Trust No One

By Velvet Vaughn

TV Reporter Kendall Buckley has just scored the biggest interview of her career, but before the cameras start rolling, a violent crime hits too close to home. She can't go to the police...one of their own committed the heinous act. She doesn't know who to trust and now the killers are hot on her trail. Former Navy SEAL Dorian Demarchis is recovering from a bullet wound sustained during his last COBRA Securities mission. When a co-worker sends Kendall to his doorstep, he agrees to help despite his injury. Though he tries to keep the relationship strictly professional, he can't fight the strong chemistry that ignites between them. When bodies start piling up and the killers draw near, the danger threatens Kendall, his family...and his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Velvet Vaughn
• Release date: Apr 8, 2016
• ISBN: 9780986165238

Velvet Vaughn

Velvet Vaughn was born in Indiana and spent fifteen years in communications, public relations, marketing and executive management in amateur sports. Articles she has written have been published in several magazines and reprinted in most major newspapers across the country. She served as editor, writer and designer for five sport magazines including one that was distributed to over 140 countries around the world, and one that was displayed in the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, NY. To learn more about Velvet or sign up for her newsletter, visit her at http://www.velvetvaughn.com or http://www.facebook.com/authorvelvetvaughn.

Book preview

Copyright © 2015 Velvet Vaughn

ISBN: 978-0-9861652-3-8

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Visit Velvet's website at www.velvetvaughn.com and her Facebook Fanpage at www.facebook.com/authorvelvetvaughn.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my fabulous sister, Kristy. Thank you for your unwavering support! I love you!

Table of Contents

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Epilogue

About the Author

Prologue

Wednesday, September 15

A tense silence swept over the assembled crowd.

Senator Aaron Hofstra staggered to a microphone attached to a hastily-constructed podium in front of his offices on Dearborn Street in downtown Chicago, Illinois. His hand trembled uncontrollably as he dabbed at his eyes. Wrinkles creased the normally pristine suit jacket hanging limply on his lean frame, and his salt and pepper hair was mussed. Flashbulbs exploded at a near-frantic pace, but he didn’t blink. Reporters and photographers jockeyed for position, shouldering through a throng of colleagues and spectators for a better vantage point, held back by the outstretched hands and fierce glares of several security guards.

Those closest to the dais winced at the loud squeal the microphone emitted when the senator leaned close. Hofstra, functioning solely on autopilot, didn’t even flinch.

My wife is missing, he choked out. And she is seven months pregnant.

Although the multitude knew this information already, it didn’t stop the collective gasp as the senator voiced the words with a ragged tremor rattling his voice.

He roughly cleared his throat. She’s been missing for four days now, and I haven’t been contacted—no ransom, nothing. He straightened to his full five-ten height and peered directly into the nearest camera. Please, whoever is doing this, whoever has her, I beg you to let her go. Let my wife and unborn child come home to me.

Finally, the emotional toll was too much, and he broke down, weeping openly as an aide wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders. Whatever it is you want, please let me know. I will do anything to have my wife back. Anything, he sobbed.

That’s enough, the aide barked, blocking the camera with his hand before focusing his attention on the senator. Medical personnel rushed to his side, one easing him to a stretcher as another attached an oxygen mask to his face.

Cameras heartlessly continued to roll, capturing the senator’s very personal, very emotional breakdown.

Chapter One

Friday, September 17

Kendall Buckley whipped her rental car into a parking space, yanked the keys from the ignition, and grabbed the strap of her purse as she leaped out the door. Thanks to plane trouble on the tarmac at LaGuardia and then Friday evening rush hour traffic, she was over an hour late meeting her friends for dinner.

They would think she stood them up for the fourth straight year.

Reaching back inside the car, she snatched a baseball cap from the seat, shoved it on, and pulled her hair—which was flat and sweaty, thanks to those long hours inside a stuffy, airless fuselage—through the opening. Then she wound it into a knot and tucked the ends through the band, securing her ponytail. She usually wore glasses only for reading, but she used the travel time to prepare for her upcoming interview with Senator Aaron Hofstra. Adjusting the chunky square black frames, she dashed for the elevator. She wanted to jump in the shower and rinse off the sweat and plane stench, but she was already pushing it time-wise. Thankfully, the restaurant Bridget chose was casual.

