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

  The ground floor is pretty traditional – a kitchen, dining room, formal living room, an office, a bathroom, and three bedrooms – one of which is my command and control center. I luck out and get the bedroom with an en-suite. On the second floor, there are four bedrooms and a shared bathroom. The third floor is the master suite, with a huge bedroom and private bathroom. This is the bedroom Jonah has claimed for himself – it’s quiet up here, well off the beaten path. I certainly don’t blame him for wanting some peace and quiet.

  Besides his empty suitcases stowed in the large walk-in closet, he has clothes in here, sneakers, boots, and four acoustic guitars lined up on stands, arranged against one empty wall. I glance at the large, unmade bed with its dark wood headboard. The blankets are a jumbled mess, as if someone spent a restless night in here, tossing and turning. Several pillows are stacked on top of each other at the head of the bed, and I can picture him lying there reading or surfing the net on his phone. I can’t help wondering what he would have been wearing – if anything.

  “Sorry,” he says, looking at the messy bed. “I don’t see the point in making the bed if I’m just going to mess it up again in a few hours.”

  I chuckle. “I’m your minder, Jonah, not your mother. I don’t give a damn if you make your bed or not.” Unbidden, the image of Jonah lazing around naked in that big bed comes to mind, and I mentally shake myself. No matter how much of a temptation he is, I could never go there with him. He’s a job, and I don’t tap jobs. Shane would have my head on a pike if I did.

  “So, when does the rest of the band arrive?” I say, trying to redirect my slutty thoughts back to reality.

  “Tomorrow. The guys are flying in to O’Hare in the early afternoon, along with Esperanza and Ruben.”

  “Esperanza’s your housekeeper-slash-cook?”

  “Yeah. Honestly, we couldn’t function without her.”

  “And Ruben is your audio engineer?”

  “That’s right.”

  I nod. Seven people living in this house, plus me. But really, Jonah’s the only one who matters as far as I’m concerned. He’s my client. If push comes to shove, I’ve got his back. The rest are on their own.

  * * *

  It’s nearly midnight, so I leave Jonah to his own devices up in his attic retreat and head back down to the first floor to secure all the doors and windows. I wouldn’t put it past the paparazzi to climb up into one of the huge trees that border the property to get a shot through a window.

  Once that’s taken care of, I head to my own room to check out the control center. Jake configured this surveillance system himself, so I know it’s top-notch. My brother’s a wiz with the electronic gear.

  It doesn’t take me long to realize there’s a video camera in every room of the house... every room. I flip through the video feeds and spot Peterson lying on his bed, reading on a tablet. I spot Jonah seated on his bed with a guitar on his lap, gently plucking the strings. Spying on people isn’t my thing, so I switch the monitors over to the public spaces on the ground floor, like the kitchen, living room, and office. The other monitors display video feeds from various vantage points around the exterior of the house and the garage. Jake is certainly thorough. The house is locked up tighter than a drum, so I set the security system for the night. Then I unpack my bags and hang my clothes in the walk-in closet.

  I brought a small arsenal with me in the form of a portable handgun safe. Inside the safe are two spare handguns and a good supply of ammo. Honestly, I’m not expecting any real trouble. I think the worst I’ll have to deal with is unscrupulous paparazzi or obsessive fan-girls attempting to get a little grabby. I can handle all of that without any firepower. The guns are just a precaution.

  It’s late, but I know better than to try to sleep. I’m too restless to settle down, so I head to the kitchen and check out the provisions. The fridge and pantry are well-stocked, and I help myself to some pretzels and a cold Pepsi. Then I make my rounds through the ground floor again, rechecking the doors and windows even though it’s unnecessary. I have to do something to keep myself occupied.

  I check out the home office, which is nicely furnished with a cherry desk, leather chair, and bookcases filled with expensive books in matching leather covers. I peer out the window at the front of the house, surprised to see girls are still out there loitering in small groups on the sidewalk. I can see a few of them peeking through the bars of the wrought iron gate. Don’t these girls have any sense? They should be home in their warm, cozy beds, not camping outside in the cool night air. It has started drizzling, and the temperature has dropped. These kids are crazy.

