The Keepers Series Box Set: Books 4-6: The Keepers Series, #12

By Stephanie St. Klaire

The Keepers Series Box Set: Books 4-6

Fatal Diversion -
Unapologetic salt of the earth war hero Ransom Wyatt will stop at nothing to get what he wants and this time...it's Dillon Stone.

On Capitol Hill, Dillon has faced her fair share of powerful men, leaving the feisty beauty unimpressed by the charming Commander in Chief— and the big White House he lives in.

Who is protecting who, as the unlikely couple gets caught in the crosshairs deception, and Dillon finds herself breaking protocol... falling for the alpha behind the suit.

Things aren't always as they appear, raising the question— who is Dillon Stone, and what does she know?
Ransom finds himself torn between defending the country he swore an oath to and protecting the woman he loves, as they become targets of a dangerous game— a lethal conspiracy.

Someone wants the President of the United States...

Dead.

This riveting continuation of the spellbinding series will keep you on the edge of your seat as danger lurks around every corner and takes you deeper into the secret world of greed, corruption and murder!

Royal Reckoning -
Rogue operative, Eli Clayton has finally met his match. Now he just has to keep her alive... even if it means revealing his true identity.

Event coordinator to the rich and famous, Cally Stark is immune to Eli's dazzling charm and dangerous good looks. But that doesn't stop her from falling for him and building a life— on a throne of lies.

Eli's secrets have made Cally the perfect target and she finds herself lured into enemy territory, taken and used in an elaborate and twisted scheme to take down Eli's entire bloodline.

What do you do when the woman you vowed to protect is a pawn trapped in a deadly game? You go to the ends of the earth to save her and eliminate the players one by one.

Check mate.

This jaw dropping, pulse pounding series is sure to leave you breathless as the wicked twists and turns keep you guessing!

Forced Enemy -
Military veteran turned Keeper Operative, Ronan O'Reilly is as loyal as they come. When his friend goes MIA while serving, the hunt for answers collides his path with the woman he loved...who didn't choose him.

Escaped captive, Daily finds herself caught once again. This time between the pain of the past and a future without her missing baby... a child no one believes exists. Except for Ronan.

But he has questions of his own— like where has she been and why everyone close to her is either missing or dead. Daily's answers don't add up, and the suspicion surrounding her grows.

Ronan is torn between instinct and training, between doing the right thing and crossing a dangerous line. Nothing is as it seems... and each step closer to the truth, takes them through a landmine of lies.

This mission is personal...

And deadly.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephanie St. Klaire
• Release date: May 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223637318

Book preview

The Keepers Series Box Set: 4-6

THE KEEPERS SERIES BOX SET: 4-6

STEPHANIE ST. KLAIRE

CONTENTS

Also Read

Books By Stephanie St. Klaire

Fatal Diversion

STEPHANIE ST. KLAIRE

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

ROYAL RECKONING

Stephanie St. Klaire

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

Forced Enemy

Stephanie St. Klaire

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

About Stephanie St. Klaire

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What to Read Next by SSK

COPYRIGHT © 2023

Stephanie St. Klaire

A Keepers Series Box Set: Books 4-6

COPYRIGHT © 2021

Fatal Diversion

COPYRIGHT © 2021

Royal Reckoning

COPYRIGHT © 2022

Forced Enemy

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

FATAL DIVERSION

THE KEEPER’S SERIES

STEPHANIE ST. KLAIRE

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Real men read romance…and we know you’re out there.

We see you, we appreciate you, we welcome you to the tribe.

I hope this bossy hero inspires you as much as he inspires me!

Thanks for being a part of my world.

Happy reading, gentlemen…

(my ladies already know I think they rock…next up, book queens!)

1

Mr. President... Dillon Stone was startled to her feet when Ransom Wyatt walked into the conference room. Ransom Wyatt, President of the United States.

I understand you wanted to meet with me, Ms. Stone? The president had a mischievous grin with fire in his eyes and wore it as well as the designer suit that hugged him in all the right places.

Well…yes, but I thought I would be vetted first, Dillon replied with an awkward chuckle that sounded so breathy it turned her cheeks crimson and left her mentally scolding herself for coming across as so…eager. It took all she had not to face-plant in her palm.

Ransom Wyatt wasn’t just the president. He was a salt-of-the-earth war hero who campaigned as The People’s Hero. Men beat their chests alongside their fierce leader while women of all ages fell to his feet — and probably into his bed.

"It is me you’re here to see, correct?"

Yes, I mean…I thought I would be meeting with an intern…or another staffer. I just didn’t think you would have the time. You are the president, after all. It wasn’t like confident Dillon to stumble over her own words or thoughts because she wasn’t easily intimidated. This reaction was something altogether different, and she wasn’t sure whether it was the thick, corded vein throbbing in his neck, his deep timbre that held a certain country flair, or the fact that he was the youngest — and very single — president in history that had her off-kilter.

"Well, Ms. Stone…you’re correct. I don’t have time. However, I am very interested in what you have to say, so I will have someone set up a meeting that’s more… Ransom not so subtly looked her over, head to toe, stoking that fire in his eyes. Convenient…for us both."

In Dillon’s line of work, not much went unnoticed. Rather than flattery, a sense of irritation stirred within her. Her eyes roamed too, only she forced a look of disgust despite the flutter each bulging inch of him provoked. Wait, that’s it?