Tapping her foot impatiently as the elevator slowly ascended, Kendall mentally checked items off her list of topics to discuss with the senator. She wanted to be fully prepared when the cameras started rolling. This was the big one, the interview she had waited for her entire career. Her producer even finagled a deal to broadcast the show in prime time across the country. Goosebumps erupted along her arms. She still couldn’t believe it.

The elevator finally reached the lobby, and the doors swished open. She dodged an overzealous toddler who crowded in before she could exit and the boorish mother, who didn’t even seem to notice anyone else in her realm as she chirped loudly into her cell phone. Kendall stifled a laugh at the look of horror on the mother’s face as the little boy gleefully stabbed every button on the panel. Stepping out, she searched through the crowd of milling people for the restaurant, finally spying the sign down a broad hallway.

A wave of nostalgia hit Kendall as she spotted her three friends chatting and laughing at a table, oblivious to the stares of the other patrons. They drew attention whenever they were together. Eyes followed them as they passed, as much for their diversity as their looks. Bridget Mann was an Irish beauty with her flowing red hair, creamy complexion, and sparkling green eyes. Stefani Sinclair was the token gorgeous blue-eyed blonde of the group. Tall, willowy, with a million-dollar smile showcased against flawless mocha skin and elegant cheekbones, Kiki Bell was simply dazzling. Kendall was the exotic one with silky black hair, light tan skin thanks to her one-fourth Latina heritage on her father’s side, and pale blue eyes, courtesy of her one-fourth Scandinavian on her mother’s side of the tree.

The girls met their first year at Northwestern on the freshman pep squad. Over the next four years, they lived, cheered, partied together, and became as close as sisters. After graduation, they shared an apartment when all four made the professional squad for the Chicago Cougars football team. One advantage of cheering for the Cougars was the opportunity to model everything from charity calendars to swimsuit magazines, and all four girls worked steadily. The extra income paid for graduate school, and Kendall earned her Master’s in communications. She worked for a local cable channel as a features reporter during the off-season. She soon realized she’d never be taken seriously if she continued to cheer and model, especially when the producer insisted on including shots of her in a bikini in the opening credits. Figuring the local viewers would never see her as anything but a cheerleader, she accepted a job in Topeka, hoping a change of scenery meant more serious stories. Kendall hated to be the first of the quartet to leave the nest, but she needed to make a move if she hoped to advance her career.

It wasn’t long after she left for Kansas that the rest of the group followed her lead and went their separate ways. Kiki moved home to Dallas to be close to her ailing mother. Bridget took a modeling job in Miami. Only Stefani stayed in Chicago. They tried to meet once a year for the first few years to catch up, but Kendall accepted a job in Denver and couldn’t make it back. The first year broke her heart. The second was mildly upsetting. By the third year, she didn’t even feel guilty anymore. The passage of time made missing their sacred get-togethers easier.

Kendall’s career took an unexpected turn when a producer for a news station in New York caught her report on the homeless—a piece that earned her a Journalism Excellence award nomination. He called the next day and offered her a job in Manhattan, and the rest, as they say, was history. She was busier than ever.

The demands of her new job meant ignoring reminders from her friends about their annual get-together. But four days ago, Stef left an urgent message, her voice sounding both odd and frightened. Please, she begged, it’s a matter of life or death. You’re the only person I can talk to, and I can’t do it over the phone.

Though the four had lived together, she and Stef always shared a room and everything from their clothing to their deepest, darkest secrets and most treasured dreams. At one time, she had been closer to Stef than anyone else besides her mom.

Still, she gently refused, pleading a stifling workload until the story of Senator Hofstra’s missing wife broke. Kendall had just secured the interview this morning, so she packed her bags and booked a flight. She couldn’t get in touch with Stefani but caught Bridget between flights. Bridget gave her the name of the restaurant and the time the girls were meeting. Kiki and Stefani didn’t know she was coming. She asked Bridget to keep it a surprise.