  After I finish my tour of the ground floor, I’m heading to my room when I hear the faint strains of a guitar coming from upstairs. Curious, I climb the stairs to the attic and walk quietly down the short hallway that leads to Jonah’s suite. His door is closed, but I can still make out the sound of the guitar and his low voice. Frequently he stops and starts, repeating the same phrases again and again, each time just a little bit differently. He’s writing a song, I realize. It’s a slow song, a ballad, which is unlike most of the hard-driving songs he usually sings.

  I return to my room, and after a quick check of the exterior surveillance monitors and shooting off a status report to Shane, I turn off the lights in my room and fall into bed. My eyes are aching and I’m suitably tired. I read on my phone for a while, then watch a bit of a movie, until my eyes grow heavy. I shut off my phone and lie still in the night, waiting for sleep to overtake me.

  I dream about footsteps in the attic and the faint strains of an acoustic guitar.

  Chapter 8

  Someone’s rattling around in the kitchen making enough noise to wake the dead. I groan, forcing my eyes open, then grab my phone and check the time. Six-thirty. Really? Who the hell is up at six-thirty in the morning? It’s not like either of these guys has anywhere he needs to be anytime soon.

  I drag myself out of bed and head to the kitchen, PJs, bed head, and all. I find Peterson dragging pans out of a cabinet.

  “What the hell are you doing, Peterson?”

  He straightens and scowls at me. “What are we supposed to do for breakfast?” he says. “Esperanza’s not here.”

  “What, you can’t feed yourself? Dude, this kitchen is well stocked.”

  He rolls his eyes. “It’s her job to cook for us.”

  “Yeah, well, she’s not here yet, so make do.”

  “Why don’t you make me breakfast?”

  Dwight reminds me of a petulant, spoiled child. Obviously, he’s never had to fend for himself. He expects everything to be done for him.

  “I’m not making you breakfast.”

  “Well, I don’t cook,” he says, sounding exasperated.

  “Then make some toast, or eat a bowl of cereal. You can pour milk out of a carton, can’t you?”

  He scowls at me, and I ignore him. Now that I’m up, I need coffee, so I make a cup using one of those fancy single-cup coffee makers. I poke around in the cupboards until I score a box of protein bars. I hop up on the kitchen counter and enjoy my coffee and protein bar.

  Dwight watches me take a bite of my protein bar. “What are you eating?”

  I shrug. “A protein bar. There’s a box of them in that cupboard over there. Help yourself.”

  Frowning, Dwight grabs a mug from the cabinet and makes himself a cup of coffee. “Look, you work for us,” he says, staring at me with pale, watery blue eyes. “So make yourself useful. Fix me some eggs and bacon, something more substantial than a protein bar. I’m hungry.”

  I smile at him. “Let’s make one thing clear, Peterson. Hash tag, I’m-not-cooking-for-you. That’s not in my job description.”

  “Mr. Peterson,” he growls. “Or, Dwight.”

  “Okay, Dwight. I don’t work for you. I work for McIntyre Security, and my sole reason for being here is to make sure no one fucks with Jonah.” I glance around the empty kitchen. “Since I don’t see Jonah up yet and in imminent danger of
being fucked with, that means I can sit here on my ass and eat my protein bar and enjoy my damned cup of coffee without any grief from you.”

  Dwight scoffs. “It’s a miracle you can even keep a job, Lia. Really. Besides, Jonah sleeps half the day away. He won’t surface until early afternoon. Since you have nothing to do right now, you can make me some breakfast.”

  “Make it yourself, Dwight,” I say, as I hop down from the counter and take my coffee and protein bar back to my room. Dwight can fend for himself.