As you mentioned, Ms. Stone, my time is short. I have a full docket this afternoon. How about dinner this evening…my quarters? he asked, full of confidence and entirely unapologetic in his boldness.

She had a job to do, and it wasn’t the president. Especially now. The more he talked, the more Dillon chilled to his charm and remembered why she was really there. Oh, I’m not sure I’m okay with that, sir.

You don’t eat dinner?

Of course I do.

He tilted his chin up and cocked his head, looking at her with a heavy-lidded stare. Do you work long hours like the rest of the city?

Yes…I do.

"Then meet me for dinner, Ms. Stone, and we can talk…business."

The hesitation in his words caused her stomach to roil. Dillon was sure the people who voted for this cowboy G.I. Joe type were confusing confidence with ego. Sir, I just don’t know that it’s appropriate to have dinner with the president in his private living quarters…at night…alone.

Have you ever had a business dinner before? He was challenging her. Testing her.

Of course I have, but it wasn’t so…

So what, Ms. Stone?

Inappropriate, she deadpanned. It was becoming clear the dinner he spoke of was her. The thought was both revolting and titillating.

She passed the test, which made him want time with her that much more, even if it was just for business. Why does this feel inappropriate to you?

"With all due respect, sir, it sounds a bit like a date."

Do all dinner meetings feel like dates to you, Ms. Stone?

"Of course not. But you are…you. And I don’t make a habit of mixing business with pleasure." That was a lie, but in her line of work, pleasure was more intense than anything that could happen in the White House…with Ransom Wyatt.

"I’m not sure if that’s a compliment, but I’ll make this easy for you. We can have dinner in the Oval Office. Does that feel more appropriate?"

Mr. President… What felt appropriate was crossing a blurred line and tiptoeing around unprofessional. Ransom Wyatt was good. So damn good.

It’s multitasking really. Is that better? His jaw jutted out in a crooked smile like he was used to having a piece of hay there to suck on.

I-I…I’m afraid you’ve caught me off guard, sir. Dillon was making a mental list of all the ways she would make Mercy pay for putting her on this assignment. He owed her. Big.

A man in a dark suit standing at the door interrupted as he tipped his wrist for a glance at his watch. Mr. President, I'm afraid we need to get back on schedule. You’re needed in the Rose Garden.

Let me know if you can clear your schedule, Ms. Stone. I usually eat around eight o'clock.

2

The American people didn't vote me into this office to dry tears and wipe asses. Frankly, it's time we get the shit done. You know I'm not one for formalities, so let me be as clear as day. If a bill in favor of the farmers comes across my desk, I will sign the damn thing, and that's all I have to say on that. Next question. Ransom wasn’t one for formalities or political rhetoric — quite the opposite — and he liked to remind people just how much he was his own man with his own rules…even in a house of traditions and diplomatic decorum like Washington.

He scanned the sea of hands belonging to the cutthroat media who each wanted their turn to rile him so they’d have something more reprehensible to report than a handful of swear words. They wanted something more, something juicy. These barracudas wanted a scandal — and he knew it — so he was going to give it to them.

Ransom leaned over the podium and grinned when his eyes landed on the one person who didn't seem to be interested in a thing he had to say. He turned on that charming machismo that boasted confidence. Why, Ms. Stone, I’m surprised to see you here. I didn’t know we were letting lobbyists in on press conferences.

Dillon held up a press pass with an irksome grin and winked.

Ransom left the podium and made his way to Dillon, unbothered by the sound of camera shutters and the attention he was drawing. You’re a member of the press now, Ms. Stone?

Dillon brazenly took to her feet and met his stare, pretending their audience didn’t bother her. "We have a blog…Mr. President."

Please, call me Ran.

"I’d rather not, sir. It’s inappropriate and disrespectful, if I’m being honest, Mr. President." Dillon matched his confidence and maintained her composure, even if she’d rather refer to him as a jackass. She wasn’t cut out for this and couldn’t decide who pissed her off more: Mercy for giving her the case or Ransom Wyatt for intentionally grating on her last nerve trying to get a rise out of her.

Have you decided on dinner yet, Ms. Stone? He cut to the chase. "And for the record, I like honesty. Nothing says more about one’s character. It’s what I’ve built my entire life on."

If you want honesty, I must inform you that I find your invite a bit…inappropriate, as I stated earlier, she fired back, earning a large grin.

"Still inappropriate? I’m sorry to hear that. It isn’t my intention. I honestly would like time to discuss the farm bill you’re fighting for. I’d like to play for your team if you’ll let me."

Play for my… Clenching her teeth, Dillon looked around, reminded of the peering eyes, and bit her tongue.

You’re beautiful…Ms. Stone.

Her brows shot up. "I’m offended, Mr. President."

Because you’re beautiful?

"Yes. I mean, no."

Which is it?

"I’m offended because it’s not appropriate to say something like that. Her voice lowered to a near whisper, but the harsh tone didn’t wither. If I can be frank, misogyny comes to mind…sir. That re-election in a few years doesn’t look so good given the aforementioned."

Ransom put his hands in the pockets of his pants and tilted his head to the side with a puckered grin. "Would you rather I call you ugly?"

