The Keepers Series Box Set: Books 1-3: The Keepers Series, #11

By Stephanie St. Klaire

The Keepers Series Box Set: Books 1-3

Final Deception -
What could go wrong in the city of sin during a total blackout? EVERYTHING…

Brother's Keeper security operative Cane O'Reilly has one job, keep Charlie Adams alive. When witness protection fails her, more than once, he's tasked with protecting the only surviving victim of an infamous deranged killer. She comes with a hell of a lot of baggage and...other needs, Cane is all too happy to fulfill.

Hiding out in one of the most secure cities in the US, he has eyes and ears everywhere searching for the killer with unfinished business. Cane will stop at nothing to protect the beautiful and fierce Charlie, but international serial killer Anson Deveraux will go to the ends of the earth to find her... and finish what he started.

What do you do when the lights go out? Run.

Familiar Threat -
The Keepers series will keep you on the edge of your seat as Cane and Charlie find romance on the run amidst a cult uprising, a diabolical killer who won't stay dead and a trail of bodies from Vegas to Portland...

Victim turned witness, Charlie finds herself the center of a blood bath, back in protective custody and safe in the arms of bodyguard Cane O'Reilly.

When the lights go out in Portland, it's Vegas all over again, as the diabolical killers take to the streets and try to shake Charlie out of hiding.

From copycats to cold blooded, there is no rest for the wicked, but if Anson is dead who's calling the shots?

Deadly Pursuit -
Veteran Keeper's operative, Mercy Wyatt knows all too well, where there's smoke... there's fire. When a mysterious woman shows up on his ranch with a child at her side, he's thrown into a deadly pursuit for justice.

The secrets in Sarah's eyes aren't near as telling as the bruises and scars marring her skin. It's evident she's hiding something, and Mercy needs answers to expose the dark truth she escaped.

His instincts lead him on a wild chase that uncovers a sinister organization ran by the world's most powerful and influential— that trades people like commodities and commits the unimaginable.

After everything she's endured, Mercy refuses to allow Sarah to fight her hunters alone. But it's hard to protect a woman on the run, especially when she's wanted...

For murder.

Just when you think this pulse pounding series can't take you any deeper or darker into conspiracies and corruption, think again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephanie St. Klaire
• Release date: May 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223035282

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The Keepers Series Box Set: Books 1-3

THE KEEPERS SERIES BOX SET: BOOKS 1-3

STEPHANIE ST. KLAIRE

CONTENTS

Also Read

Books By Stephanie St. Klaire

Final Deception

Acknowledgments

Prologue

1. Chapter 1 - Prologue

2. Chapter 2 - Prologue

Final Deception

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Familiar Threat

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Deadly Pursuit

WARNING

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

About Stephanie St. Klaire

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COPYRIGHT © 2023

Stephanie St. Klaire

A Keepers Series Box Set: Books 1-3

COPYRIGHT © 2019

Final Deception

COPYRIGHT © 2021

Familiar Threat

COPYRIGHT © 2021

Deadly Pursuit

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

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever known, not known or hereafter invented, or stored in any storage or retrieval system, is forbidden and punishable by the fullest extent of the law without written permission of the author.

EDITOR: Jenny Sims

COVER ARTIST: The SSK Group

FORMATTING: The SSK Group

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Don’t forget to check out Stephanie St. Klaire’s alter ego, USA Today Bestselling Romantic Comedy and Contemporary Author, Stephie Klaire.

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BOOKS BY STEPHANIE ST. KLAIRE

McKenzie Ridge Series

Rescued

Hidden

Forgotten

Fearless

Redemption

Brother’s Keeper Series

The Fall of Declan

The Rise of Declan

Reclaiming Liam

Redeeming Luke

Pursuing Dace

Hunting Wylie

Love, Cass (a series companion novel)

The Keeper’s Series

Final Deception

Familiar Threat

Deadly Pursuit

Fatal Diversion

Royal Reckoning

Forced Enemy

Trivial Deceit

Lethal Jeopardy

Dangerous Chaos

Corrupt Justice

Stand Alone

Chameleon Effect

Final Deception

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

For Gladys...

I don’t know anyone named Gladys, but I’m sure there’s a Gladys out there reading this...

I’m sure the smile you’re now wearing is infectious - or not - either way...

This is for you...

(Don’t worry, Judy… You’re next!)

PROLOGUE

BONUS CONTENT

1

CHAPTER 1 - PROLOGUE

Shit! Cane yelled, pulling his too-tight, coffee-soaked t-shirt away from his chest. "Let me guess, you ordered it hell hot?"

