Broken: (McIntyre Security Bodyguard Series - Book 3) Read online

  Jonah props his elbows on the bar, the bottle of Zombie Dust dangling from his fingers. My eyes gravitate to those fingers. They’re long and agile, tipped with neatly trimmed, blunt nails. I can just picture them stroking the strings of his guitar, plucking notes out of the air. I wonder if he plays acoustic guitar or electric.

  “Acoustic or electric?” I ask.

  “I prefer playing an acoustic guitar in a small venue. In the big stadiums, I have to use electric.”

  My eyes skim across the black tattoos peaking out beneath the sleeves of his T-shirt, intricate scrolls combined with geometric shapes. He’s got a band of black triangles circling his biceps. I can’t help wondering where else he’s inked. Or maybe even pierced? He’s got multiple piercings in his ears, so it stands to reason he may be pierced elsewhere on his body. Unfortunately, I find that proposition very intriguing.

  “So, you’re going to babysit me,” he says. He takes a long swig of his beer, and I watch the muscles in his throat contract as he swallows. His skin is golden, as if he spends a lot of time in the sun. His dark hair bears streaks of highlights only the sun can produce.

  “It looks like it,” I say, taking a drink of my beer.

  “I’ve seen what you can do – in the boxing ring, I mean. I admit it’s impressive, especially for a girl.”

  My hackles rise immediately, but by the glint in his eyes, I know he’s just trying to get a rise out of me.

  “I saw what you did to those two guys today, in the martial arts studio. You don’t look like someone who can toss around men twice her size.”

  “That’s the point. Everyone underestimates me because of my size and my looks.” I shrug. “It works to my advantage.”

  “I won’t underestimate you,” he says, his steely gaze on mine. His voice had dropped, low and rough, like his singing voice.

  I know damn well what he sings like. His sound is reminiscent of Nickelback, another band I like. And Seether. Imagine Dragons. His band is part of that set, although Locke’s hits have been dominating the charts for the past couple of years, ever since they came on the music scene. They’ve barely given any ground to any other rock band.

  His gaze is still on me, intent and heated. I’d be lying to myself if I denied the frisson of awareness pulsing between us. I realize I know absolutely nothing about this guy. Does he have a girlfriend? A lover? Does he sleep around? Hell, maybe he’s married. I mentally shake myself, disgusted by the direction of my thoughts. He’s a job to me, and I don’t mess around with my jobs. He could have a wife and three kids back home in LA for all I know. Not that I care. Because I don’t.

  Before I can even ask him, Shane call our names. “Dinner’s served, guys!”

  “Shall we?” Jonah says, standing. He heads to the dining table without sparing me another glance.

  And that’s fine with me, as it lets me admire his fine ass as he walks away.

  Damn.

  Chapter 6

  My brother’s completely out of his mind if he thinks it’s a good idea to pair me up with Jonah. He thinks he knows what’s best for me, his poor dysfunctional sister, but he’s dead wrong. I know exactly what he’s up to. He could have easily assigned any of a dozen bodyguards to Jonah, but he chose me. Jonah is God’s gift to women, a fan-girl-magnet to end all magnets. When Jonah walks into a room, ovaries explode. And for some crazy-ass reason, Shane thinks Jonah and I would be good together. What the hell is he up to?

  It’s not going to happen. Jonah may be easy on the eyes with his lean, muscular build and the tribal tats, but I’m no pushover. And besides, why does Shane think Jonah would want to waste his time on me? I’m a nobody. This guy could have his pick of women in any room he walks into. He probably has fan-girls lined up outside his rental house right now, hoping to catch a glimpse of him when he arrives home this evening. I’m sure they’d all love a chance to get lucky. I realize I’m going to have to walk through that gauntlet of screaming girls tonight. After our dinner here, I’ll be heading back to Jonah’s house with him. As of tonight, I’m on the job for as long as he’s in town. Hopefully, it won’t be for very long.

  As I walk to the dining table, the succulent aroma of beef brisket and pulled pork hits me, and I have to smile. Our catered dinner this evening is barbecue. Awesome. I was afraid we’d be eating escargot or pâté. But I should have known better. Shane may be wealthy as hell, but he’s also down to earth.