The server escorted her to the table, but she stood back while the girls signed autographs for a busboy who recognized them. They’d all been featured on a hugely popular Cougars poster that sold out in minutes a few years ago. While she waited, she cataloged all the changes in her friends over the past three years. Kiki’s hair was shorter and streaked with red, Bridget’s hair was longer, and if possible, she looked even thinner. With dark smudges beneath her eyes and a pinched expression on her face, Stef looked distant. Distracted. Kiki and Bridget didn’t seem to notice she wasn’t joining in on their laughter.

Stef looked up and gasped, the look of pure relief washing over her face sucker-punching Kendall. Why hadn’t she made time for her friends? Squeals erupted when Kiki and then Bridget noticed her, and soon she was enveloped in hugs, laughter, and the comfort of old memories.

#

Kiki slid a card into the slot and pushed the door open when the light blinked green. She kicked off her heels as she entered the suite Stefani booked for their weekend get-together.

I’m calling room service and ordering champagne, Bridget announced, picking up the receiver. We’re celebrating that Princess Kendall deigned us with her presence this year.

Kendall swiped a pillow from the bed and flung it at Bridget’s head. Bridget batted it away, laughing as she spoke into the phone.

I can’t believe you came. Kiki gave her a fierce hug. I was beginning to worry we’d never see you again.

I’m sorry I couldn’t get away the last few years, Kendall said truthfully. I was so focused on my career. I lost sight of my priorities.

It wasn’t the same without you. Bridget grabbed her hands and tugged her to sit on the bed. We missed you. Fill us in on what’s happening in your life. New York! I can’t believe you live in Manhattan. I bet it’s amazing. Do you live in the City? And the men! So many to choose from there. You must have to beat them away with a stick. Have you seen any good shows on Broadway? When can we come to visit?

Kendall grinned at Bridget’s effusive questions as they stirred fond memories. Bridget was inquisitive by nature, always asking questions faster than they could be answered.

Let’s change and go out, Kiki suggested, jumping to her feet. We can talk and drink and dance and catch up. She pulled Kendall up for another quick embrace. Promise you won’t blow us off again. Life’s too short to lose track of the people that mean the most to you.

Tears sprang to Kendall’s eyes as she returned the hug. Again, she regretted not making time to visit her friends each year. What did a couple of vacation days matter in the long run? When she was old and gray, she wouldn’t remember the story she covered on who made the best marinara sauce, but she would remember the times spent with dear friends.

As Kiki and Bridget hurried to change, Kendall announced, I left my suitcase in the rental, not adding that she did so on purpose. She hoped to have a few minutes alone with Stefani to find out what was bothering her troubled friend. Stef, you want to go with me? She placed a hand on her shoulder.

Stefani gasped at the contact and spun around. The cell phone she had been frantically punching numbers on fell from her grip and clattered to the floor. I-I’m sorry, she stammered.

Concern for Stef ratcheted up a notch, and Kendall studied her worriedly. Here, let me get that for you. She crouched down to gather the fallen item but didn’t see it anywhere. Lifting the edge of the cover, she spotted it under the bed. Your phone looks in one piece. She tried reaching for it, and of course, it slid to the middle. Thankfully, housekeeping did an outstanding job, and no dust bunnies or multi-legged critters were waiting to ambush her in the dark. Wedging herself below the frame, she finally fingered the phone when a sharp rap sounded on the door.

That was fast, Bridget trilled, swinging the door open.

Muffled pops and stilted gasps resonated through the room. Curious at the unusual sounds, Kendall started to scoot out when Stefani slammed to the floor in front of her, her head bouncing with a sickening thud. Stef’s mouth was rounded in shock, eyes wide and vacant, staring directly at Kendall.

It took a minute for Kendall’s brain to process what she was seeing. Blood trickled from the corner of Stefani’s mouth, a growing pool spreading beneath her body.

Oh, God, she gasped silently.

Start searching, a deep voice ordered. And hurry.

Kendall jerked back, shoving herself into the deepest shadows beneath the bed. Stefani’s cell was clutched in her fist. She punched in 9-1-1 but waited to hit send. If the killers heard the operator’s voice, her hiding place would be exposed. She had no doubt they’d turn their guns on her.

Time passed in slow motion. Sounds were muted and heavy. Bags were ripped open, material torn, the contents strewn haphazardly. Curse words peppered the air. A thin trail of Stef’s crimson blood rolled slowly along the wooden floor, inching its way closer and closer. She followed the progress in fascinated horror.