It sure felt like hell hot to Cane O’Reilly, but it wasn’t the coffee that had him burning up. It was the petite brunette with large, emerald doe eyes looking up at him in the middle of the internet Café, Wired. When Cane was summonsed to Portland by his bosses for a job, he assumed it was another hide them in Vegas for a week babysitting job. It turned out to be more — so much more. If he were a Vegas bettin’ man, he’d wager his new client was the sexy and I don’t know it woman with the fearful expression standing in front of him holding a now empty paper coffee cup. He hated taking these cases, but at least this one didn’t appear to be three hundred pounds of filthy rich, sweaty man. Charlotte Adams was easy on the eyes, but not so easy on Cane’s jeans. They were growing tighter with every flutter of her long lashes.

Um, yes? Charlotte replied in a near whisper. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know anyone was behind me. She grabbed a stack of napkins from the counter to her left and dabbed Cane’s hard chest as if the wad of recycled paper would soak up her scorching fumble.

Great, he thought. He’d been assigned one of the highest profile cases in the country, if not the world, and the client in imminent danger hadn’t known he was behind her. She clearly wasn’t aware of her surroundings — and that posed a major problem.

First impression: she was quiet, small, defenseless. It was all starting to make sense why she was a target. The Fed’s couldn’t keep her hidden, so they called in his bosses, Brother’s Keeper Security, to hide her from the most wanted man in the world: Anson Deveraux. Cane had his work cut out for him.

Well, there’s always the hot coffee defense, Cane gruffed, ripping the napkins from her grip. It’ll at least give you a head start.

I’m sorry, the what? Charlotte pinched her eyes nearly shut, unimpressed with the shit talk brewing from the chest-pounding goliath in front of her. It was all in her expression. Was he really insulting her? Or was that a threat? Charlotte had a hard time distinguishing the two since one typically came with the other anyway. I don’t think I understand. Head start from what?

Cane sensed the fire in her building. Good, he thought. She was skeptical of him, sizing him up. Now, how riled could he get her? Her defensive stance, clenched fists, and dark tone may have been the difference between living and dying, which wasn’t something easily taught. It was instinct. Survivor’s instinct.

Cane leaned in, and whispered, "The bad guy, Ms. Adams. You should be more aware of your surroundings, sweetheart. Never know when you’re being watched, played, or followed. You can’t be too careful."

A subtle gasp escaped Charlotte as she stood taller, shoulders back, on alert. This is good, Cane thought. He had her attention – she felt threatened when a mere stranger spoke her name. Maybe there was hope for this little pixie after all. She was silently running through a list of questions. Is he Anson? Had he changed his appearance again and finally found me? Is he here to kill me?

"Well…sir," Charlotte started, unsure how to refer to him. She wasn’t particularly interested in pissing off a threatening maybe serial killer by calling him a more appropriate pronoun like asshole. See those two guys in the back corner? She looked over her shoulder at the men she was referring to. "They’re with me. You so much as sneeze in my direction, they’ll take your Neanderthal ass outside and…deal with you, sweetheart. Oh! And they have…guns."

Cane smiled. There was fight in this little spitfire. Survivor, he remembered. Impressive…so far. It was evident most of that brazen confidence came from the oversized muscle for hire in the corner.

That mouth of hers was either going to be trouble or pleasure, he wasn’t sure yet. Cane also wasn’t sure why he was thinking of her in that way only minutes after meeting face to face. Charlotte Adams was a client — probably his most important client to date. There were rules. Boundaries. And exploring boundaries with his two hands was off limits. His job sucked.

Oh. Cane crossed his arms, too proud to uncross them when he was quickly reminded his shirt was still thoroughly soaked with twenty-four ounces of now cool coffee. Her sassy smirk had him riled now. Riled in a way that may have required self-service or a cold shower when he had a little privacy.

You mean Carter and Dace? Looking past her, Cane tossed a friendly nod to the corner. Hey, guys.

Surprise washed over Charlotte when the men — her men — returned the nod. One even flipped off the broody man in front of her. Y-You know who they are?

Cane just smiled, failing to recognize the panic replacing her confidence. Charlotte ran. Right out the door and several blocks up the street before the men caught up to her and pulled her into an alley.

Cane got to her first and held her against a brick building. Where do you think you’re going?

Charlotte fought him off, screamed for help, and even landed a scratch across Cane’s face. Dace stood between Cane and Charlotte, tucking her behind him when she started to sob.

Whoa. Calm down there. You’re safe, Cane said. "I was just testing you. I need to know everything you know and everything you don’t know — what instincts you have — if I’m going to keep you safe."

Jesus, Cane, Dace said. "Testing her? You should know better than anyone what PTSD is. Asshole."

Cane was well aware, and well acquainted. He lived with PTSD daily. The key to living with it, for him, was knowing how to control it, how and when to react to it, and when that deep, daunting gut feeling was his past fucking with his head or instinct kicking in — but everyone was different.

Charlotte Adams had spent the past two years in witness protection as the only surviving victim of international serial killer, Anson Deveraux. She had been tortured, sexually assaulted, and witnessed the death of others while held captive for weeks. Charlotte was the who got away — the one Anson was still hunting. Though different circumstances, Cane knew what that level of violence and terror did to a person.

