Page 9 of Nightfire

So he did the opposite of what he’d done walking, then running, through a bad part of town last night, trolling for trouble. Last night, his entire body had been one hand curled up in the universal come and get it sign, two bad-ass drugs in his system—alcohol and testosterone. A potent mix that got lots of men into trouble, true. But Mike had been trained by the best to meet trouble head-on when it came his way. He’d bristled with aggression last night. Aggression was his friend, always had been, had saved his life countless times.

Aggression and sex were his constant companions.

But not now.

Now he needed to dial it all down, reassure this beautiful woman, not frighten her.

“Ms. Mason,” he said, nodding his head at the two client chairs in front of Harry’s desk. “Please take a seat.”

He had a naturally deep voice, slightly rough due to the drinking last night. She stood looking at him, swaying slightly and for a second he wondered how badly she might be injured. They’d seen it all at RBK, women who should have been in the hospital but came here instead, because their husbands or boyfriends could track them down in the hospital and finish the job.

Man, if someone had injured her so badly she could hardly stand, he was going to find out who and quietly, privately, beat the shit out of him.

“Ms. Mason?” he repeated, keeping his voice gentle.

She ducked her head. “Yes, of course. I do apologize. I’ve—been under some stress lately.”

It was the first time he heard her voice. It was as soft as the rest of her, with a musical quality. And a faint British accent.

She was English? She’d flown across an ocean and a continent to get beaten up?

Mike dropped his hand when she sat down, then rounded Harry’s huge desk again.

She sat perched on the edge of the client chair, one of the most comfortable chairs in the world. By definition, RBK clients were in trouble, and the company wanted them to be comfortable while they talked it out. Chloe Mason didn’t look comfortable in that chair, she looked tense as hell.

Silence. Harry was still…frozen. Goddamn it. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Mike waited a beat, two. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Ms. Mason. Welcome to RBK Security. My name is Mike Keillor and this is my partner, Harry Bolt.” He shot a glance at the silent statue that was his partner and refrained from rolling his eyes. Had Harry gone back to his pattern of sleeplessness with his little daughter? Was he in a waking coma, or what? “I know you asked for an appointment with Mr. Bolt, but we often work on…cases together. Before we begin, can we offer you something, a cup of coffee? Or tea?” Thinking of that accent.

“Yes, thank you so much.” Her words came out in the rush of loosened tension. “I’d love a cup of tea.”

Right call.

Mike waited a second for Harry to move, to wake up, to fucking get with the program. Finally, he pushed the button to Marisa, their receptionist. “Marisa, do you think we could get a cup of tea in here?”

Ordinarily, Mike wouldn’t ask Marisa to do refreshment detail, but she was the mother hen of their Lost Ones. Marisa’d been a Lost One herself, and had the scars to prove it. She was a fabulous employee, hard-working and loyal. But for the battered women who made their way to the offices of RBK, Marisa went all out. She pampered them and mothered them and protected them fiercely.

“Yes, sir, right away.”

The little interlude relaxed Chloe Mason.

Telling their story was a real ordeal for some women. They were all somehow ashamed, though how they could possibly be ashamed of ending up as someone’s punching bag was beyond Mike. Still, there was no denying that it was painful for them. This moment out of time was a respite for Chloe. Her breathing pattern evened out. A little color came back to her pretty face.

The door to Harry’s office slid open and Marisa walked in with a tray. She’d done them proud. A big teapot, three cups, milk and home baked cookies brought in by Sam’s wife Nicole, baked by their housekeeper.

“Harry.” Mike looked at his brother, barely refraining from poking him in the side with his elbow again. “You want to pour?”

Harry started slightly, as if he’d actually been asleep and had suddenly woken up. “Sure, ah. Sure.” His gaze locked onto the woman’s face. “How do you take your tea, Ms. Mason?”

She smiled gently. “Dash of milk, one teaspoon of sugar, thank you.”

It was the first time Mike had seen her smile. She was clearly under enormous stress, probably terrified, and yet the smile was genuine, blinding. And transformed her face from quietly lovely to otherworldly beauty. A real looker. She didn’t catch your attention the first time or maybe not even the second time, but when she did catch your attention—watch out.

Mike felt a tug somewhere in his chest he didn’t ever remember feeling, like someone was pulling at a hook. The idea of some fuckhead beating up on this woman…he didn’t know where to go with it. It jarred something loose in his head, something a little crazy-making.

He’d seen lots of violence to women after his family died. In an instant, Mike had been plunged from the heart of a happy family into a world he hadn’t known existed. Dark and feral and unspeakably cruel to its women and children.