  * * *

  Apparently, my new client is a night owl who likes to sleep in. As of midmorning, I haven’t heard a peep from the upstairs suite. That means I have some time to kill this morning. I head outside for some sunshine and fresh air and take a stroll around the perimeter of the property just to check things out. I hear a few cars drive by out front, and I hear the chatter of little kids outside nearby playing. It seems like a nice, quiet neighborhood. I wonder how the neighbors like having one of the houses on the street leased out to a rock ‘n roll star and his entourage.

  The half-acre property is enclosed by a red brick wall with a wrought-iron extension on top that provides additional security, but allows some visibility over the top. There’s a smooth, stone path just inside the perimeter, meandering through lush groundcover.

  Every few steps, I come across what looks like a child’s paper airplane. As I pick them up and unfold them, I have to smile when I see all the girls’ names and phone numbers scribbled on the pieces of paper, along with photos, vows of undying devotion, and sometimes a description of the creative things she can do with her mouth.

  Most of the notes are addressed to Jonah, but a few of them are addressed to the three other members of the band: Dylan, Travis, and Zeke. I wad up the invitations and toss them in the nearest garbage can. It’s not that I think some random fan girl would pose a risk to one of the members of the band. But if Jonah or the guys in his band want to score with underaged fan-girls, too bad. That’s not happening on my watch.

  My phone chimes with an incoming message from Shane:

  Liam and Miguel will drop off your Jeep this morning.

  I text him back:

  Thx

  I receive an immediate reply:

  Try not to get in too much trouble, ok?

  Gee, thanks. Such confidence.

  * * *

  After finishing my outside tour, I head back to my bedroom and change into black bike shorts, a matching sports bra, and my boxing gloves, then head down to the fitness room on the lower level.

  This place is nicely outfitted with quality workout equipment, including free weights, two treadmills, and a professional-grade punching bag. There’s even a top-of-the line TRX suspension training system. After warming up with some free weights, I hit the treadmill and quickly work up to running three miles at full bore. I love running. I love pushing myself to my limits. I love pushing myself until it hurts.

  I save the best for last – the punching bag. There’s something very cathartic about beating the shit out of a punching bag. You can easily pretend it’s someone you hate. After wrapping my hands and pulling on boxing gloves, I attack the bag with everything I’ve got, imagining that it’s Logan. I punch and kick, finding a good cathartic rhythm, until my muscles are screaming for mercy and my lungs are desperate for air.

  A low voice shatters my concentration. “Damn. What did that bag ever do to you?”

  I stop mid-kick and pivot to face the open doorway. Jonah’s standing there looking like he just rolled out of bed, in sweats and a wrinkled T-shirt. He’s barefoot, and I find even the sight of his feet hot.

  I try to reign in my pounding heart. “It’s about time you woke up. I thought you were going to sleep the day away.”

  He shrugs. “I’m a night owl. What can I say?”

  His unruly dark hair is pulled back in a haphazard ponytail, as if it was an afterthought because he couldn’t be bothered to brush it. I have a sudden urge to take it down and thread my fingers through it. Jesus, he looks good.

  “I’m starved,” he says, running his hand over his trim beard. “What do you say we go out for lunch? My treat.”

  “Okay.” At least he doesn’t expect me to cook for him. If he’d even suggested it, I would have decked him. “Sounds good. I just need a quick shower.”

  He steps into the room and reaches for my gloved hands. “Here. I’ll help you.”

  Of course I can do this myself – I don’t need his help. But for some unfathomable reason, I bite back a snarky retort and instead watch his long fingers undo the Velcro straps of my gloves. I feel a little self-conscious standing here dripping with sweat, hot and in definite need of a shower. But why should I care what he thinks about me? He’s the one who stepped into my personal space, not the other way around.

  After pulling off my gloves and unwrapping my hands, he sets my protective gear down on the mat and reaches for my hands, inspecting them as if looking for damage. Seemingly satisfied that I’m still in one piece, he peers down at me intently, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Did you sleep well?”

  I nod. “You?”

  He shrugs, his eyes becoming guarded. “As well as can be expected.”

  “I thought I heard you up in the night.”

