The Rescuer: WOLF: Cover Six Security, #5

By Lisa B. Kamps

Meet the men of Cover Six Security: Alphas. Protectors. Suckers for love.

Not all fairytales end in happily-ever-after...

Sebastian "Wolf" Wood. Former soldier. Medic. Loveable, loyal...and lethal. He knows better than anyone that appearances can be deceiving and he has no problem exploiting his cover-model good looks to get what he wants, especially when it's for the success of a mission. He's done it before, he'll do it again—until the one mission where the tables get turned by a storybook beauty whose bite is worse than her bark and who leaves him trying to figure out what's real—and what's an illusion.

Peyton Richards is getting a second chance at her big break—a chance most people would kill for. But her excitement at making a comeback is overshadowed by her irrational attraction to the man hired to watch over her—a man who looks like he'd be more at home on a California beach than as a bodyguard. A man who seems to relish butting heads and irritating her at every turn while stealing kisses that leave her breathless. A man who's entirely too comfortable in a glittering world where everyone is pretending to be someone else.

When a publicity stunt goes terribly wrong and it becomes obvious that someone wants Peyton out of the picture—permanently—it's up to Sebastian to keep her safe. To do that, he needs to breach her defenses and show her that it's what you can't see that's real—and if he fails, it's only a matter of time before the game of fantasy and make-believe lures them into a nightmarish hell of lies, deceit...and death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BimHaven Press
• Release date: Dec 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393869580

Lisa B. Kamps

Lisa B. Kamps had a zest for life at an early age. As a young child she wanted to do many things, from being an astronaut to becoming a marine biologist. A strong calling came from somewhere in between, and instead she chose to become a firefighter. She successfully served in a job dominated by men, becoming highly respected in her field. After a rewarding career with the Baltimore County Fire Department, she retired and found new happiness in retail management. Throughout her entire life, Lisa has had the ability to express herself through writing. She has never looked back, and has never regretted any of the detours that life may have thrown at her, because she knows that she is able to become anything she wants through the power of her writing. Lisa lives in Maryland, where her two energetic sons constantly keep her on her toes.

Book preview

Chapter One

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Sebastian Wolf Wood dropped the gear bag to the floor and stared at Daryl Anderson. Technically, the other man was his boss. Technically. But after what he’d just heard, Wolf was tempted to turn around and walk out the door.

Who the fuck was he kidding? He wasn’t going anywhere. This job with Cover Six Security was a dream job: all the excitement of his former days in the military without all the bullshit red tape and annoyance of following a rigid chain of command. Not to mention it paid one hell of a lot better.

But still—

What the fuck did I do to piss you off so bad?

Zeus leaned back in the chair and raised his legs. One booted foot hit the corner of the desk with a muffled thud. The second booted foot followed. Nothing. But you’re the only one available who fits the profile.

There was an odd expression on the other man’s face that made Wolf uneasy. It wasn’t irritation or impatience or even annoyance. It was more ...apologetic—with a hint of humor. Wolf stepped away from the desk and frowned. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Since when do we even have a profile?"

Like I said, this assignment is different. Think more personal security. Zeus paused, his gaze fixed on something over Wolf’s shoulder. I need someone who isn’t quite so...obvious.

Obvious?

Zeus nodded. Yeah. Someone who doesn't look the part.

The part? A nagging suspicion tickled the back of his neck. He had a feeling he knew exactly what Zeus meant but he wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily, not when the man's discomfort was becoming clearer with each passing second. What the hell are you even talking about?

Daryl sighed and dropped both feet to the floor with a muffled double thud. You're the only man I've got who won't be quite so noticeable. That's what this assignment calls for.

Noticeable? You mean I don't look like a hulking brute?

A frown creased Daryl's face. That's not what I mean. Not exactly. I need someone who can blend into the surroundings a bit more easily with this one and you fit the bill.

What about Ninja? He's low-key.

"He's too low-key. Daryl tapped the closed file with the tip of two fingers. Trust me, you're the best fit for this job."

Wolf dropped his gaze to the file then looked back at Zeus and wondered why the son-of-a-bitch was doing his best not to grin. Grin, hell. His lips were twitching so much that Wolf figured it was only a matter of time before the other man started howling with laughter.