Dillon chided, Of course not.

And why’s that, Ms. Stone?

She shook her head and let out a deep sigh, trying to maintain her composure. The cameras kept her aware this was all being documented—hence evidence should she react poorly. Because it would be offensive.

Then? Ransom pulled his hands from his pockets and lay them across his chest with a smug squint.

Then… The words eluded her. All she could think about at that moment was she wasn’t paid enough to play games with the president. Flirting, albeit one-sided, was not in her wheelhouse. She was there to play a part and get a job done. This was utter bullshit.

Where I come from, you tell a woman she’s beautiful if you want to have dinner with her, or you look down the barrel of her daddy’s shotgun.

"How archaic. Do you all stand around and beat your chests before you drag your womenfolk off by the hair? And P.S. my daddy doesn’t have a shotgun, but I have a Glock." Dillon smiled and winked before taking her seat, earning an impressed look with a chuckle.

Then maybe you’d like to go to the shooting range with me sometime?

"Depends on the bull’s-eye, sir. She looked him up and down. Maybe we should use rubber bullets or paintballs…you know, for the good of the country."

Ransom knelt to one knee to meet her stare. I think I’d take my chances with you, Ms. Stone. I don’t apologize for who I am and call it like I see it. What you see is what you get.

That’s what I’m afraid of, she said under her breath as she looked away, only to notice the press corps had circled closer. This was going to be all over the fucking news.

I’m not a bad man, and I respect women like they’re the air I need to breathe.

I’m not sure that’s a very good analogy…

Ransom stood. I like you, Ms. Stone. And I intend to pass the bill that brought you here, to begin with. We’re on the same side here. And I think deep down, you’ll begin to like me if you don’t already.

Pfft. Okay. Her sarcastic response did him no harm. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it, just as he’d enjoyed everything she’d had to say.

I’ll be in the Oval at eight o’clock, having dinner, reviewing this farm bill. Should you decide to join me, I’ll have a second plate waiting and make sure you have no trouble getting in.

The president returned to his audience but not before he looked at the cameras and gave them a front-page, headline-worthy smile. Okay. Next question.

Dillon was seething with anger. Not because the man behind the podium was some sort of pompous cowboy, but because of the flood of heat that made her cross her legs a little tighter while she wondered how well that cowboy could ride.

3

You fucking owe me, Mercy. Your brother is a real piece of work, Dillon said into her phone while sitting at her favorite corner table in the trendy coffee shop below her DC apartment. Thank God I have a day off to recoup after yesterday’s bullshit in the Rose Garden. The media is having a fucking heyday with…

Dillon looked up, and her jaw dropped when she saw a string of vehicles pull up and line the curb outside. When a handful of dark-suit-wearing men exited, she straightened. Hey, Mercy? I…gotta call you back.

She disconnected the call and stood as the door to the coffee shop opened. The parade of men and women — most of whom she recognized from her previous week’s research — filed in like a football team protecting its quarterback.

Mr. President. Dillon nodded as Ransom made his way to her table, his detail walling them off from the rest of the patrons.

Something was different about the man. He wasn’t as smug, smiling, or relaxed as he had been the day before. He held out his hand, gesturing to the seat across from Dillon. May I?

Yes. Of course. She furrowed her brow and took her seat when she realized he was waiting for her to sit before doing so himself. Is…everything okay?

You tell me.

Dillon studied him for a moment before answering. Something was wrong. He was biting the inside of his cheek, and the vein at his left temple was protruding and throbbing. Shit. He knew who she was and why she was here. Sir, you’re going to have to clue me in.

The news…have you seen it? Uncertainty laced his words, his confidence from the previous day absent. He was worried. For her. I’m so sorry. I expect them to go after me, but I didn’t think they’d come for you the way they did.

Dillon relaxed in her seat with a sigh of relief. "Oh…that. She rolled her eyes. Your love life has been breaking news since the day you announced your candidacy, sir. This is nothing new."

I may be used to it, but you aren’t, and I apologize for bringing such attention your way. I wanted to be sure you were okay.

Dillon tossed a hand in the air. Ehh…I kinda liked the sexy siren reference. It gave me a good laugh.

I’d tell you they aren’t wrong, Ms. Stone… He was finally relaxing back into old habits. "But that would be inappropriate."

Dillon snorted at his use of her words. "You’re a quick learner, Mr. President."

I do my best, Ms. Stone.

"Please, with the Ms. Stone thing…"

It’s your name.

"I don’t like how you say it — like you’re trying to…make me…melt…or…something." Dillon found herself caught in his stare as she struggled to find words.

Is it working? He grinned, snapping her out of her stupor.

N-No. She straightened. "Of course not. You’re the…president."

"And you’re Ms. Stone."

Dillon buried her face in her hands for a moment before raking them through her hair. I was starting to dislike you less. Dillon…please.

Only if you call me Ran. Everyone close to me does.

"I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir. How about you tell me why you’re here." They were beating the proverbial dead horse, so Dillon changed the direction of the conversation before she continued to fall under his spell and do other things he wanted.

You missed dinner and our meeting.

Right. I told you I’d think about it, and…well, I thought about it and decided on pizza and staying in. I have a meeting with one of your staffers in a few weeks.

Is that so, Ms. Stone?