  The table is huge – designed to seat ten. Shane’s seated at the far end, with Beth to his right and Dwight Peterson beside her. Jonah takes a seat across from Peterson, and that leaves me only one choice: between Jonah and Shane.

  Jonah takes a swig of his Zombie Dust and smiles at me. “This is good stuff. We’ll have to stock some at the house.”

  I nod, dismissing his attempt at small talk. I’m here to do a job, not socialize. It’s time to switch to work mode. “So, this is the part where we get to know each other,” I say to Jonah, helping myself to some of the beef brisket. “So start talking. You married? Got a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend?”

  Beth chokes on a sip of water, and Peterson glares at me. Oops. I have a feeling this guy’s gonna be a problem.

  Peterson turns to address Shane. “No offense, Shane, but is she really the best you have to offer? At the rate we’re paying for your services, I would expect someone a little more... professional.”

  I suck in a breath, astonished at the gall of that man and ready to rip him a new one, but Shane steps in before I can respond.

  “Dwight, I assure you Lia is exactly what you – what Jonah needs.”

  Peterson shakes his head. “I disagree. I think we need someone... bigger. More intimidating. I don’t see how she can provide the type of security Jonah requires. He’s hounded by fans and paparazzi everywhere he goes. I’m not a big guy, but I could take Lia with one arm tied behind my back.”

  “Oh, really?” I say, setting my beer bottle down on the table. I look Peterson in the eye. “Would you like to test that theory? Because there’s a boxing ring in this apartment, and I’d be only too happy to let you try.”

  Peterson blanches at my challenge. “Well, I – I – I’m not dressed for physical activity.” He gestures to his pompous pinstripe suit, which makes him look like an overgrown kid wearing his daddy’s clothes.

  But I’m not about to let him off the hook that easily. “Then whose ass would you like for me to kick? I’ll be happy to give you a demonstration.”

  “How about mine?” Jonah offers, turning to face me. His expression is implacable. “I did a little boxing back in high school. I’m not completely helpless, you know.”

  I smirk. Like I would risk hurting the client on the first day on the job. Although, I have to admit the idea of putting my hands on him is tempting.

  Shane clears his throat. “I’m sure a demonstration can be arranged, Dwight. I’d be happy to join Lia in the ring this evening.”

  I’m tempted to jump across the table and give Peterson a demonstration he won’t soon forget.

  Peterson crosses his arms over his chest. “Actually, I’d like a demonstration, because honestly, I don’t see how a girl her size could possibly protect anyone.”

  “Oh, you’re on!” I say, pushing my chair back as I rise. “How about I start with you?”

  “Sit down, Lia,” Shane says.

  Jonah points his beer bottle at his manager. “Dwight, trust me, this isn’t necessary. I’ve seen what she can do. I watched her put two guys twice her size on their backs today. Lia can handle herself.”

  I don’t know what pisses me off more... Dwight and his attitude or the fact that Jonah is vouching for me. I don’t need Jonah fighting my fights for me.

  The conversation flows around me after that, with everyone enjoying their meals and chit chatting about everything from Beth’s bookstore to Chicago baseball. After the meal, Shane opens a bottle of red wine, and he and Peterson each have a glass. Jonah opts for another bottle of Zombie Dust. Beth and I bo
th opt for water. Beth’s not much of a drinker, and I’m essentially on duty now, so no more alcohol for me tonight. One beer’s my limit.

  At the end of the evening, as Jonah and his manager are heading to the foyer, Shane pulls me aside and hands me two sets of keys to a black Cadillac Escalade. “Use the Escalade for official business. I’ll have your Jeep delivered to the house in the morning.”

  “Okay.”

  “And Lia? One more thing.” He lays his hands on my shoulders and leans in. “I know Peterson can be a challenge. I’m counting on you to keep your cool and not go ballistic on him, okay?”

  I nod, frowning.

  “Lia?”

  “What?”

  “Please. Don’t let him get to you, okay?”

  “I said okay!”