It was bad enough he was being sent out on a babysitting assignment—something CSS rarely did. What the hell else was going on that would make Zeus fight to keep a straight face?

He reached for the file and snagged it from the desk, opened it with a frown. The frown deepened as he scanned the contents and it took more control than he anticipated to keep his bellow of outrage contained. This is some kind of fucking joke, right?

A low chuckle filled the room, the sound cut short as Zeus swallowed it back. He shifted in the chair, his gaze suddenly fixed on the paperwork scattered across the desk. Yeah—no. Sorry.

This is literally a babysitting job.

No, it's personal security.

She's, like, fifteen.

Actually, she's twenty-three.

Wolf tapped the picture. No way in hell this girl is twenty-three.

The picture isn't the most current.

Bullshit. Since when don't you have the most current info in a client file?

Since that's what her manager gave me. You could always Google her if you want more pictures.

I still call bullshit. He slammed the thin file closed. The whole thing is bullshit.

Probably, yeah.

Then why even take it?

Because it was a personal referral from one of my contacts.

Wolf started to ask who then slammed his mouth shut. Zeus had contacts everywhere, most of them located high up in the shadowed corners of no-name government agencies. Most—but not all. And as much as he'd love to know where this contact came from, he knew better than to ask.

Why me?

I told you: I need someone who won't stand out quite so much. Face it, Wolf—you're a perfect fit for this one.

I don't—

Look at it as a nice break. Two weeks on location surrounded by luxury. Beats sweating your balls off in the sandbox.

There wasn't any way he could argue with that so he just grunted and opened the file again. Scanned the client's personal info then studied the deceiving picture. Flipped the page and read the brief paragraph at the very bottom, the one that described exactly what the client was doing.

His shocked gaze shot back to Zeus's. You've got to be fucking kidding me.

The laughter the other man had been holding back for the last fifteen minutes finally broke free. Wolf stood there, saying nothing as the hearty sound filled the room. Several minutes went by before Zeus wiped his eyes with the heel of one hand and leveled a humorous gaze at Wolf.

Think of it this way: you finally got yourself a real princess.

Chapter Two

Princess, his ass.

Wolf stood next to his car, his pack slung over one shoulder as he studied the scene unfolding around him. This was a far cry from the luxurious surroundings Zeus had alluded to. Hell, it wasn't even in some exotic location—it was right here in their own fucking backyard, which surprised the hell out of him. He'd never known this place existed, let alone that it was so damn close. And even after doing a bit of research, he wasn't sure what he'd been expecting—

But it sure as hell wasn't the insanity greeting him.

People scurried back and forth, their attention focused on clipboards or phones or tablets as they weaved around each other. Heavy electrical cables snaked through the trees and across the uneven ground, connecting equipment to generators seen and unseen. Raised voices created an annoying din that filled his ears and settled at the base of his skull with a dull throb.

Beyond it all, looming in the distance beyond the tree-lined drive, stood a medieval building that somehow managed to be both romantic and sinister. Grey and gold stone reflected light and shadow, an odd architectural contrast to the dark wood of the half-timbered gables and the parapet.

Wolf had done his homework. He knew the gothic manor—once a private home situated on this parcel of gently rolling sixty acres off Falls Road—hadn't been built until 1932. But it looked a lot older, like something from medieval times. Like a freaking castle out of some stupid-ass fucking fairytale.

Except this wasn't a fairytale. At least, none like he had ever imagined.

Not unless the fairytale was on some serious crack.

You're not supposed to be here.

Wolf shifted to the side and studied the frazzled guy next to him. Excuse me?

The man—or maybe kid, because he didn't look like he was old enough to even vote yet—tapped a clipboard then pointed at something beyond the trees. Extras are staged on the other side of the set. You need to get over there and get into costume.

I don't—

And get this damn car out of here. Now.

I think—

You're not paid to think. They must be asleep down at the gate. Never mind, I'll take care of it. The kid shook his head then yanked a radio from his belt. Harry—

Wolf reached out and grabbed the radio from the kid's hand, cutting him off before he could say anything else. I'm not an extra.