Are we seriously going to keep this going? She made a crooked face to mock him. "Hello, Ms. Stone. Why yes, Ms. Stone…"

You’re the one for formalities.

Point taken. Surely there is more to your visit than asking if I watch the news and to see if I ate dinner last night. And before you ask…no, no date. She rolled her hands in the air, signaling for him to get on with it.

"You’ll know if I’m trying to date you, he assured. I wanted to pick up where we left off. We still have business to tend to."

She nodded. "Business. Are you sure you want to talk…here? How did you know I’d be here anyway?"

It’s my business to keep my finger on the pulse of things I’m interested in. There’s little I don’t know or can’t find out when needed. He paused, letting that sink in. "I think we are cut from the same salt-of-the-earth cloth. Farmers like your family are important to me and the core of our country. I vowed to help them, be a voice for them, and here you are."

You know about my family, impressive. You’ve done your research. Dillon leaned forward and rested her chest on the table to accentuate her cleavage, knowing it would distract him. She could play this game too. "We are hardly cut from the same cloth, sir. Comparing the small family farm who’s struggled to survive for three generations through Mother Nature’s wrath and playing the pawn in political games to your family’s multimillion-dollar cattle ranch that feeds half the free world hardly puts us on the same playing field, let alone the same cloth. We aren’t the same."

You’ve done your research too, but we only feed half of America, not the free world, Ms. Stone.

Okay, fine. She put her hands up in surrender. "You win, sir. I mean…Ran."

"There’s only one place you should call me sir."

A loud bang rang out, and glass shattered as Ransom dived across the table and pulled Dillon to the ground with him. People were screaming as they scrambled to hide behind any barrier they could find while the president’s detail fell into order with their weapons drawn. Some hunkered behind vehicles while some stood boldly in front of the blown-out window, willing to take a bullet for Ransom.

Before Dillon knew what was happening, she was being lifted to her feet by two men from the president’s detail. This way, ma’am.

Ransom moved from the huddle protecting him and pulled Dillon to him. Not a chance. He looked out the window and scanned the area just as she did, each trying to make sense of the chaos surrounding them. She stays with me.

As you wish, Mr. President, one of the men said. The couple was ushered through the back of the building and into a vehicle as it came to a screeching halt at the exit to extract the president and move him to safety. Dillon was a part of Ransom’s exit plan. He had a team protecting him — but he was protecting her.

As the vehicle sped off and joined a second caravan that made up their extraction detail, Ransom turned Dillon to face him and brushed her hair from her face. Flipping her arms top to bottom, he frantically inspected every inch of her for injuries while she sat stunned

Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do we need medical? Nothing about his tone was playful or relaxed. This man sitting before her was in combat mode, full of concern. Dillon, answer me. Are you okay?

He said her name, and all she could do was slowly nod. Dillon wasn’t used to this for more reasons than the obvious. Someone else was in charge, looking out for her. She’d been shot at before — more than once — but this was next-level bullshit, and it had her off her game. He had her off her game.

Pulling her into his tight embrace, Ransom held her longer than what was appropriate for near strangers as his hands weaved through her hair and cradled the back of her head. Thank God.

When he finally freed her from his grip, it was only to keep her tight to his side with an arm across her shoulders while his body was still turned as if shielding her from an invisible enemy. He was protecting her. She didn’t need it, but she liked it.

Where are we going? Dillon asked.

White House. You’ll be safe there.

But I live— She pointed in the direction of the coffee house, but he cut her off.

Until the area is cleared, and we know what the hell happened back there, you’re staying with me.

Staying with you?

Staying at the White House.

For how long?

His steely glare caught her off guard. As long as it takes. He turned away for a moment before completing his thought. If harm came your way because of me…

Unless you set that up to impress me, this wasn’t your fault. Please know I don’t blame you. You’re the president. You’re a moving target for all sorts of crazy.

He nodded. But—

Mr. President, they found a long gun at the top of the parking structure across from the scene. No suspect at this moment, the man in the front passenger seat interrupted.

A long gun? How the hell does a sharpshooter get that close to the fucking president? Dillon asked, catching both the man and Ransom by surprise.

Ransom directed his gaze to the man in the front seat. "Ex-xactly. Kroy, how did that get past your team?"

Kroy Darby was a special agent serving under the United States Secret Service and assigned to the president himself. Ransom appointed Kroy as the only person he trusted with the job, despite it typically being the director’s job. They’d served together through their toughest years. Kroy was the only person he trusted with his life.

Kroy shook his head and seethed through his teeth as he slammed his fist down on the center console. I don’t know, Ran. I don’t fucking know.

Dillon knew. It was obvious Ransom and Kroy both thought the same thing. She could see it in the stare they shared in the rearview mirror. There was a traitor among them. She knew as well as they did that their team had a soft spot. Someone sacrificed loyalty and let this happen as part of a master plan. The president’s detail couldn’t be trusted. That was why she was there — and nobody in that vehicle knew it.

4

I’m sorry that took so long, Ransom said as he entered his private quarters.

Dillon took to her feet, stepping into the sneakers she’d kicked off. You have more important things to tend to than me.

That’s far from the truth. His stare bored into her, the heat causing her breath to quicken and her pulse to increase.

A-Any news? Updates? Can I go home now? she asked.