Kendall tensed when a booted foot callously jostled Stefani, sending her sprawling to her back. A hand reached down and pawed through the spilled contents of her purse. She noted the jagged, puckered scar encircling the wrist and the thin, blunt fingers with a reporter’s eye. Suddenly, those fingers reached for the edge of the comforter and lifted. Kendall’s heart stopped, her breath jammed in her throat.

Shit, the elevator. Someone’s coming. Let’s get out of here.

As quickly as the hand appeared, it vanished. Heavy footsteps thumped across the floor and out the door. Kendall remained paralyzed, her breath billowing in and out now that she allowed herself to breathe again.

A scream galvanized her into action. Shuffling out from under the bed, she sprung to her feet. Her knees buckled, and her stomach rolled as she viewed the carnage. Bridget lay in a heap by the door, surrounded by a puddle of blood. Kiki was draped across a bed, her arms wide, her eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling, her face frozen in a death mask of shock. And Stefani rested at her feet. Her three college roommates. All dead.

Kendall barely made it to the bathroom in time. Every bit of her dinner came up until nothing remained in her stomach. She flushed the toilet with a shaky hand, swiped a washcloth from the vanity, and ran it under cold water to rinse her mouth and face.

Oh God, who would do this? Who would gun down three women in a luxury hotel in the middle of Chicago? And why?

She lunged for the toilet again.

Once her stomach settled enough to move, she steeled her nerves and ventured back into the room. The door was propped open by a room service cart laden with bottles of champagne. A sob rose in her throat, but she tamped it down. Now wasn’t the time to lose it.

Retrieving the phone from her pocket, she shoved the cart out of the way and dashed into the hall. She slammed into a man in a suit. Somewhere in her foggy mind, it registered that he wore a badge clipped to his belt.

Thank God you’re–

Stay back, ma’am, he ordered as he withdrew a weapon from a holster and rushed inside. He didn’t have to tell her twice. If she went back inside, she would crumple to the floor in agony.

She chanced a peek to see him snap on a pair of latex gloves and check Bridget for a pulse, his eyes scanning the room the entire time. He walked back to her, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. A baseball cap with CPD embroidered on the front was pulled low over his forehead. You with room service? You call it in?

Kendall shook her head. Those are m-my friends… Her voice broke.

The man’s brows slammed together. Friends? You weren’t in the room with them. Before she could answer, a crowd of curious onlookers began to gather in the hallway. The cop’s expression turned grim. Come with me, he ordered, his voice dangerously low. He clasped her upper arm and dragged her down the corridor, away from the growing mob of spectators.

Wait, she cried, trying to dig in her heels. I can’t leave them. Where are you taking me?

Where do you think? You’re a suspect.

Kendall gaped at him in horror. S-suspect? But they’re my friends.

So you say, he growled, bypassing the elevators to haul her into the emergency exit stairwell. The fluorescent lights allowed her to see him for the first time. She tried reading the name on his badge, but she couldn’t make it out. He was obviously a cop. He carried a gun clipped to his belt and a bulky walkie-talkie. His hat was pulled too low on his head, and dark glasses blocked his eyes. When he caught her looking, he shoved her in front of him. Then she felt the unmistakable poke of a firearm.

He towed her roughly down the stairs, not slowing when she stumbled and almost went down. He shoved her through the door to an alley that ran behind the hotel. The air reeked of rotten garbage and car exhaust. Something skittered away as he dragged her beside a dumpster overflowing with refuse. Sirens blasted in the distance, warring with honking cars and the rush of ever-present Chicago traffic. Everything seemed surreal. Her friends were dead, and now this cop blamed her for the heinous crime.

As they passed under a streetlight, she noticed the gloved hand clasping her arm and the gruesome scar encircling his wrist.

Chapter Two

Kendall gasped in dismay. The man painfully clutching her arm was one of the men who had gunned down Kiki, Bridget, and Stefani. A cold-blooded killer.

She had to get away from him—her life depended on it. She knew he’d led her to the alley to kill her too. With her free hand, she fumbled in her pocket for the only weapon she could find. She waited until he urged her closer to an unmarked car. Using the element of surprise, she spun around, knocked off his glasses, and depressed the button, aiming for his pupils.

