“This is Winter,” she answered her phone on the first ring.
“Is this Wyn Security?” a smooth male voice asked.
“Yep.” Two years of owning a business and she still forgot to answer it with the business name. “How may I help you?” She kicked off her black cargo boots in the entryway to her charming fixer-upper in the Queen Anne District, which sat on the outskirts north of downtown.
“I was given your card by my head of security, Louis. He thinks I temporarily need extra personal security.”
She checked her watch. Calls for her services came at all hours. The distinctly male voice on the other end of her phone had no trace of anxiety, yet suspicion made her pause on her wood flooring and lean against her newly painted light blue-gray wall. Something had made a man who reportedly didn’t want to talk to her call at a late hour.
“And what do you think?” she asked.
“About?” His irritation was palpable.
“Security? I prefer to provide my services to people who want them.” Yes. She was testing his patience, baiting him, if you will. But what the hell? It was after midnight; he could’ve woken her up for all he knew.
“If you count being attacked on my way home tonight want, then yes. I’m in want.”
“Attacked?” Okay, now she was on high alert, standing straight up and looking around for her blasted boots in the mess that was her entryway. What the hell, Louis? He hadn’t said Eliam was under a rapid threat. Didn’t all this crap go down just today? Coordinated attacks usually took longer to plan than a couple of hours. “Are you injured?”
“No. I was on my way home and a car tried to run me off the road. Multiple times.” And that’s when the smoothness of his voice gave way to pure frustration. People who called for her services, especially for themselves, usually had clear emotion in their voice—anger, fear, and sometimes she could even hear sweat through the phone. Eliam was, indeed, a client.
“Did you get a look at the driver or any other description?”
“No, it was dark and I was focused on staying alive.”
“Where do you live?” She braced her cell phone between her shoulder and cheek and hopped on one foot while slipping on her mid-calf lace-up boots that she had styled to slip on and off quickly.
“Excuse me?”
She grabbed her black leather jacket from the green antique coatrack by her front door. “You don’t want security now?”
“I thought . . . ”
“Nope. Around the clock.” And on the hook to Louis. She couldn’t let anything happen to this guy now; she’d never be able to bear letting Louis down.
“We can set up a time tomorrow.” The Prince’s tone was back in place.
Macho men. She rolled her eyes. They were the worst. He’d decided to call but wanted to show he didn’t need immediate attention because he, no doubt, could “handle” it.
“Let me ask you this, do you value your life?”
“Of course.”
“Well, someone out there doesn’t. We can meet now or wait until tomorrow and hope they need sleep tonight.”
A quick pocket of air, like he was breathing right into her ear, told her she’d won.
“Where do you live?” She grabbed her bag and an extra clip from the drawer in the rustic table in her entryway, caught a quick glimpse of herself in the circle mirror that hung above the table, fluffed her short, messy, springy black curls, and then was back out the door she’d come in only moments ago. So much for a good night’s sleep. It was convenient her skin was dark enough to cover the circles she was sure were forming under her eyes.
“Breeland Building. Penthouse. I’ll phone downstairs and let them know to let you up.”
“Be there in fifteen. Don’t let anyone else in until I get there.”
It was a good thing she kept a bag with overnight supplies and more things than she could remember in the back of her Durango. One of these days she should really clean out and catalog the gear, clothes, and miscellaneous items in her rolling office. There were no office hours for her line of work and no set necessities, therefore she needed everything. Some days she wondered why she bothered to own a big house. She certainly didn’t have the time to fully appreciate it.
Her phone rang, and the screen read UNKNOWN.
“Wyn Security.” Yes, that was how she needed to answer her phone, even if it was still too early for the ass crack of dawn.
“Winter Wyn.”
Icy prickles stabbed at the hand holding her cell phone and she gripped it tightly. She took a deep, quiet breath. There was a small chance he had a decent reason for calling.
“Holland. Long time no talk.” Or see. Thank God.
“I have a proposition for you.”