The highlight reel of memories Charlotte must live with had to be nothing short of a constant horror film playing on repeat in her mind. The amount of therapy she’d received since escaping could help her function on the outside, but there was no way to heal what she lived with inside. Cane had read her file and knew what she went through — surviving was nothing short of heroic.

Being a survivor was multi-faceted. It wasn’t a blanket, all-encompassing term. Charlotte survived her attacker physically, but there was no way a person came out completely unscathed mentally. Predicting triggers was much like predicting the weekly lottery number — pure luck. More critical was knowing how she’d react when she went off. Her reactions could be the difference between life and death. If Cane was going to keep her safe and hidden, he needed to know what he was dealing with — no surprises.

If I’m going to protect you, Ms. Adams, I need to know what I’m protecting you from — Anson Deveraux or yourself, Cane said.

Myself? Charlotte fired back, cutting off the other two men before they could get a word out on her behalf. Are you kidding me? Most women would run from a stranger who approached them from behind and knew their name. It’s not PTSD, it’s called creepy asshole!

"Yeah…yourself," Cane chided, unsure if her reply was impressive or insulting. Creepy asshole? The best thing I can do for a client like you is give you the skills and confidence to overcome your past. What good am I if you run every time you’re spooked? Chasing you all the time would be a distraction. I could chase you right back into Anson’s grip if we aren’t careful.

"Here’s an idea: how about you just introduce yourself instead of test me. That could be a good start, Charlotte began, hands on her hips, taking a step toward Cane. Also, look at my entire file, not just the trauma part. You might have found I’ve spent my time in hiding teaching and training myself how to remain a survivor."

Well… Cane began, but Charlotte took another step closer and held her turned hand up, revealing her fingernails.

Keep them just long and strong enough to make a mark, stun my offender, and get away with DNA under my nails.

Cane’s jaw slacked. He’d underestimated Charlotte in a big way. Or maybe he wanted to see her a certain way…like as a burden and needy because seeing her as she was, right now, reading the riot act, did things to him he couldn’t explain. It was becoming clearer how she got away and why she was a good witness for the state — if they ever located and brought Anson Deveraux in again to stand trial.

Furthermore…Cane, is it? Charlotte placed her hands on Cane’s wet chest and gave him a shove. I saw you ten minutes before you even entered that little coffee shop. You were standing on the opposite corner, watching. Exactly four minutes later, you crossed the street and watched me from the corner window. It was two and a half minutes before you made it to the door and entered. My back was to you, but I closed my eyes and listened, waited for a shift in the air, a scent, or the sound of footsteps.

Cane couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Had she really learned these techniques on her own? Charlotte had him eating crow, and she wasn’t even finished yet. If she told him what he had for breakfast, he was out.

"Did you just work out? I’m guessing you did, because I knew the minute you were behind me. I felt you through the heat emanating off you, and it’s barely fifty degree’s outside and breezy — hardly warm enough for you to be that hot. That’s also when your scent gave you away. Sandalwood and something earthy. Either your body wash is fragrant, or you just covered up your work out with too much cologne. That was one minute after you entered — and why I ordered the hell hot latte. It most certainly was my weapon of choice. You called that one." Charlotte crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow, waiting for Cane’s response — a response he didn’t seem to have just yet.

Dace and Carter were equally intrigued, waiting for a reply. It wasn’t easy to get to Cane O’Reilly. He was the best at what he did and wasn’t flustered easily — until now.

If you had me marked and felt safe enough to threaten me with these guys, Cane waved his hand between Dace and Carter, why’d you run?

Why not? Charlotte shrugged. Maybe I was testing you.

I saw it. You were scared. That wasn’t a test. It was panic, Cane said, stepping toe to toe with her.

All right. Fair assessment, Charlotte admitted. I was told these guys were safe, totally under the radar, the best there was, and nobody would find me as long as I was with them. When you knew their names too, I questioned everything. Were they the best? Were they even who they said they were?

Carter and Dace looked offended. Charlotte didn’t miss their disappointed expressions.

No offense, guys. She turned to Carter and Dace. The first lesson to survive anything is to trust no one.

Touché. What else could Cane say? She was right and handled it the best way she could. Here he thought he was testing her, when really, she had been testing all of them. If he hadn’t already felt his dick twitch a time or two over this woman, he certainly had now. It was going to make his job that much harder. Cane would never act on it, though. He knew he needed to be gentle with her in every way, and his priority was to earn her trust and keep her alive.

So, how do you all know each other? Charlotte asked the group of men. "I assumed I’d already met my handler, but I’m guessing that’s actually you, Cane?"

Cane smirked. I sure am. Let’s start over. He extended his hand in her direction. Cane O’Reilly. Pleasure to meet you, sweetheart.