Ransom shook his head. I have a proposition for you.

Whoa. She put her hands up. I know we had a moment back there, and I appreciate the care you took in protecting me, but…

He laughed. "Do you always go there?"

Go where? She looked around the room.

To the place where you think I’m trying to get in your pants, Ransom deadpanned.

Not one for formalities, she said with an eye roll. I’d almost forgotten. So, this proposal?

"I’m hosting an event tonight for some foreign dignitaries. I’d like you to join me, and we can continue our…talk."

Our talk? Um… She looked down at her dirty yoga pants and torn T-shirt from being tackled to the ground in a pile of glass. What’s the dress code?

If it were up to me, those pants. Since it’s not, let me take care of the details. I have resources.

I don’t know.

You can’t go home. Not yet. You’ll be staying in a safe house until further notice, and I’ll have a small detail on you until we know what this is about and verify you’re in the clear.

A small detail?

Protection.

You think that’s necessary? Dillon asked, making a mental note to call Mercy and see what they had on the attack.

Absolutely. I need to get back to the briefing. It’s about to resume. He glanced at his watch. Stay here and make yourself comfortable. A change of clothes and whatever else you’ll need will be here shortly. An escort will bring you down, and I’ll meet you in the ballroom later.

It felt like a scene right out of the movies, but she wasn’t sure if it was a romance or a thriller. Dillon couldn’t help but smile at the hopeful expression on Ransom’s face as he waited for her answer.

I’ll see you later, Ransom.

Have I mentioned you look stunning? Ransom said, reaching for Dillon’s gold-silk-gloved hand so he could tuck it in his arm and lead her onto the dance floor of the ballroom.

The night had already been magical. She felt like Cinderella in the gold dress Ransom had sent up for her, and she couldn’t remember the last time she wore makeup or had her hair done in anything but a ponytail. She’d been apprehensive at first, but as the evening unfolded and she saw how much care Ransom put into making her feel comfortable, she couldn’t help but feel special.

You’ve said it a time or two, Dillon replied, placing her hand on his shoulder. This is quite the meeting.

I’m trying to impress you.

"It’s working. But isn’t this a working event for you? I feel as though I’m taking up all your time."

Ransom looked around the room, taking in the crowd. I am working. If they want to talk business, they all know where to find me.

Let me guess, dinner meeting? Your private quarters? Eight o’clock.

No, I reserve those meetings for more important things.

Her brow arched with curiosity. Such as?

Matters of the heart.

You know what the media is saying already…

Yes, that’s why I assigned you a private detail. He and his team aren’t on the government payroll. They’re on mine, he added.

Oh?

My brother. His name is Mercy.

I’m not sure that’s how all this works.

It’s not, but I’m okay with that.

Isn’t it irresponsible? Dillon asked earnestly, not wanting to be the source of negative press.

"Depends on who you ask. If you ask me, I’m with the most important person here to discuss something more important than tariffs and trade embargos. We have a bill to put through."

Dillon nodded. We can talk about that later. I know where to find you too.

Ransom spun her around to the music and dipped her, his face mere inches from hers. He held her there as the gasps and sighs from the onlookers filled the space.

You’re causing a scene. She smiled.

He looked up and nodded before capturing her heavy-lidded gaze once again. It seems we both are.

Ransom straightened them and continued to move to the music.

I’ve read your draft letter for review, and I want you on my team. I want you to serve on the committee and work alongside me to push this bill through…for starters.

Dillon bit her bottom lip, mulling over his surprising offer. This wasn’t what she’d signed up for, but knowing that seemed to escape her. "I serve at the pleasure of the president, sir."

You tempt me, Ms. Stone.

The music began once again, and they swayed to the beat.

You realize the press is here, right? Dillon was surprised by the giggle that escaped her. It wasn’t like her to act so freely and let her guard down. It went against everything she believed and had been trained to do. But Ransom had a growing effect on her, and she found she couldn’t fight it as easily anymore.

He took special care with her and was gentle despite his bold personality. Something was genuine and sincere about him, and though she didn’t need it, she even liked how safe he made her feel. Perhaps she’d regret it later, but for now, she was invested. Hell, she deserved it.

There’s always press. I’m the president and single. Any woman seen with me more than once in a short period of time usually means I’m dating…according to them. He shrugged.

She looked over her shoulder, suddenly feeling every peering eye on them. Maybe it was because he was the president and it came with the title, or maybe it was because the music had stopped and they were still dancing. Ransom tipped her chin with his thumb, bringing her attention back to him.

Dillon nodded her head to the crowd. "You know…you’re doing this to yourself. Tomorrow’s headline will be President Wyatt Dating Mystery Woman in Gold Gown."

"I still like sexy siren," he said before leaning in and nearly kissing her.

So are you…dating? Dillon was prepared to hear anything. Despite every fiber of her being warning her to back away, she hoped his answer was in her favor. I’m asking for the blog.

Ransom placed both hands on her face and pulled her mouth to his in a long, purposeful kiss with equal parts promise and warning.

Now I am.

5

I hope you guys are finding your accommodations comfortable, Ransom said as he entered the guest quarters where Mercy and his team were staying. As far as anyone knows, Mercy, you are here as my brother working on a private matter with Ms. Stone.