  “Yeah, that’s typical for me. As I said, I’m a night owl.” He releases my hands, looking a bit distracted. “Go get changed. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” And then he simply walks away.

  * * *

  We step out the back door of the house just as Liam and Miguel Rodriguez arrive. Liam’s driving my Jeep, and Miguel is right behind him in his black Mustang.

  After parking my Jeep behind the house, Liam tosses me the keys.

  “Perfect timing,” I say, glad we can take my Jeep instead of the Escalade.

  Liam nods, reaching out to grasp my chin. “You settled in okay?”

  I pull away, embarrassed by his concern. “Sure. Piece of cake.”

  “Holler if you need anything. I’m just one text away, right?”

  I nod. “Jeez, cut it out before you make me blush.”

  Liam rolls his eyes at me. “Cooper’s picking up the rest of the band and two staff members this afternoon at O’Hare. He’ll bring them here.”

  “Good. One of those staff members is the cook-slash-housekeeper. Dwight needs her if he’s not going to starve to death, because I’m sure as hell not cooking for him.”

  Liam grins. “And why does that not surprise me?”

  Liam and Miguel take off. I find Jonah already buckled into the front passenger seat of my Jeep. He looks the same as he did a little while ago, except he brushed his hair, and now he’s wearing shoes – well-worn sneakers that look like they’ve seen better days. The guy’s rolling in money, but he dresses like a bum. I kinda like that.

  Jonah glances at me as I start the engine. “Who’s that guy you were talking to? I saw you with him in the martial arts studio yesterday.”

  “Liam, my twin.”

  Jonah’s eyebrows shoot up. “You two look nothing alike.”

  He’s right, of course. Liam’s six feet tall. I’m five-two. Brown hair versus blond. No one would ever take us for siblings. “Yeah, I know. I’m the cool one.”

  Jonah bites back a chuckle as we approach the gate. I point at the garbage can where I tossed all the fan girl notes I collected earlier in the morning. “I threw out about twenty offers for blow jobs, and a half-dozen offers for ménages, if you’re interested. You have quite a loyal following.”

  He chuckles. “That’s okay, I’m good.”

  I look over at him. “You could have a different girl every night if you wanted. Or several a night, if you had the stamina to keep up. I doubt there’s ever a shortage of girls throwing themselves at you, is there?”

  He shrugs. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, Lia. I play music because I love it, not to get laid. Besides, I don’t need to rely on a guitar or a mic to get laid.”

  “I’m sure you
don’t.” Of course he doesn’t. Jonah’s beautiful, like a fallen angel. Who wouldn’t want to tap that?

  I face forward in the driver’s seat and pull through the gates as the security guards open it and push back the crowd, which is now twice the size it was yesterday. Several of the girls come right up to the Jeep to peer inside the front passenger window. They start squealing when they make out what they assume is the shadowy figure of Jonah through the dark tinted window. Photographers are snapping pics right and left through the windshield. I pull out into the street, successfully avoiding running over any fan-girls.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see he’s still watching me.

  “And in case you were wondering,” he says, “I have plenty of stamina. Never doubt that.”

  I’ll be damned if I wouldn’t like to test his assertion.

  Chapter 9

  “So, what’s good to eat around here?” Jonah says, switching on the radio. He zeroes in on a rock station and turns up the volume.

  “Can you be a little more specific? What are you hungry for? I can eat just about anything except for sushi. I’m not a big fan of sushi.”

  “How about a really good burger and fries?”

  I smile, nodding with approval. “I know just the place.”

  I take him to one of my favorite local burger joints. It’s just a little hole in the wall, very nondescript, but the locals know the food here is off the charts. The dining room is packed as we walk up to the counter to order.

  Jonah hangs back to let me go first. “Ladies first.”

  I’m thrown for a minute by his chivalrous attitude – frankly, I’m not used to it. My brothers treat me like one of the guys, which is what I prefer. As I place my order, I’m hyperaware that Jonah’s standing right behind me, close enough that I swear I can feel the gravitational force of his body. It’s unsettling. I have to fight the urge to lean back against him.