Charlotte took his hand, offering a firm shake. Another O’Reilly, huh? How many are there? Well, good. That makes me feel a little better.

Charlotte left the alley, turning toward Watermark Tower, Brother’s Keeper Security headquarters. She turned and hollered over her shoulder, "You owe me a latte, O’Reilly. No need to make it hell hot this time. And it’s Charlotte, not sweetheart."

"You got it, Charlie." Cane chuckled.

2

CHAPTER 2 - PROLOGUE

I’m basically breaking all the rules, here, Carter said. Charlotte is still active in the program, but there’s a decoy in her place with a team in the shadows in case Deveraux shows up again.

U.S. Attorney Carter Landry was charged with handling Charlotte’s case as the special prosecutor on the Anson Deveraux case. The only problem was Anson Deveraux was in the wind. The man was wanted all over the world for the blood trail he left everywhere he went, but it seemed the United States was where he was putting down roots. There was a loose end keeping him there. Charlotte Adams.

Rules are meant to be broken. It’s worth the risk, and at the president’s request. Witness protection has been redefined for the moment, Carter continued. The president wants Deveraux’s head on a silver platter at the super max prison in DC.

Sounds like he wants access to a punching bag on a regular basis, Cane replied.

Can’t say I blame him, Dace added. That asshole killed his daughter and her entire detail. How the hell did he beat secret service to the punch? I don’t think we’ve ever encountered a criminal this good at being really bad.

That’s why he gave me the go ahead to hide Charlotte with private sector security. He trusts you guys, Carter said. Nobody else has been as close to bringing the guy in.

Pfft, Liam O’Reilly, the tech genius behind Brother’s Keeper Security, chimed in. Close? We had him. Turned him over to the fed’s, and they let him get away. Should’ve went straight to the super max with him — drop him in solitary and lose the key.

Not trying to defend anyone, but who would have guessed the guy would hack the prison system and matrix himself out like that? Carter shrugged.

Anson Deveraux wasn’t just a diabolical killer of the worst kind, he was the smartest. A genius who was beyond tech savvy, combat trained, and had zero fucks to give about anything but his thirst to kill. It wasn’t until he used free time in the prison computer lab while awaiting trial that they discovered just how smart the guy was. He was the most dangerous criminal the country had ever seen, maybe even the world.

Yeah. I say skip solitary and go straight for the chair, Dace offered in all honesty. Why waste money on that piece of shit? No trial needed. Off the guy. Problem solved.

I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, Carter scolded. Though he agreed, his duty to his country superseded all emotions. He’d do this thing as by the book as he could. We’ll let things play out however they’re meant to once we hand him over.

You mean let the white house handle it however the president wants it handled, Cane said. I don’t think anyone murders the president’s daughter and avoids an eye for an eye.

Carter nodded. You may be right, but let’s not take matters into our own hands here. We keep this clean, so he stands trial and my job is a slam dunk.

Cane was done listening to the back and forth. He knew what his job was in all of this. It was to keep the only indisputable evidence they needed safe, the only witness, Charlotte.

As the group of men who made up Brother’s Keeper sat around the large conference room table at Watermark Tower while Carter briefed everyone, the wall of monitors displayed every image collected to date of Anson Deveraux. He was elusive, a chameleon, a true man of many disguises. It was clear he’d even used prosthetics to change his appearance more than once.

Cane couldn’t help but watch Charlotte’s every move. Every reaction. Every flinch. Every bite of her bottom lip. Every clenched fist as she watched images of the man who’d intended to kill her, but failed, roll across the wall of screens — the man who still wanted her dead and made it his priority.

It was impossible not to feel something for Charlotte. If not for all she’d been through, and survived, then for the fight she still had to give. It was written all over her face. She’d take down Anson herself, if ever given the opportunity. Cane wasn’t looking at a victim. He was looking at a survivor — an overcomer.

First impression: Cane had doubted her strength and just saw a pretty face. Now, he saw triumph over tragedy, and that stirred a rolling heat low in his belly more than the curve-hugging yoga pants and deliciously fitted low-cut t-shirt she was wearing when they met a short while ago at the coffee house. The more he studied her, the more he felt a protective need burrow its way through his thick skin. Charlotte was pulling him into her world, and they’d known each other for a blink of an eye without a single nice word spoken between them.

So, what’s the plan? Charlotte asked. I assume you asked me to sit in on the meeting so I’d know what to expect next, right?

That’s exactly why you’re here, Carter began. We’re a team, and we all play a role on that team, including you.

There was a not so subtle glimmer in Charlotte’s eye. Me? I get to help?

Cane knew what she meant by help. Charlie wanted to help hunt Anson with the rest of the team. He silently applauded her drive. If he hadn’t already liked the woman, she would have just won him over. This job was getting better by the minute.

You do, Carter deadpanned. Your job is to go with Cane to Vegas and let him do his job. We need you to stay alive, Charlie.