The man screamed in pain, releasing his grip to grab his face. His gun clattered to the ground. Without giving herself time to think about the ramifications of assault on a police officer, she slammed a knee into his groin. He cried out, crumpling first to his knees and then to the ground in a fetal position, one hand leaving his face to clutch his manhood.

Kendall snagged his gun and tore off down the alley, skirting empty cardboard boxes and puddles of water, not bothering to glance back. Turning a corner, she raced down the block as police cars with flashing lights and blaring sirens sped by her. She jammed the gun in the waistband of her jeans and tugged her shirt over it to hide it as she weaved down sidewalks, around pedestrians, and across streets until she was sure she wasn’t followed.

Stumbling to a tree in a small park, she rested her back against it and slowly slid to the grass. The gun poked her stomach, so she pulled it out and placed it on the ground next to her. Somewhere along the way, her bun came undone, and she lost her hat. She didn’t even notice when it came off.

Bending her knees, she cradled her head in her hands, fighting the urge to give in to the overwhelming grief. Three of her friends had been murdered, and now the killer was after her. She had to come up with a plan. She didn’t have time to fall apart. That would come later.

Blocking out the faces of her friends, she cataloged the facts. Having worked with several law enforcement officials during her career, she was positive the badge of the man trying to arrest her had been authentic. That didn’t necessarily mean he was legit—he could have stolen it. But he had an air of authority. Some investigative reporter she turned out to be—she didn’t even get his name, badge number, or the license plate from his cruiser.

Robbery could have been the motive since they rifled through all the bags, but there had to be something more for the men to risk blowing away three women in a busy hotel.

Remembering the phone in her pocket, she tugged it out. She couldn’t do this alone. She needed help. Her roommate would know what to do.

While she waited for the call to go through, she recalled the first time she met Olivia Larrson at a banquet after Olivia broke the story of a serial killer in Vermont. Her award-winning coverage landed her a job at a rival station in New York. They struck up a conversation, became fast friends, and moved into a tiny apartment to share the outrageous expense of living in the greatest city in the world. Even though they worked for competing networks, there was no rivalry in the friendship. She would do anything for her friend and knew Olivia felt the same way. Her roommate was the sweetest, most sincere person she’d ever met, but she could be a bulldozer when necessary.

She caught Olivia in the makeup chair, getting ready for her last evening report. Hey Ken, how’s the reunion?

Hearing her voice comforted Kendall, and the words tumbled out on a sob. I’m in trouble, Liv.

Oh no, Olivia gasped after she relayed the entire story. I’m so sorry. There was a rustling in the background and low murmuring. She could picture Olivia shooing away the makeup artist and ripping off the protective sheet covering her clothes.

I’m on my way. I’ll book a flight right now.

No! Panic had Kendall blurting out the word harsher than necessary. She softened her tone. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so abrupt, but I don’t want you anywhere near here, Olivia. The same heartless bastards who killed my friends are after me. I don’t want you caught in the crosshairs.

Olivia took no offense. You need help, and I know who to call. Hang on while I patch together a three-way call with Jake Kincaid.

Kendall had never met Jake but knew all about him from Olivia. Her friend kept in touch with the former FBI agent who captured a serial killer in Vermont and his wife, the killer’s ultimate target—and almost one of his victims. Jake worked for a world-class private security firm—precisely what Kendall needed. She couldn’t go to the authorities in case the killers were cops.

Kendall jumped each time a car drove past or a siren blared. While waiting, she scanned the park and saw no suspicious shapes lurking in the shadows. Olivia came back on the line and made the introductions.

Damn, Jake muttered after Kendall recounted the entire story. You’re sure the cop is in on it?

There was no mistaking that scar. It was very distinctive.

And you’re sure he was official?

Reasonably sure, she responded. The badge looked real, though I don’t know that it was his, and I could hear police chatter on his walkie-talkie.

How did you get away if he had a gun on you?

I Biancaed him.

You what-ed him? Is that some kind of jujitsu move or something?

If she wasn’t suffering the effects of shock, she might have given in to a wry smile. No, it’s a breath freshener kind of thing. I squirted cinnamon Bianca in his eyes.

Jake grunted appreciatively. Quick thinking.