Well you're sure as hell not part of the cast. The kid reached for the radio, bit back an oath when Wolf held it out of his reach. Impatience flashed in the narrowed eyes staring back at him. What's your name?

Wood. Sebastian Wood.

"Well, Sebastian, whatever break you were hoping for just went up in smoke. The kid's lips curled in a superior sneer as he yanked a smaller radio from his pocket. I'm calling security and having them escort you out of here."

You do that.

I will.

And when you're done, maybe you can call Marcus Talenti for me. I have an appointment with him.

Wolf folded his arms and allowed himself a brief smile at the sudden change in the kid's demeanor. The color drained from his face and the thin shoulders slumped in defeat. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again but only a strangled squeak came out. Wide eyes darted back and forth, giving the kid the appearance of a hunted animal searching for escape.

Y-you're here to see Mr. Talenti?

Yeah. Wolf tossed the radio over in his hand then gallantly handed it to the kid. Maybe you could tell him I'm here?

I—yes sir. Of course. The kid reached for the radio, fumbled it and nearly dropped it before curling his pale fingers around the hard case. He took a step back, his wary gaze never leaving Wolf's as he thumbed the button on the side. Jenny, this is Parker. Can you tell Mr. Talenti that his one o'clock is here?

A squelch of static echoed through the radio, followed by a soft voice that sounded as frazzled as poor Parker looked. Now's really not a good time. Can you get rid of him? Have him come back later?

Uh— Parker's gaze skittered to his then quickly darted away. I don't think that's a good idea. He's, uh, he's kind of standing right here.

The radio squawked again, the sound not quite loud enough to disguise the heavy sigh coming from the speaker. This really isn't a good time, Parker. We have a situation up here. Um, standby.

There was a sudden screech, followed by a muffled oath. The radio went silent for a brief second then came back to life. "Okay, they said bring him up. But FYI, her highness is having a hissy."

Parker stared at the silent radio, his face once again draining of color. He shook his head, clipped the radio to his belt, then gave Wolf a wary glance. Uh, this way.

He started to ask Parker who her highness was but the kid was already walking away, weaving in and out of the crowd of people who seemed to be aimlessly wandering around the shadowed drive. Wolf adjusted his pack then followed, his gaze studying each small detail as he moved through the crowd and approached the castle-like manor.

Parker glanced over his shoulder once then moved ahead with an expression of such defeated resignation that Wolf smothered another laugh. The kid actually looked like he was preparing for a battle he knew he was going to lose but had no chance of escaping.

Wolf should have known Zeus wasn't telling him the whole story when he roped him into this assignment. An easy babysitting job? Yeah, right. If this was what he was going to be forced to deal with for the next two weeks, Zeus was going to owe him big time.

He followed the kid into the imposing building that was supposed to be a castle then stumbled to a stop. Bright lights lit the inside, casting a harsh glare over the pale stone walls and rich tapestries. It wasn't the authentic period pieces that caught his attention, or the elaborate design of the cavernous room—it was the debacle taking place in the middle of it.

A small group of people huddled in the center of the room. Three of them were dressed in period costume: two women and one man. One of the women—the younger one with blonde hair carefully braided and wrapped around her head like a crown—was standing toe-to-toe with the costumed man, her hand waving dangerously close to his face. Two other men, dressed in regular street clothes, were trying to separate them.

Peyton, please. You're overreacting.

"Overreacting? Overreacting? The voice rose an octave, the words brittle and shrill. He's an oaf. A total idiot. And his breath stinks!"

Peyton—

"How could anyone even think of casting him as a prince? That requires a suspension of belief that is totally unheard of!"

Peyton—

She sliced a delicate hand through the air and heaved a dramatic sigh. No, don't talk to me. This isn't working for me right now. I need a break. She turned on her heel and stomped off, the train of her embroidered gown sweeping behind her as she glided past the small crowd and disappeared into a side room.

The woman's theatrical exit created a hush over the room, the silence heavy and oppressive. Then, as if on cue, the crowd started talking all at once, voices raised in a grating cacophony that echoed off the stone walls as each person tried to make themselves heard over the others.

Wolf dragged a hand through his hair and down over his face, then clamped his mouth shut over the bark of laughter that wanted to break free.