Charlie, Cane thought. His little nickname was sticking, and he liked it. What he didn’t like was Charlie didn’t as much as flinch when Carter used the name — only when he did. His eyes narrowed as a sense of jealousy started to rumble. The questions it mustered began to annoy him. Did she have a thing for Carter Landry? And why did he care?

Wait. Vegas? Charlie said, moving to the edge of her seat. Why Vegas? It’s like party central out there, new people in and out daily. Why can’t I stay here? I actually kind of like it here.

Liam took this one for the team and addressed it from a technology point of view. Party central and the revolving door of people is what we’re counting on. It’s easier to hide you.

How? she questioned, panic lacing her tone. Won’t it be just as easy for Anson to go under the radar too?

Yes, Liam answered. But only if he knows you’re there and where to look.

Charlotte shook her head. I’m really not following.

Anson knows his way around a computer. He’s either stolen software or wrote his own programming that mimics something similar to a facial recognition program. I mean, this guy hacked a prison mainframe, found a way in to white house security, and gave himself top clearance so he could get all the way to the first daughter undetected by the most highly trained men and women and what was thought to be impenetrable software. This is the U.S. Government we’re talking about here.

I’m still not understanding. She shrugged.

Since we don’t know everything we’d like to about how he’s finding his marks, all we can do is make it harder for him. Las Vegas has approximately forty million visitors a year. That’s a lot of faces to weed through, no matter how great his program is. To make things harder, I’ve been able to write a program that will basically hide you.

Hide me. Charlie’s brows raised. She was intrigued.

Yes. I was able to write a type of trace program and plant in most of the major CCTV and surveillance systems in the city. A trace is typically used to identify things like IP addresses, but I made sure it was compatible with the facial recognition software I wrote so they now work together.

Charlotte looked around the table wondering if anyone else was as confused as she was. Liam had explained this new finagled system like it was as simple as making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, yet she didn’t have a clue as to what he was talking about. As she scanned the other men’s faces, she found smirks and shaking heads. There was a joke in the room, and she wasn’t sure what the punchline was.

Am I the only one who doesn’t get it? she finally asked.

Cane laughed. Nope. None of us ever do. This guy starts talking computer mumbo jumbo and gets a hard-on while… he paused, suddenly rethinking his choice of words. There was a lady in the room, and he knew better than to act like a perv in front of a lady. I mean…his mind just works faster than the rest of ours. Computer talk is like religion to him.

Oh, come on, Liam said. You guys don’t get the significance?

A roaring, No, filled the room simultaneously.

Liam rolled his eyes. Okay. Listen. If the facial rec program is running and I’ve set parameters to only identify Charlie, the trace will pick up all the hits across the city and get rid of them so even if Anson finds her in Vegas, he’ll have a hell of a time tracing her through electronic surveillance.

Cane furrowed his brow. And how does that work, Liam? I think we’re still missing something.

Oh. Liam nodded in understanding. "I thought it was obvious, but I designed the trace to eliminate the hits it picks of Charlie. She’s literally removed immediately from any feed that picks her up. She can walk around and virtually not be seen…that way, anyway."

So, your program, Charlie questioned, "is faster than live video monitoring?"

Eh, sort of. I built in a three second delay across the boards so everything the world sees will be behind real time by three seconds.

Wow, Liam, Cane chuckled. Three whole seconds? The sarcasm was evident in Cane’s words. Marriage and kids made you slow, cousin.

Charlie joined in the round of laughter, but it was quickly hampered by reality. That sounds great. It really does make me feel…safer, I guess. She sat, staring at her hands, unsure what to say next — or rather, how to say it. Does this mean I can…live a semi-normal life? I mean, like get a job?

Carter let out a sympathetic sigh. Unfortunately, no. I’m really sorry.

If Anson won’t be able to find me, what would it hurt? Charlie’s frustration was evident when she took to her feet. "I’m tired of being stuck inside. A person can only watch so much TV. If I have to watch another Hallmark movie or house flip show, I might totally lose my shit. I think I’ve read enough books to last a lifetime, and hell, I even tried taking up knitting to stay busy. Not for me, by the way. Look, I need to feel like half a person. What’s the point in surviving if I can’t live?"

Silence filled the room. What could anyone say to that? Carter felt obligated to explain. Charlie—

I have a job for her, Cane interrupted.

Whoa, bad idea, O’Reilly. Carter was now on his feet, his hands raised defensively in front of him. The point in Vegas is to hide her while your cousins track Deveraux down, not dangle her like a fucking carrot. Hell, a paycheck or bank account to deposit it in could give her way faster than a cheap whore in a dime store.

A cheap what? Cane made a sour face. That doesn’t even make sense, Landry.

Exactly. Neither does Charlie working, Carter replied.

