a guy in costume store fatigues was explaining what it was like to be a mercenary. Dimitri shook his head. If this guy was private security, Dimitri was Queen of England.

“Buffy, you are filling your head with a serious amount of crap,” he told the sleeping lump.

It whined, but didn’t move. Enough of this. It was time to get his partner on the straight and narrow. The whole mission depended on her pulling this off. Finding his sister depended on her. It was past time to get serious. With one quick move, he grabbed a handful of her bedding and yanked.

She screamed as he tossed the bedding to the floor. Megan was sprawled on her stomach in the middle of the bed. She wore cute pink cut-off shorts and a matching pink tank.

“What the hell?” Megan shouted from under the pillow. “Put the bedding back. My bum is freezing.”

“And what a gorgeous ass it is.” Dimitri grinned at her grunt of annoyance, but noted she still hadn’t moved. “Enough screwing around. It’s time to get up. You have training.” He folded his arms and worked on looking intimidating—if for no other reason than to get his eyes off her ass.

“Joe?”

Now that rankled.

“Not Joe. Dimitri. Rise and shine, Buffy. It’s time to play with the big boys.”

She peeked out from under the pillow. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes were dazed with sleep and she had a serious case of bed head. The sight made Dimitri stop breathing. She was stunning.