Guests of the White House? Mercy asked. Or guests of…Ms. Stone?

Mercy offered Dillon a side-eye glance that was somewhere between warning and just playing a role. That was what they were all doing, after all. Playing a role. Mercy had assigned Dillon to Ransom. She was one of the operatives from his team and one of the few people he trusted with his brother’s safety. Dillon took it as both a compliment and a threat. Fuck this up, and these guys know how to make a person disappear as quickly as she did.

She wasn’t worried, though. She was there for a job, and so far, she was doing it. And doing it well. Her cover was intact, even if her dignity wasn’t after the very public display at the ball last night. Dillon would bet money she didn’t have that. The look Mercy tossed her when she walked in with Ransom meant he saw the pictures all over the media too and wasn’t entirely happy with the lip-lock or the exposure.

They were covert, and they didn’t exist. They were the myths and legends the best action-packed movies were based on, and the minute her face became a media sensation – and the kiss heard around the world, as the headlines read – she compromised not only her own cover and identity but that of the team. None of them took that lightly, and she knew she was walking a very fine line, but in her defense, Mercy had assigned her the fine line and the walk of shame that followed.

Both, Ransom answered, eyes on Dillon. Ms. Stone has become an important part of what I’m doing around here.

The men chuckled at the unintentional innuendo, and Dillon locked gazes with each of them with a glare full of silent warning, causing them to quickly pull themselves together. One person didn’t chuckle, however, and Ransom noticed before Dillon did. Coy. He shook his head and wore a look of disgust.

Ah. I see some things never change. Ransom shook his head. This isn’t the locker room, boys, and Ms. Dillon deserves our respect and not boys will be boys heckling. We aren’t sitting around the campfire at our ranch in Montana. We’re in the most powerful building in the world. Dignity, men.

Yeah. Mercy trailed his brother’s words. Please show a little respect, or we might give Ms… Stone was it…?

Mercy paused for her to answer, and Dillon did so begrudgingly. He was playing her. Probably his way of getting back at her for playing footsy with his brother. She knew how these guys operated.

Dillon. She replied with a forced lip stain and glossed smile the same red as her heels, then she held out her perfectly manicured hand in a delicate fashion. You all can call me Dillon.

Coy rolled his eyes, and Ransom noticed yet again he seemed to be bothered by something, and it had him on high alert.

Nice to meet you. Mercy quickly took her hand, and though he was tempted to make an ass of her and sweep a kiss across her knuckles, he opted not to. As you know, we are here for your protection and will be shadowing you. We’ll try to be as invisible as possible, but get used to the idea of having at least one of us with you at all times.

Dillon nodded, realizing a message was hidden in his words. What she heard was, hands off my brother and keep your mouth to yourself or this gets more awkward than it already is. She’d agree with that statement had it been said out loud. It was Mercy’s fault she was there in the first place, but she understood why he chose her. It would be easier for a woman to get close to the president than one of the other male Keepers. None of them could have predicted that dolled-up Dillon was Ransom’s type when they’re used to the no bullshit, clean-faced, hair pulled back, tactical Dillon. It turned out that tactical Dillon was a stunner, and the president noticed. Who knew?

It’s a pleasure…Mercy?

He nodded, playing along despite the game getting old. From left to right, we have agent Toby Gannon, C.T. Owens, Eli Clayton, and Killion O’Reilly…he’s the brains of the operation and will most likely be behind that computer screen more than anything. He’s our eyes and ears on everything.

Killion turned from the screen he’d been eyeing and stared at Dillon. This was where they were going to pass or fail, and each of the Keepers knew it. Though Killion was big and brawny and some people found him intimidating, the truth was, he was anything but intimidating – more like a gentle giant. He was also extremely literal and lacked the filter most possessed. He said what he thought, stuck to the facts, and didn’t pick up on social cues like most did. They were all playing a role at the moment, and it was his time to either shine or reveal their ruse.

Dillon raised her brow, and her eyes widened as if he’d read her thoughts and knew to play along.

Killion scanned the room and realized all eyes were on him. They all wore the same expression and held their breath.

Killion nodded. Nice to meet you, Dill. I’m Killion.

He immediately turned his attention back to whatever he was working on, yet the simultaneous sigh of relief didn’t go unnoticed by Ransom.

Am I missing something here? Ransom questioned.

No, I don’t think so. Mercy was quick to play cleanup. You know Killion. Serious and to the point.

Ransom looked between Killion and Dillon. Have you two met before?

It pained Dillon to lie, which immediately struck her as odd. She typically didn’t care when it came to keeping clients safe. No. I don’t believe so.

Killion turned to Ransom, his gaze jumping to Dillon. Uh. No.

Oh, it’s just that he called her Dill.

Oh. I, uh, give everyone nicknames. Killion suddenly found a bit of confidence and his place under the spotlight like he was competing for an Emmy. It’s a part of my personality. I just shorten names to simplify things. It’s how I deal with people. I know it’s odd, but it works for me. I never forget a name that way. Kind of like how I call you Ran. Well, when we aren’t at the White House because then I call you Mr. President, President Wyatt, or…sir. You get it, right?

Everyone calls me Ran, he replied with a confused look on his face. Even here at the White House.

Okay, Ran. Killion turned his attention away and began to peck at his keyboard again as if nothing had happened.