Dace offered his two cents. I have to agree with Carter. Logistically, it just doesn’t make sense. She would be on her own too much and there aren’t many jobs out there that would let her bring her own security.

Charlie batted her lashes at Cane. Cane, we can figure this out. What are you thinking? Please. I really need something. I need to feel useful, like I have purpose. Please…

Carter ran his hands through his golden hair when he saw nothing short of hearts in Cane’s eyes and drool at the corner of his mouth. C’mon, Cane. We are so close to getting this guy. We just need to be safe a little longer and life can go back to normal for everyone. You still want a job then, Charlie, I’ll call in favors — hell, I’ll get you a job at the white house if you want.

"Close means what, Carter? One month? Six months? Two more years? Let’s be honest, we are no closer to having Anson behind bars or six feet deep than we were a year ago, or the year before that. Please, let me have something."

I’ll hire her. At the hotel and casino, Cane said, still locked in Charlie’s stare. I can control her schedule, make sure it matches mine. She’ll have flexibility when needed and I’ll always be right there. I can’t leave her unprotected at any time anyway. It makes sense.

I love it! Charlie said, wrapping her arms around Cane’s neck. She quickly pulled back when she realized the scene she was causing. "I mean, it’s a great idea. What could really go wrong? I have round-the-clock security anyway, so why not go with him? So tell me, what could go wrong?"

What could go wrong? Carter laid in. How about everything. We may have pretty sophisticated measures in place to keep you safe, but let’s not test their limits. What would you have her doing anyway?

Whale Watcher, Cane said.

I have no idea what that means or that there are whales in Las Vegas, but I’ll watch them, Charlie assured.

Can you even do that? Just hand out jobs like that? You don’t own the place, Cane, your client does, Carter probed.

Of course I can do that. Turning a blind eye to indiscretions more than once over the past couple years has earned me a few extra benefits with the client. And I think Charlie would be perfect with the whales.

Yeah, and who doesn’t love whales? Charlie added, determined to win her case.

He means big whales as in big spenders at the casino. When money walks into a place like that, the hotel and casino bend over backwards to accommodate them so they stay and spend, Liam clarified. You would be dealing with the filthy rich, high rollers.

Oh, well that sounds like a high-priced whore. Charlie shrugged. She was so determined to do something, she was considering her moral compass and what she was willing to do to salvage what was left of her sanity. I don’t know…

Cane chuckled. It’s more like a high-priced party planner. There would be no…whoring.

Disappointment crossed her face. I’m not qualified to be a party planner.

"You’re more than qualified. It’s easier than you think, darlin’." Cane didn’t know what Charlie was or wasn’t qualified to do, or even what the job he just made up entailed. But he didn’t care. He’d make this work if it scored him points with Charlie.

Still determined, Charlie continued. Oh. Well, those whales are good with me then. I can’t swim, so this is probably a better option anyway.

I can set up accounts for her with her alias and make a faux social security for the employer. This is a cinch. Just need to find a backdoor in, Liam said, already pecking away at his laptop. Even if Anson figures out where she is and the name she’s using, he won’t see these.

So, it’s all set? Charlie asked Carter. We can do this?

Carter scanned the room, weighing the options before him. Nobody would make eye contact but Charlie. The rest of them knew better than to pick a side.

Fine. But don’t fuck this up, O’Reilly, he finally agreed.

He won’t, Carter. I’ll make sure of it, Charlie said, heading for the door. I’m going to pack up my things.

Cane stood and gathered up the papers from his file on Charlie. "We’re out of here in an hour. Meet me in the lobby so we can hit the road, darlin’."

Charlie spun on her heels and shot a laser like stare at Cane. Three hours. Your aunt wants a family dinner across the street at the pub.

Dinner at the pub? he questioned.

Yeah, Dace laughed as they followed Charlie to the elevator. Ma loves her and already has you two married.

Not a chance. Charlotte heard the claim despite being several feet ahead. No offense, Cane.

Exactly. Not a chance. Cane’s reply was as juvenile as they came, but in his defense, he hadn’t had time to prepare a proper comeback and the word marriage gave him hives. "No offense, darlin’."

Charlie stepped on the waiting elevator first, and the space quickly filled given the size of Carter and the O’Reilly men. Cane was the only one not on the elevator yet, and there wasn’t room for one more.

"Call me darlin’ one more time, and you’ll be sitting on an ice pack all the way to Vegas, O’Reilly," Charlie threatened.

Cane shook his head as the elevator doors began to close. I’ll just catch the next one.

The elevator filled with muffled laughs, and Charlie smiled. Good idea.

Jesus, I hope this assignment is a short one, Cane said under his breath.

Just as the elevator doors shut, Charlie got the final word in. Ditto.

FINAL DECEPTION

By Stephanie St. Klaire

1

With his hands around her waist, Cane held Charlie bent over the weight bench while he drove into her, giving her everything he had. This was what they did—how they did it—and it wasn’t anything more than doing a friend a solid. Literally.

