Lincoln: A McCall Brothers Bad Boy Romance: The McCall Family, #1

By Jayne Blue

My name is Lincoln McCall, and I get paid to watch not touch. But with my latest assignment that has become impossible.
The glamorous world of high price escorts only stays sexy if the girls stay safe. There's where I come in. I'm a bodyguard and I'm there to make sure not one hair on their gorgeous heads is hurt on the job. While the sexiest women in the world entertain the wealthy and powerful, I am paid to be a silent menace they can count on. 

I'm not paid to fall in love. But my current assignment has me out of my head. Every inch of Marilyn Fields's body is supposed to be mine. I know it and so does she. Except someone else very dangerous is paying to own her body and soul.

I'm not supposed to touch. That's the rule. It's a rule that I'm going to break. To save Marilyn, I'll have to give up everything, maybe even my life.

This romantic suspense adventure introduces you to the ultimate possessive alpha male tortured by forcing to guard the one woman he wants for himself. Lincoln McCall is a bad boy who's paid well to protect high-priced escorts. This bad boy is about to go rogue for the woman who can't live without. This is a standalone full-length romance with sultry scenes suitable for readers over 18 only. This title was previously published as The Marilyn Job.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jayne Blue
• Release date: Feb 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524275129

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Lincoln: A McCall Brothers Bad Boy Romance

By

Jayne Blue

Text copyright ©2016

Jayne Blue All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law or for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Author’s Note: LINCOLN WAS PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED AS THE MARILYN JOB 1-4

Table of Contents

I’m A Bodyguard

Tryouts

The Offer

The Marilyn Job

Fuckhaussen Syndrome by Proxy

People Who Bruise Easily

Cleaning Up a Mess, Making Another

Complicating My Goddamn Retirement

Nothing Good Ever Happens at 3 a.m.

Un-retirement

Dinner for Three

Dead Donny

Lincoln McCall, Gumshoe

Date with The Brothers

Buying Time

Visiting Dad

Lincoln Gets Smart for Two Seconds

Leslie

Paid to Watch

Leslie and Lorenz

Lincoln in Chains

Marilyn and The Big Cheese

Reunited and it Feels So Bad

Lincoln and Leslie On the Run

Where I Started the Story

It’s Leslie

Doing Not Watching

Truman

Willow Creek Camp Ground

The Chickens Come Home to Roost

Montana

Unexpected Company

Epilogue

Other Series by Jayne Blue

A Note from Jayne

I’m A Bodyguard

If you had told me one month ago that I’d be driving 80 miles an hour at 2 a.m. away from Las Vegas with Marilyn Monroe asleep in my lap and two goons only a rest stop away from my tail, I would have said you were full of shit.

Avoiding drama is my job. Keeping bombshells like this out of trouble is also my job. Though, in my defense, I’d never met a blonde quite like this.

I’m Lincoln McCall. I am a bodyguard. And I’ve just broken two of the only three rules I have. Rule 1: Don’t interfere with a client. Rule 2: Hands off the merchandise. Rule 3: Protect the escorts. Well, the jury’s still out on that one. Either way, I’m out of a job. So is she for that matter.

But I don’t give a damn about the job. It’s our lives I’m focused on right now. If I don’t figure out a way to outrun these goons chasing us, I’ll get killed. You see, I’m trying to stop them from hurting her. I fail and little Marilyn here will be used until she’s of no use. Then she’ll be dead. Really a lose-lose-lose proposition. Same Vegas story as any other gambler, except the stakes, are this lady, not poker chips.

So we’re going to keep on driving. I’ve got to stay awake no matter what, so I figure I’ve got two choices. I either tell you this story or I blare the radio. This doll in my lap needs to rest, she’s been through a lot, so I’m making an executive decision here. Listen close.

I won’t go all the way back. I had a whore for a mother and who the hell knows who my dad was? Though clearly he was large, because look at the size of me. Mom died when I was a teenager and she was five-three and a buck-fifteen at her heaviest. So yeah, my pops, whoever the hell he was, had to be fucking gigantic, because by the time I was fifteen I was nearly this tall and already bouncing at clubs in the city. That paid for mom’s habit, the rent, and boxes of cereal now and again for dinner.

I have five half-brothers who were in and out of our house; their stories are their stories. I’m sticking to mine here.

So real quick, you’re over 18 right? This shit is not for children, just a warning.