Pfft. Dillon covered her mouth, recognizing her reaction was out of place as Ransom shook his head once more.

Mr. President? Kroy stuck his head in the door to the room they were occupying and scanned the space as he did. You’re needed for a moment in the Oval.

Shit. I need to go sign some bullshit bills for some bullshit media thing for optics. I’m so sick of the word optics. Waste of my time, Ransom said, making his way to the door to meet Kroy. He turned to the group. I’ll be back shortly. How about you all take the time to get acquainted and talk about protocols and expectations, or whatever it is you do at this point. Kroy and I will be back as soon as this dog and pony show is over and the press leaves. We can debrief at that time.

Sounds like a plan, Mercy said with his eyes on Dillon. Expectations is a good place to start.

6

What the hell has been going on here, Dill? Mercy was direct, his tone teetering between question and scolding.

Don’t do that, Mercy. She was quick to fire back. "Don’t act like you don’t know…he’s your brother."

I said to get close to him and keep an eye on things…not date the guy.

Dillon’s jaw dropped. "Are you kidding me? You sent me into the lion’s den. Your brother seems a little lonely and apparently likes a challenge. The more I push back, the more he wants private dinners in his quarters."

In his quarters? Did you go? Mercy asked.

Are you kidding me? If this were any other job, this would be called something other than an assignment, Mercy. You’re basically whoring me out at this point.

Whoring you? Mercy ran his fingers through his hair. I’m not whoring you out. I figured you’d be the best fit because these guys look a little suspicious and might have a hard time getting invited to the table.

Right. So send lipstick to the table. Dillon had the rest of the team laughing at this point. What did you think would happen when I put on—she waved her hands over her body—all this shit? I’m dressed like fucking Barbie, and he’s single and ready to mingle. I don’t think you thought this through.

I didn’t think he’d be attracted to you.

Dillon’s hand landed on her hip as it shifted half-cocked. And why is that, Merce? I’d love to hear the rest of that sentence, but keep in mind I can still kick your ass in a skirt.

I don’t mean it like that. I just mean…you’re like a sister to me, and I don’t see you that way.

"Right. Sister to you. Ransom only knows a chosen few of us, she reminded. You knew he wouldn’t let the guys get close enough to run undercover protection, so you must have thought something about me would…"

Jesus. Mercy began to pace. I guess you’re right. I didn’t think this shit through. When the stuff started going down around the Valdez Cartel case and we uncovered the dirty backroom club they called Chalice, which was mostly government and around my brother, I got concerned. Credible threats are everywhere, and one lands right here in the administration.

Then back to what I said in the beginning…tell him, Dillon reasoned. Tell him he isn’t safe and that there’s a reason for concern.

No. He’ll do something about it, and that’s the last thing we want. He’ll blow the whole case for us, and we’ll never get to the root of this shit. We need to get as close to it as possible and blow it up from the inside out.

Killion chimed in. Everyone we’ve taken down so far has stopped talking. We got deep into this thing, but not deep enough.

Why? Why aren’t they talking? Get me up to speed, she asked.

Fear? Gannon offered. It seems they were willing to turn on each other to a certain point, then it just stops. There’s a layer they aren’t willing to expose.

So offer their families protection and get it out of them.

We have, love, Eli chimed in. We are still uncovering what appears to be an endless list of characters, and we have teams dismantling everything they come across, but we can’t get past this one.

The White House. Dillon knew they were right. Hell, she was at the center of what seemed to be some sort of conspiracy to take the Wyatt administration out in a full-blown assassination attempt. They didn’t have to tell her that. She watched it unfold as she slammed against the ground while shattered glass rained around her. The only one here I trust is Kroy.

What have you noticed? Who else should we have eyes on? We can plan more operatives if we need to, Mercy said.

That’s just it. I don’t have reason to distrust anyone specific, but I also don’t have reason to trust them either. My gut says half this place is dirty. Are we getting anywhere with financials, digging into backgrounds, or…anything?

It’s all clean, Killion said. I’ve been able to crack codes all along and find hidden money in offshore accounts, shell companies, you name it. But for some reason, I can’t get through the layers of bullshit when it comes to those who serve alongside the man himself. The White House is a damn fortress.

Killion was smart and confident, but something in his tone had Dillon’s attention. He wasn’t confident, not this time, and that scared her more than knowing someone with a deadly agenda was walking the halls of the White House at that very moment. If there was a trail, Killion sniffed it out. Mostly because he was behind the technology the White House used. He’d designed it alongside one of the Brother’s Keeper owners Liam O’Reilly, who was also his cousin. It was clear to everyone in the room that Killion was beyond the point of frustration and was downright pissed off, even if he didn’t show it outwardly.

You’ll find it, Kill, Dillon said. "You always do. They’re just using your brilliant mind against you by using the technology you designed. You’ll get it."

The problem is I’m just too damn good at this. This stuff is so secure that I even locked myself out in a way. Killion didn’t beat around the bush and what was often mistaken for ego was really just confidence. This is why we don’t sell new tech to the government anymore and only maintain the systems we already have contracted. I’m writing this new program that will —

Mercy held up his hands to stop him.

I know. Spare me the details. Got it, Killion said, turning back to his work. I’m on it.