It had been six months since Cane O’Reilly had picked up his current client, Charlotte Adams, in Portland and brought her home with him. Unconventional, yes, but it was the only way to really protect her. Cane was in private security. His family’s company, Brother’s Keeper Security, only dealt with wealthy, famous, and high-profile clients. They were the best at what they did, hence landing the only surviving victim of international serial killer Anson Deveraux as a client.

Anson was a master of deception, always changing his appearance and identity. He even hacked his way out of prison while awaiting trial. The man was a diabolical genius. Nobody was out of his reach—not even the daughter of the United States president and her security detail, who all became victims of the notorious killer. Deveraux had found Charlie three times since being in protective custody, yet he managed to escape the law each time he tried to finish what he’d started with her. That meant Charlie was lucky to be alive—lucky four times. It was the president, using his executive power and influence, who quietly brought in a special prosecutor and Brother’s Keeper Security to keep the only surviving witness alive. Then they were to hunt the man down with all their resources and bring Deveraux to some sort of justice once and for all—dead, alive, it really didn’t matter.

Six months with Cane and her newest identity, Charlie was still safe and apparently grateful as she called out Cane’s name while her pleasure peaked and came down hard around him like an invitation to take his happy ending too. Cane was glad to oblige as he barreled into her, joining her in the waves of satisfaction that followed. They were good at this and made a great team—not just scratching each other’s itch but also staying alive and under the radar.

Jesus, Charlie, Cane panted.

You’re welcome? Charlie teased, still bracing herself over the weight bench in their home gym.

Well, you said you wanted a hard workout to release some stress. Cane slapped her ass as he grabbed a nearby towel and pulled away. How’d we do?

Charlie picked up her clothes from the floor in one swoop, then headed for the door. Not the workout I was thinking, but it’ll do.

It’ll do? Seriously, Charlie? Brows cocked and arms out to his side, Cane was mildly offended.

It was against every rule in the proverbial book to sleep with a client, but what they were doing wasn’t really sleeping together. It was just sex. Cane and Charlie spent every waking moment together—she was never out of his view—so helping each other satisfy a need here and there was inevitable. No strings attached, no emotions involved, just satisfying their primal needs. It could have been worse.

Cane gathered his things and headed for the shower in the guest room he occupied. It was his house, but the only way to get Charlie on board with sharing a residence with a stranger—a man—was to sell her on the idea that he would stay in the guest house on-site…which happened to be a small private wing of the main residence and not really a separate unit. He hadn’t lied. It was just semantics.

After three years in hiding and zero freedom, Charlie craved independence. So Cane gave it to her. A living space to herself, a job alongside him where he could have eyes on her at all times, and even her own vehicle to use as long as he was in the vehicle right behind her everywhere she went. It wasn’t total freedom, but he did his best to provide the closest thing to it.

If it were any other client, he wouldn’t have gone to such measures. There was something about this one, though. Charlie survived torture, sexual assault, and the terror of watching others be murdered right in front of her. She was a fighter, determined to be anything but a statistic, and he admired that, even if she was a pain in the ass ninety-five percent of the time.

Drive together today? Cane asked, catching up with Charlie in the kitchen after showering.

Nah. Henry Davenport will be checking in today. Biggest whale yet, and his people specifically asked for me to handle his stay. I think I’ll drive myself and get my head straight, Charlie said, finishing off her bottled water.

Asked for you? Red flags and warning bells always went off when clients asked for Charlie. She’d built a reputation, increasing her own clientele, so it was to be expected, but it never got easier for Cane. You dig into the guy? Cane was already several steps ahead of the game and thoroughly vetted the guy days prior. A final report should have been waiting once he arrived in his office.

Of course. This guy is big. Should bring in a nice chunk of change for the casino. She buckled her stiletto and grabbed her purse.

Okay. Just another day then. You sure you don’t want to ride in together? he asked.

Why? She paused, caution in her stare. "Do you know something? Did you find something on Davenport?"

Charlie did a really good job of keeping it together, given all she’d been through over the years. It would have made sense if she wasn’t okay. Hell, it would have made sense if she never wanted to leave the house again, given all she’d endured. Not Charlie, though. She spent a lot of time working on herself, determined not to let her past hinder her future. But every now and again, something triggered her. In this case, it could have been something as simple as Cane’s tone…or the fact they’d just had sex.

Intimacy was hard for her. It was purely physical to satiate a need she’d clearly rather not have. It was a switch she couldn’t shut off. Charlie trusted Cane, plain and simple, and he was the only man she’d been with since her attack. But even after all these years, trust only went so far because facing Cane during sex stirred her panic. They’d learned that the hard way. The bloody nose Charlie gave Cane lasted only minutes and the black eye only a week, but she had felt so bad that she didn’t leave her room for three days, at least while he was up. But he would hear her late at night, stalking to the kitchen for something to eat.