So where was I? Oh yeah, I’m 18, gigantic and other than football, on my own in high school. One thing I’m not is stupid, and I got a diploma despite my mom’s lack of ability to sign even one permission slip or make one goddamn after school snack.

The truth is I was never mad at her for it. My brothers were, but I get it, she was sick. Bottom line with junkies, they’ve got a disease and it’s fatal. My brothers say I have an overdeveloped sense of protectiveness. I’m like a lifeguard on steroids. That all started with her, whatever. In her defense, she did come to one football game. That was my favorite high school memory. I know. We’ve got a very special episode of Blossom developing here, so high school sob story over.

Anyway, after high school, it was straight into the military for me. The military was good pay and my experience as an MP served me well. I just expanded my skills as a bouncer. It was the same thing. Just more sand.

Now I could tell you a thing or two about the military. I highly recommend it if you don’t have your shit together, or if you need a steady job, and above all if you’re not a pussy. After I had got through it, I was back to bouncing in Vegas. My size and my nature, that protective streak I guess, put me where I was supposed to be, doing what I was supposed to do, which essentially means keeping bar patrons and the cash drawer safe.

You control the door, you control the violence inside, and you keep out dealers and users. Those are your three rules of bouncing. Funny, three rules is a theme with me eh?

I was in at least 300 fights in my days at the bars and have been sued half a dozen times. Customers who’d been thrown out or beat down didn’t like it. But in each case, the judge tossed out the lawsuits like I’d tossed out the patron. I put the beat down on people that deserved it and I could prove they deserved it in front of a judge. But those lawsuits got old.

So did drunken women hitting on me. If I had a dollar for every, Your arms are so BIG! or the opposite, You’re not so tough, I’m gonna kick your ass. Here hold my beer, I’d have retired back then.

So I moved into personal protection as a bodyguard. I know you probably think only movie stars need bodyguards. And I have protected movie stars, but so many more professions require personal security: preachers, bankers, teachers, politicians, convenience store owners, and prostitutes. I provided security for all kinds.

My only rule was you had to have a referral. I didn’t have a Facebook page or a marketing director. It was all word of mouth. If you liked my work and told someone who needed a sharp eye, a strong arm, and a closed mouth, you gave them my name.

The problem with it was the unreliability of the bookings. I could go a month with nothing and then three months non-stop. Then there’d be the douchebag who couldn’t pay. Collecting payment is like sorting laundry. I hate it and avoid it. All my socks are black. It simplifies things.

I needed a steady stream of income if I was going to set up my retirement. My retirement dream was a ranch in the middle of Montana. Blue sky, no neighbors, and horses, it was all I dreamed about. As a city kid, I only ever wanted one thing: wide open spaces.  Every dime I made went to it, but it wasn’t happening fast enough as a freelance bodyguard.

That’s when I got the job that would ultimately land me here.

I told you about those lawsuits? Well the last one from my bouncing days, the guy died.

Of course, his family sued the shit out of me. And this time, the judge did not agree with my clear innocence in the matter.

I was wiped out. I’d spent six years in the military and three years socking away every single penny, and the judge ordered I pay $250,000, everything I had, to this family.

He didn’t care that there were no criminal charges against me, he didn’t care that the drunk fell after I’d already thrown him out and cracked his head on the curb. He only cared that I was the muscle and my actions precipitated the death. The judge was a skinny, little Napoleon type. I suspected I was his revenge for some high school slight, lucky me.

So there I was, 27 years old, and nothing to show for it but a particular set of skills. I was wiped out. I was frustrated, and just like every other loser in Vegas, I was poor.

I left the courthouse as fast as I could. It was that or tear it apart. I’d never felt more frustrated or at the mercy of total bullshit. I hated being at the mercy of anyone or anything.

I had to start from scratch. My ranch was looking more like a dream and less like a reality as the ink dried on my cashier’s check to settle the lawsuit.

That’s when a limo pulled up in front of the courthouse steps. The chauffeur approached me, a guy almost my size.

Mr. McCall, my boss would like a word with you. He opened the door and indicated I enter. I was not in the habit of entering strange vehicles. Two shapely legs were all I could see.

Well, why not? At this point, I had nothing to lose. And the legs were really nice. I got in.

That’s when I met Petra Vallin.

Tryouts

Petra Vallin was beautiful: shiny hair like a penny legs a mile long and stacked. She was one of those women you just could not put an age to. I could only say she was over forty. She was as cool as could be and comfortable as shit driving around in this limo.