That was before I kneed him in the balls with every bit of force I could manage.

Jake hissed in male sympathy. Remind me not to piss off your roommate, Olivia. Where did you say you were, Kendall?

She glanced around the area to gather her bearings. Heading west along the river. I’m pretty close to Wacker Drive.

It just so happens that we have an agent very close. He was injured in the line of duty and recuperating at his mother’s place. He may not be at one hundred percent, but he’s better than ninety-nine percent of the population, even at half speed. He’s a former SEAL.

How can he help me if he’s injured?

He’ll help. Hero complex and all that. Are you familiar with Greek Town?

Yes.

His name is Dorian Demarchis. His mother owns a restaurant on South Halsted Street.

I’m not far from there, less than a mile. She scrambled to her feet, a small burst of hope flaring to life. Her knees buckled, and she had to steady her legs before pushing away from the tree. I’m heading that way now.

His family owns the building. They live above the restaurant. That’s where Demarchis is staying. I’ll give him a heads-up, let him know you’re on the way.

Thanks, Jake, I appreciate this, Olivia said. I owe you one.

I owe you one, too, Kendall added.

Stay the hell safe, and we’ll call it even Kendall. Larrson, you’re still on the hook.

Kendall disconnected as Jake and Olivia bantered back and forth good-naturedly. A shiver raced down her spine as she glanced around. She’d never been a coward, and she refused to be one now.

Sliding the phone into her pocket, she headed north to the address Jake provided. She was closer than she thought. The dinner crowd was in full swing. Light spilled out onto the sidewalk, music trilled gaily, and decadent smells scented the air. Her stomach recoiled. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to eat again.

Though she wasn’t sure which apartment to try first, she knew she couldn’t go into the restaurant. A Sheriff’s cruiser was parked across the street. If he was inside, and if the killer was a cop, there could be a BOLO—be on the lookout—for her right now.

Maneuvering to the back of the sturdy red brick building, she glanced up to the apartment where Jake told her Mr. Demarchis was staying, dismayed to find no lights shining in the windows.

Spying a metal fire escape clinging to the back of the building, she judged the distance to the bottom rung. It was too high for her to reach. Her eyes canvassed the dark area, and she spotted two wooden crates propped beside a brown metal dumpster. A cat leaped across the alley, scaring the breath from her lungs. When her pulse slowed, she retrieved the crates and stacked them on top of each other, wincing when a shard of wood pierced her finger. With her nails, she dislodged the splinter and then sucked the injured digit in her mouth.

Gingerly, she climbed onto her makeshift step stool and reached for the ladder. With a leap, she caught the bottom rung and pulled herself up. When she made it to the first landing, she said a silent thank you to her Pilates teacher and jogged up the steps to the second level.

The next thing she knew, a large hand covered her mouth, and she was shoved roughly against the side of the building. She had heard no one else on the metal structure. Brick bit into her flesh. Something big and heavy crushed her, forcing all the air from her lungs.

Oh no, he’d found her. All she could think about was her need to avenge her friends’ deaths and how much she didn’t want to die.

#

Dorian Demarchis loved his mother. He did. But if he had to put up with her over-protectiveness much longer, he would go insane.

His shoulder was recuperating. Hell, he’d been injured worse as a SEAL, and it didn’t stop him then. He should be out in the field, solving cases, helping his co-workers instead of cooped up like a pansy-ass in his mother’s apartment.

Okay, so he had to admit he enjoyed the food. His mom was the best cook in all of Chicago. Her moussaka couldn’t be beaten. If he didn’t watch it, he’d gain ten pounds lying around like a slug.

As he usually did when he felt sorry for himself, he cursed his good buddy and former teammate Logan Bradley. Killer, Bradley’s nickname when he was a SEAL—given for his performance with women, not his tactical ability, though that was an equally accurate description—ordered him to rest and then sicced his mother on him. That was low. And damn it, Bradley was now his boss, so he couldn’t tell him to piss off.

Contemplating the rapid decline of his pathetic life, a scraping noise in the alley snagged his attention. Powering off the television, the only light source in the room, he removed the ice pack from his shoulder, tossed it on a table, and inched to the window. The sound came from a petite figure rummaging around the dumpster. From the golden glow