It was either laugh—or drive back to the office and murder Zeus.

Fairytale? Not even close. This was a fucking circus.

And the princess he was supposed to keep safe was nothing more than a shrew.

Chapter Three

Peyton Richards slammed the door behind her—the sign of a truly spoiled brat—then released a deep breath.

Relax. Just...relax.

Only that was so much easier said than done. Her tantrum from a few minutes ago hadn't been the real thing, not really—except for that comment about Chandler's breath. That had been nothing more than truth. Ack. The thought of having the guy's tongue in her mouth for even a fraction of a second was enough to send a shudder of repulsion sweeping over her. What did women see in him?

The fantasy, a little voice whispered. The same thing they see in you and everyone else.

The fame.

The glory.

The rich lifestyle filled with money and glitz and glamor.

It was a charade. All of it. The parties, the flashy outfits, the expensive cars and opulent lifestyle. It was a lie. Nothing but one big lie.

A lie she had been so certain she would no longer have to live. She'd done so well these last few years, had succeeded in convincing herself she could live a normal life. And then—

She sighed and pushed the harsh reality away. There was no sense reliving the nightmare. It was done and over with and there was nothing she could do about it, not now.

Nothing except fall back into the role that had been handpicked for her. For her carefully orchestrated comeback.

What a joke.

Peyton pressed the fingers of both hands against her temples and gently massaged. Thinking too much about what had happened was enough to give her a massive headache. The elaborate hairstyle that had taken more than an hour to create wasn't helping. It was too tight, wrapped around her head like some medieval torture device. There was nothing she wanted more than to rip the pins out, undo the intricate braids, and dig her fingers into her scalp to relieve the pain.

But she couldn't, not yet. Not until they were finished for the day. They still had hours to go, rehearsing and filming until everything was perfect. Then they'd start all over again tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that.

Two more weeks. She could handle that, right? Just two more weeks and then she could go back to being herself, at least for a little bit.

Maybe.

But until then, she had to be on. Not just while she was here on the set, but all the time. Every single minute. She had more than one role to play, more than one act to perform. And it was exhausting, wearing her out until she was physically and mentally drained by the end of each long day.

But that didn't matter. What mattered was the bottom line.

That was the only thing that had ever mattered.

Stop it.

The silent command filled her mind with an echo of strength. But even that was an illusion, just one more role, one more act. If she really possessed even a hint of that strength, she wouldn't be here now. She would have said no. Would have put her foot down and not given in.

Didn't that make her just as bad? Just as guilty?

Probably.

She sighed and dropped her hands. No probably about it—it did. But at least she had these few minutes to herself, where she could drop the act—all of them—and be herself.

If she even remembered who that was. How long before the act became real? How long before she turned into the person she was portraying? How long before the real her collapsed and disappeared under the weight of the many different masks she wore?

She was afraid of the answer. Afraid that might have already happened. Afraid—

A brisk knock at the door stopped her from looking too deeply at her biggest fear. She straightened her shoulders and settled her mask in place as the door opened behind her.

Peyton, honey. Are you okay? The voice that was meant to soothe only managed to grate on Peyton's nerves. But she was careful to hide her reaction, careful to keep the mask in place as she turned to face the woman who was supposed to be her family.

Yes, Susan, I'm fine.

The woman's mouth pinched and for a brief second, irritation flashed in her dark brown eyes. In the next breath, she was the perfect picture of concern. If Peyton didn't know better, she'd almost swear that her aunt actually cared. The woman was so convincing, she could have been an actress.

Oh, wait—she was.

Her days of glory and fame were in the past but she was still an actress.

And a liar.

And, quite possibly, a thief.

Not that Peyton would ever be able to prove it, with or without the private investigator she had considered hiring. And even if she could, there was nothing she could do about it. She'd signed the paperwork giving her aunt control of her finances herself, years ago when she'd been innocent and naive. When she had foolishly trusted her aunt—her only close family—to take care of her.

Peyton bit back a sharp sigh. Yeah, Susan had definitely taken care of her. That's why she was here now, forced back into this world of make-believe she had come to hate. Any concern Susan had was for herself, not for Peyton.

Her aunt closed the door behind her with a soft click. Her voice remained calm and soothing—it