Was this the high-class version of the women at the bar who hit on me? Lincoln McCall, Man Whore, was not what I pictured on my business cards. That was my first thought, but she quickly put that thought to rest.

She was interested, but not in hitting on me; in hiring me.

I hear you need a job. You come recommended. She had an accent sort of like Schwarzenegger, but not quite. Petra dropped a name of a politician I’d guarded once or twice. She also said she needed my protection for a date.

I’m sending an associate of mine to do a favor for an old friend. You understand what kind of favor, Bruiser?

I think so. You just switched around the wording. Your associate’s doing your old friend as a favor. And my name isn’t Bruiser. It’s Lincoln, Lincoln McCall. I hate bullshit big-guy nicknames.

No sense of humor, Abe? Petra was determined to call me something. I have a normal security detail but I’m looking to keep this little excursion of mine private from my staff. Can you keep things quiet?

I can. But what makes you think I need a job? I didn’t like how much she seemed to know about me. Only seconds after I’d gotten cleaned out, she was here, waving a paycheck.

You’re down to zero balance right?

Maybe. Why did I have to answer her? No reason.

No need to be coy Abe. Here’s the offer: $15,000 for one night’s work, and I’m not asking you to kill anyone. Petra’s eyes were blue, and they seemed to know I was going to say yes. She was so right it was scary. I was trying not to jump at the chance to say yes. Being eager can put you at a distinct disadvantage with a woman like this.

What’s the job?

Your job is to listen in. If you hear my associate scream... let’s see, let’s keep a presidential theme... if you hear her scream CLINTON! You’ll come running. She’ll be wearing an earring just like mine. There’s a tiny microphone in here. She had two huge diamond studs and she pointed to the one on her left.

The whole thing was a puzzle. She was a beautiful woman, that was without debate, but she seemed a little too classy and, to be a pimp, or was it a madam? Who knows what she was for sure was in complete control. That was the other thing about her. She wasn’t asking me for help. She didn’t need it. She was clearly the one helping me.

Here’s your receiver. She tossed me a box with a small antenna that clipped to my belt and an earpiece to run along the back of my shirt and under my jacket. It’s good you have a suit on instead of that t-shirt you usually wear. Good camouflage.

How do you know what I usually wear?

I know a lot about you Abe. And don’t get me wrong, I like the way you fill out that t-shirt, but where we’re going, I’m glad you’ve classed it up.

This is for court. I looked down at my suit and began to string the wire. The action of situating the equipment was me agreeing that, yes, I did need this job. $15K was a lot of cash.

When I think back to that earpiece and receiver, I shudder. In the last five years, I’ve significantly improved my surveillance equipment. And I said yes for the money, no question about it, but also because saying no to Petra seemed impossible. I’d never had a woman boss me around, and she did it. Easily.

If I’m impressed with your level of protection and discretion, I may have another offer for you. Do a good job. And don’t let me see you do it. The client shouldn't know you're there. He's paying for his fantasy and you're not in it. He needs to think he's in control, not you. But you will be. Every minute. Nothing happens to my girl that she doesn't want. Your job is to make sure of it. Do you understand Brutus...Abe? I nodded.

With that, my client did something I wasn’t used to. She walked away, out of the limo and out of my sight. Petra’s driver handed me a hotel key that was two doors down from the site from the rendezvous I was to observe. Listen in but stay hidden, I could do that. And I was to get there at 7 p.m. Once I was in position Petra’s girl, or associate, would do a sound check. Then that was it.

I could say I waffled and tossed around the moral ambiguity of sex for money, but that would be a fucking lie. Sex for money was going happen. It happened every day on every street in the world. Your mama gets a dishwasher when she bangs your daddy. These girls just skipped the middle man and went straight to the cash. They’ll buy their own damn appliances.

And you know what? Far from being ashamed of what I did, I felt it was a duty. Keeping a woman safe at work? Where’s the sin in that?

That first job, I was early. I’ve made that a habit. I entered the room and heard a throaty voice in my ear. Petra’s girl was talking to her client.

Uri! Petra told me you were handsome. She didn’t tell me you were so tall. Sound, check complete.

I opened my hotel room door. She said if the technology was stable, I’d hear every bump and grind.

Uri’s greeting turned into coos and more, and the mic, I discovered, was also good enough to pick up Uri’s obvious enjoyment.

Most men, untrained, undisciplined, would get off on hearing women do it. But right then and there I decided that that was a violation of trust with this woman. I was being paid to make sure she was safe, not get turned on.