  Shane releases me, looking skeptical.

  “I promise, all right?” I say.

  “Good luck,” he says, as I head toward the foyer and my new client.

  * * *

  After I collect my two duffle bags in the foyer, Jonah, Dwight, and I take the elevator down to the parking garage. Dwight stands right in front of the elevator doors, as if he’s impatient to get out. Jonah and I are behind him. Standing this close to Jonah, I’m painfully aware of the difference in our heights. He’s easily six feet tall, if not a little more, and he towers over me. Jonah’s close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body. I detect a faint cologne, as well as the scent of men’s deodorant. I also detect him, the scent of his heated skin, and it does something to me.

  I’m used to working around men. Most of my coworkers are men. I’m used to their smells and their colognes and their sweat and often their funk. But none of them ever smelled this good, at least not to me. I don’t like it.

  As the elevator descends to the parking garage, I crouch down and open one of my duffle bags to pull out my chest holster and 9 mm Beretta. After strapping on the holster, I check the chamber of the handgun and the clip, then engage the safety, and stow the gun in my holster. Jonah watches as I pull on a jacket to conceal the weapon. So does Peterson, a perpetual scowl on his narrow face. I’m not sure the guy has any other expression other than dour.

  “I’m officially on the clock, gentlemen,” I say as I rise. “If I tell you to do something, you do it. Without hesitation or argument. Is that clear?”

  “Crystal,” Jonah says, but Peterson turns away, facing the elevator doors. I’m not sure what his problem is, but Peterson definitely has issues with me. I glance at Jonah, and he rolls his eyes at Peterson’s behavior, and I have to bite back a grin.

  The Escalade is parked in a reserved spot closest to the penthouse elevator. “Here’s our ride, guys,” I say, using the key fob to unlock the doors.

  Jonah walks around to the front passenger seat and climbs in, and Peterson gets into the back. I climb up into the driver’s seat and start the ignition.

  “Where to?” I ask Jonah. “The house?”

  He nods. “Yes, if you don’t mind.”

  Jonah has leased a house in Lincoln Park, as well as a private recording studio not far from there. I pull out onto Lake Shore Drive and head north.

  After a few minutes of blessed silence, I hear Peterson’s whiney voice in the backseat. “If you don’t mind me asking, Lia, how old are you?”

  Yes, I do mind. But I’ll try not to be a dick to this guy, even though he rubs me the wrong way. I glance in the rear view mirror to catch his gaze. “Twenty-two.”

  Peterson shakes his head in dismay.

  Jonah tosses a recriminating look back at his manager. “Dwight.”

  “I was just checking to make sure she’s old enough to drive,” Peterson mutters under his breath.

  I burst out laughing. “Is that the best you’ve got?” I shake my head. “Surely you can do better than that. If you’ve got a problem with me, Peterson, at least make it interesting.”

  “Don’t call me that,” he says. “You can call me Mr. Peterson or Dwight, but don’t call me Peterson. It’s disrespectful.”

  I roll my eyes, but bite my tongue. Jonah’s looking straight ahead, his eyes on the car in front of us as he pretends to ignore us. But I can’t help noticing the slight twitch to his lips as he tries not to smile.

  No man should have such kissable lips, damn it.

  Asshole.

  Chapter 7

  The house Jonah leased is huge. There are three full floors above ground, plus a finished lower level. There are seven bedrooms and four bathrooms – more than enough space for Jonah, the three other band members, Peterson, the housekeeper, the audio engineer, and me.

  The house is located on a quiet, tree-lined residential street. The front exterior is traditional, red brick colonial with a door in the center and lots of windows. There’s a six-foot brick wall surrounding the property, providing some degree of privacy from prying eyes and eager photographers. In the rear of the property is a four-car detached garage and a smaller building that will house additional security staff. My job is to protect Jonah. Shane has other security staff on the premises to chauffeur the others around as needed and to keep the crowds outside the gates in check.

  Apparently, Jonah’s presence in Lincoln Park is public knowledge already, because there are about forty teenage girls clustered on the sidewalk in front of the house, most of them standing on their tiptoes in mini skirts and high heels in a futile attempt to see over the brick wall. I’m sure they’re posting pics on social media like crazy, which is only going to feed the frenzy.