And the verdict: indecent. She’d been way too optimistic to think Holland had called just to say hi to an acquaintance from long ago. Maybe it was fortuitous; she was going to have to call him tomorrow anyway, according to Louis.
“This should be good.” She bit into her lower lip.
Holland, only known by his first name, had been a contact whom Louis’s team, Company A, used overseas when they needed information only someone who dealt in intel and secrets could acquire. While he’d proved to be useful, that didn’t make up for his ample slime factor.
“Oh, it is. I have a fresh order that needs to be filled within thirty-six hours.”
Her night was just filling up with talk of conspiracies to kill people. Wariness silenced her, and Holland took the cue to keep going.
“New CEO. Should be an easy target.”
New? She licked her lips and rubbed them together. She happened to be driving to a new CEO’s home at the moment. She closed her eyes briefly and felt paranoia suck the air out of her SUV.
“Doesn’t have to look like an accident; the boss doesn’t care.”
Boss, heh. Holland really meant the person who’d ordered the hit. Holland was an intermediary, and one without a conscience.
“What type of CEO are we talking?” She mentally crossed her fingers for any answer but “shipping.”
“He moves goods.”
“Why would you think I’d be interested?” Seriously, did she honestly seem like the cold-blooded killer type? Maybe this guy didn’t have as good a read on people as she’d originally assessed.
“You have a new business. How’s that going, by the way?” The smile in his voice was clear. And she knew from experience his was a nice, perfectly straight, and white smile. Shady people didn’t always look like the bad guys—a fact that both impressed her and terrified her.
“Good. We keep busy.”
“And you have a big business bank loan, I see.”
She gritted her teeth. Of course he’d checked up on her before he’d called. Holland didn’t leave anything to chance.
“Our type of equipment isn’t cheap.” She entered downtown and headed to the waterfront.
“Exactly. This is top-dollar. You could take care of all of your loan problems and then some.”
Okay, so he wasn’t totally off in his assessment—the money would be nice—but she protected people, not killed them. He’d have to do a lot better to entice her into killing someone in cold blood. Her early army days were behind her; she wasn’t that person anymore—the one who only took orders and used her rifle to enforce the goal of her commanding officer. Master Sergeant Rob Buckley’s orders were long behind her.
She could always call in an anonymous tip to the Seattle Police Department to satisfy her conscience if it wasn’t Eliam.
She let out an exaggerated sigh so as to seem like she wasn’t anxious to hear the name. Holland was perceptive as hell.
“I don’t have loan problems. But, yeah, this doesn’t sound like a tough job. I could probably squeeze it in.”
“As heartless as ever.”
Like you know me. “Yup. What’s this guy’s name?”
She was actually torn. If it was Eliam, she had a serious problem on her hands. Holland wouldn’t be happy with a double-cross and that put her in danger, as well.
“Prince. Eliam Prince.”
Her hands went cold, her stomach twisted, and her jaw clamped down. Eliam was the worst name he could’ve said after all.
“Am I the first person you called?” The timeline of tonight’s events weren’t adding up. Hadn’t Eliam said he’d already been attacked?
“No. But you’re the first one available. My other contacts were otherwise engaged.”
“Text me the details.” She had to get off of the phone with him before he caught on to her panic. “If the price is right, we have a deal.” Money was a mere detail—she was taking the contract to buy her new client more time—but if she didn’t ask for the specifics, he might get suspicious.
“Will do. You have thirty-six hours for the full commission. Then I start sending in others every twelve till the job is done. It would be a shame if you lost out on all of this money.”
It will be a shame if I end up on your hit list myself. Stone-cold fear rattled around in her head and zigzagged its way down to the very tips of her lavender-painted toes. What in the fuck did I just do?
She was trained to assess situations for the best outcome, the safest solution for all involved, and to carry out the plan. Was that what just happened? Did her subconscious have a strategy she wasn’t privy to yet? Holy shit, she sure hoped so, because if not, she’d just signed two death warrants with one phone call.