She was a professional, doing a job, and so was I. At that moment, I put up strict perimeters around my thoughts. I did not imagine the woman on the other end of my ear piece with her skirt sliding off or Uri’s hands on her silk blouse or anything. I focused on her voice and making sure I didn’t miss it if passion turned into distress or if she uttered her safe word, Clinton.

You can do that; you know? Train your mind. Most people will say, I can’t stop thinking about... or I can’t help it. Yes, you can. I’ll show you some time. You very much can guard your thoughts and feelings. It is critical for my clients and for me. Sitting in a room and thinking about getting laid instead of their safety will get them hurt and get me fired. Focus, control, and a healthy dose of paranoia: those are my three skills if we’re sticking with the three theme.

I was vigilant and listened for anything that sounded like a threat or the safe word. But the safe word never came; the client, however, did, multiple times.

The Offer

The next day, I was in a fancy office, with Petra behind a glass desk, and me back in my standard t-shirt.  Her chairs were small and I figured it was only a matter of time until this one collapsed under me.

I want to offer you a job. I see you’re working all over the map, all kinds of rates. With me, you get a steady income, Petra told me.

She’d liked my little audition as security for her date.

I’d come to find out she wasn’t some old lady playing at madam. She was more powerful than any of the politicians or bankers I’d guarded, and she wanted me to come to work for her. Her story is one for another time, and really not mine to tell. It’s safe to say she was about to become my boss. And it’s barely safe to say that. Petra knew what I wanted, and she was in a position to help me get it. I’ve come to learn that’s one of her skills: knowing what people need. I needed a steady and lucrative source of cash.

I also needed to protect people. It wasn’t so much something I chose, but something I was. I knew when people were about to step in shit and I pushed them out of the way or cleaned it up before they got there. I’ve come to think being the adult with my mother is where this all started, but I try not to think about it too much. Who cares why? It just was and Petra knew it.

I haven’t been afraid since I’ve known you, she said, kind of randomly when I collected from my audition job.

Gaslight, Charles Boyer and Ingrid Bergman, 1944. I’d caught her meaning.

She was dropping movie quotes on me. Maybe trying to make me prove I’m not just a bruiser as she called me at first.

Or did she know I watched old movies when I couldn’t sleep? That started when I would watch over my mom to make sure she didn’t stop breathing. More psychology for you right there, eh?

Alright Abe, you got that one. I’d heard you liked old movies. Here’s what I know. I know you’re saving your money. That’s clear. I also know you want to move out to the country, very ‘Of Mice and Men’ of you.

She made it sound quaint. I didn’t give a damn if she thought my plans were small time or not. I had no desire to rule the world or a company or whatever the hell she did at Vallin Consulting.

Yes, and I’ll love him and keep him and name him George, I replied to her Of Mice and Men reference. Take that. I wanted her to know from the get-go that muscle did not mean stupid.

Very good Abe, very good, she smiled, and it was damned dazzling. It was easy to see how she could wrap you around her finger with one hand and slit your throat with another. Petra was dangerous and I planned to stay on her good side.

Here’s my offer. I need more of what you did the other night. I have many other associates.

Associates? That was the classiest name I’d ever heard for hookers. Yes. That’s what I thought, hookers. I came to learn that Petra’s associates were very different than the junkie whores that populated the lowest rungs of society where I’d grown up.

But that first day I thought we were talking about hookers. The associates I’d guarded over the years since that first day changed my mind on that. See? I can be taught.

Yes, my associates are real estate agents, models, art appraisers, even entertainers. They’re hired by my very rich clients. I broker the relationships, network if you will. Petra had walked out from behind her desk and was in front of it, leaning on it with her ankles crossed.

Very pretty language, I replied.

Yes, but you understand, my network would fall apart if I couldn’t guarantee the safety of my associates? Petra winked at me. She wasn’t going to have me say the words that, if caught on some surveillance in this building, would land us both in jail.

I understand, you want me to do like I did for your girl last night. But full time. That come with medical and dental?

No. But you’ll find I’m about to make you a very lucrative offer. I want the best so I pay for it. Now let’s talk terms.

The terms were life changing. Petra offered to pay me well, very well.

And because of that good pay, I’ve been working for her for the last five years, providing security for her gorgeous, highly skilled, rare and expensive independent associates; her people. I was security for the best tail on the planet. They weren’t whores or sluts or any of the