  “Well, shit,” I say, slowing the Escalade as we near the property. The girls are blocking the drive, as well as the remote-controlled gate that leads to the parking area behind the house. I radio to the security staff on duty that we’re here.

  As we approach the crowd, I double-check to make sure all the vehicle doors are locked and the windows are up. Then I flash my lights at the crowd as I slowly inch my way toward the gate. They don’t seem to take the hint – or maybe they just don’t care if I run them over – so I tap the horn a few times.

  Impatient, I lower my window. “Move it, girls,” I yell, although I doubt they can hear me over the chanting. I wouldn’t be one bit surprised if the neighbors call the police because of all the ruckus.

  I continue to inch forward at a painfully slow crawl. I’m tempted to gun the engine and scare them out of the way. The vehicle’s windows are darkly tinted, so they can’t really see inside, especially not this late at night, but that doesn’t stop them from pressing their pert little noses against the glass, trying to see if they can spot Jonah inside. These girls have no shame.

  As we stop right in front of the ornate wrought iron gate, a couple of photographers jump in front of the Escalade and start snapping pictures through the front windshield, where the tinting is far lighter. Asshats.

  “Give me a break,” I mutter, inching the vehicle forward.

  The gate ahead of us opens just enough for one of the security guards to slip through it. He pushes the photographers aside, as well as a few of the girls who sneak around to the front of the vehicle. It’ll be a miracle if one of them doesn’t get run over. Once the entrance is cleared of bodies, the gate swings open just enough that I can drive through.

  I turn to Jonah, who’s in the front passenger seat. “Will we have to deal with this every time we come and go?”

  He nods, smiling apologetically. “Yeah. Sorry.”

  “How do you stand it?”

  “It comes with the territory, I’m afraid. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

  Just as the gates are closing behind us, one of the photographers manages to slip inside, but the guard catches him and pushes him back.

  Peterson opens his door and practically falls out of the rear passenger seat. I don’t say a word as he stalks toward the rear entrance to the house without a word and disappears inside.

  I head to the rear of the vehicle and open the door to retrieve my stuff. As I reach for my duffle bags, Jonah beats me to th
em, hauling them out. One’s full of clothes, and it’s not too heavy. But the other one has a small arsenal in it and some electronic equipment. It’s quite heavy.

  “Good God,” he says, hefting the heavier of the two bags. “What did you pack in here? Bricks?”

  Trying not to allow myself to be distracted by his biceps, I take the heavy bag away from him and sling it over my shoulder. “You’re such a baby.”

  I don’t look back as I walk toward the house. I’ve practically got eyes in the back of my head, and I can feel the heat of his gaze on me as he follows me across the driveway. The girls are still milling around out in front of the house, their chatter a low buzzing sound now, like a hive of persistent bees. I hope they get tired soon and go home.

  The rear door to the house opens into a mud room, which leads into an expansive gourmet kitchen. The house is dark and quiet, and there’s no sign of Peterson. He apparently high tailed it out of sight, which is fine with me. I quickly survey the kitchen, with its fancy cherry cabinetry, granite countertops, and stainless steel appliances. The kitchen has a large eat-in table that seats eight people. Through an open arched doorway, I can see a long dining table that seats even more people. It’s definitely a big house.

  One of my first tasks will be to learn the layout of the house and plan emergency escape routes. I know my brother Jake and his team have already been here to install a proper security and surveillance system. There’s a control center in one of the downstairs bedrooms – that will be my room.

  I have a lot of work to do tonight before I can call it a day.

  “So, how about a quick tour of the place?” I say.

  “After you,” he says, extending his hand toward an arched opening that leads to the central hallway.

  After I drop my bags off in my room, we head downstairs to the lower level. It’s what you’d expect in a swanky place like this. There’s a media room with a flat-screen TV as big as a house, a well-outfitted rec room with a pool table and pinball machines, a fitness room, and a bar. I walk through room after room, looking for means of ingress and egress, and making mental notes on what I find.