Something about that experience softened Cane where Charlie was concerned. He wasn’t a relationship guy. At all. But his instincts were heightened when she was involved. His need to protect her from everything, including her nightmares, grew daily. So when she returned to him, wanting to conquer her fear, he helped her. They tried and failed many times until they finally found what worked for her. Charlie enjoyed sex, especially with Cane, but only if she was turned away with her back to him.

It made sense to Cane. While being with him might have brought her pleasure, looking in the eyes of her lover could easily be replaced with the eyes of her attacker. Charlie was satisfied with the progress, and it had been their thing ever since. But there were times when Cane wanted to show her how much he desired her, wanted her to see every touch and well-placed kiss he left.

He wanted to witness the heat in her eyes and see if it matched the fire in her moans. Cane wasn’t falling for her—or so he said—he was just done fucking her. He wanted to make love to her instead. He wasn’t ready to admit that, though, and being careful with her was always priority one. Love wasn’t on the table anyway. Cane couldn’t love like that, given his line of work. Loving someone put an instant target on their back. He settled for strong like instead, even if it only made sense to him. So this was them—friends with mind-blowing benefits—until she was ready for more.

You know. Maybe I will ride with you, after all. No sense in wasting gas. Charlie grabbed a new water bottle to ward off the unseasonably warm winter day and headed for the garage. I can finish preparing for the client while you drive.

Cane nodded. He knew this was more about fear than practicality. Whatever triggered her paranoia had her on alert, so he’d play chauffeur under the guise of frugality. Being considerate, he made it seem like it was no big deal, because it wasn’t, and blew it off. Yeah, good for the environment and all that.

Let’s get going, O’Reilly, Charlie hollered from the garage as she stepped into his car.

Cane saluted to absolutely no one, and said quietly, Got it, boss.

He stood there for a moment and looked around for no real reason other than to stall. Anytime they left the house, Cane gave himself a quick pep talk and got his head together. Once they left his impenetrable fortress, the real work began, and his instincts needed to be on point. It was easy to keep her safe within his compound, but when duty called, it was time to face the real world, and it was a real son of a bitch—especially when Anson Deveraux was roaming around in it.

2

When’s your…? Cane stalled, distracted by a blond couple sucking face at the VIP check-in counter at the hotel casino where he and Charlie worked.

Charlie snapped her fingers in front of his face. Eyes over here, O’Reilly. It’s not a free Pornhub video.

Cane whipped his head Charlie’s way. "A…what? I don’t…watch…that."

Uh-huh, just strangers making out in the lobby then? she asked as she flipped through her files.

Yeah. I mean, no, he corrected. "I’m not even watching that, Cane insisted. There’s something about them. Are they on your list?"

Nope. Kandi brought them to my attention. I guess they’ve been in town a week or so and have been cleaning up all over the Strip, Charlie said, leaning against the counter just out of earshot. I upgraded them to a suite and comped some dinner and show reservations. See what they’re all about.

Anyone commanding that much attention in a public place typically meant something. They were causing a scene for a reason. They wanted to be noticed. Most would think someone up to no good would lay low, go under the radar, and stay unnoticed, but Cane knew better. He had been in this town long enough to know two-bit cons made their presence known. They were likable, earning the trust of those around them so they were the last to be accused. They were hiding in plain sight and never appeared to be missing because everyone saw them and remembered them. It’s the quiet ones who were always first on the suspect list—and the real crooks were long gone before they were figured out.

I don’t think they’re whales. Cane was sizing them up. They don’t have real money. If they’re cleaning up, it isn’t the honest way.

Charlie rolled her eyes at Cane’s judgment. Oh, come on. Not everyone is a criminal, Cane. You think anyone fun, or having fun, is up to something. News flash, the world’s not out to getcha. Not everyone is a bad guy waiting to get caught by big, bad Cane O’Reilly and his crew.

His accent isn’t real. Cane crossed his arms and tilted his head as he began to profile the glowing couple who seemingly couldn’t get enough of each other.

They’re just a couple of Orange County airheads, Charlie defended, even if it was a bit of an insult. She thought they were fun and cute—and might have earned her a nice bonus. Maybe he’s just had a few drinks, and that’s all you’re hearing. He’s just…slurring.

"Speaking of Orange County—that orange tan came from a bottle, and if booze can make your British accent sound Australian every other word, then yeah, a few drinks."

As long as they’re spending money on the casino floor, all is good. Charlie shrugged. Fake accent or not, their head-to-toe couture is worth more than our salaries combined, I’m sure.

Knockoff, Cane deadpanned. "That couture is as real as the Rolex I’m not wearing, and if you think that bottle blond is natural, I’d suggest you comp a waxing at the spa and take a peek. See if the carpet matches the drapes."

Pfft, Charlie spat. "Maybe you should watch