Dillon sat on the edge of the table next to Killion and laid a hand on his shoulder. You’ve got this, big guy. I know you do.

He offered her a meek smile, something he didn’t often do, then went back to work.

We’ll handle the tactical, and you handle the tech. Mercy took a seat, realizing he’d approached the situation with too much emotion. I’m trying to stay focused on the objective, but…

It’s your brother, Dillon finished, looking at Coy. I know the feeling. It’s hard to stay focused when people we care about are involved.

This isn’t going to be a problem, is it? Mercy asked, waving a finger back and forth between Coy and Dillon.

Not at all, boss. Coy smiled. As long as your brother doesn’t get handsy with my sister.

Mercy dragged his hands down his face and let out a deep sigh. This is going to get weird.

No, it isn’t, Dillon assured, eyes pinned on Coy. Because this is my job, and Coy has his job. I can handle myself just fine, and whatever Ransom does or doesn’t do will be one hundred percent because I allow it or don’t.

Whoa. Coy and Mercy both stood and spoke simultaneously.

That’s my brother, Dill.

Coy stepped toe to toe with Mercy. And she’s my sister, man. I don’t care what her job is.

For fuck’s sake, both of you sit down, Dillon chided through gritted teeth. "I’m a trained operative, just like the rest of you. I know what I’m doing, and clearly, I’m doing a really good job at it if I’m this close to the president, on his committees, and he’s keeping me here and assigning me security. I got you guys in the door without having to force your way in. You’re welcome, by the way."

The two men sat while the others covered their grins because they knew what was coming. Dillon was about to do what Dillon did best — put the guys in their place.

Good. Are we done beating our chests now? There is no place for pissing matches or fucking feelings on this case. Either you have each other’s backs on this, or you both go home, and we’ll handle this without you. Coy, if I suddenly need a boy to fight my battles and protect my delicate feelings, I’ll let you know, brother. Merce…same goes for you. Ransom is a big boy, and he can handle himself. Besides, he’s my case. I’ll do the protecting or whatever this is you think you’re doing. I’m close, and that’s what we needed. Now let me do my damn job.

Dillon—

Dillon put her hand up. They’re going to be back to finish the debrief in a few, and we’re a mess. I’m doing my part, so you guys need to do yours. As of right now, I’m the president’s love interest, according to the media, and the girl he wants to date if you ask Ransom. I’d say the case is right on track. I’m close.

Mercy let out a deep breath like he’d been holding it for days. Stay close. Stay really close because someone closer to him just might want him dead.

7

You guys gathered that intel quick, Ransom said as he reviewed the files before him. I knew you were good, but this is insane. I don’t even have this kind of detail from Homeland, DOD, or any other branch working this, and there are a lot of them.

Kroy pinned his stare on Mercy. Why is that?

Mercy paused, reading Kroy’s body language and tone clearly. Kroy wasn’t all that different than the Keepers with similar resources, and his number one priority was Ransom’s safety. He respected and appreciated it, but everyone at that table knew it could be the downfall of their case if Kroy caught on to who they all really were and why they were there.

Kroy and Ransom served together, were brothers-in-arms, and brothers for life. He was family to the Wyatts and had spent a lot of time with them over the years. He wasn’t easily fooled, and his instincts were top-notch.

We don’t have to deal with the bullshit politics everyone else does. No red tape and bureaucratic bullshit on our end. We just get in and get the job done, I guess.

You guess, Kroy said as a statement and not a question. It could be read as a statement of agreement or one of question, and it was anyone’s guess. It was imperative they keep him focused on everyone else and not the work of the Keepers.

Kroy leaned back in his chair with one arm crossed over his chest and the other propping his chin with his index finger across his mouth in a questioning manner. He wasn’t sold. Not yet. It was clear in his presence that he didn’t even trust the president’s own brother at this point, and that pleased the Keepers because it meant he was doing his job and further validated the assumption that Kroy was not the threat. Not even close.

Let’s get into it, he said.

Preliminary ballistics tell us that it was not the long gun that came for Ran. No one was probably perched up there at all, Mercy began. It was a decoy to throw everyone off and look like a civilian assassination attempt.

A civilian with a long gun? Dillon asked but then quickly caught herself, realizing her questions may give away too much. "I mean, is that a…thing?"

Coy snickered, earning a glare from Ransom, who spoke in her defense as he attempted to explain. It is a… He cleared his throat at the risk of sounding as remedial as his sister had despite it being for the sole purpose of covering up her near reveal. "Thing. It’s not exactly the weapon of choice for your average gun enthusiast. It’s more or less something a collector, like an old war veteran or even the more radical prepper would possess. I have one from my days as a sharpshooter, well…the rest is classified."

Ransom grinned at the puffed chest Coy was tossing his way.

Oh. She giggled, which felt a lot like showing her ass at this point because she knew damn well what a long gun was and how to dismantle, build, and use one, for that matter. But here she was, playing the role of a silly helpless girl, and it made her blood boil. That’s…interesting.

Ransom placed his arm across her shoulders. It’s just a really big gun with no purpose other than long-range targets. Pretty much reserved for combat and hostile targets you can’t get close to. Ransom turned to Coy. I have one too. Used in combat…war hero.

Ransom spat his credentials as some sort of warning to Coy, yet another pissing match ensued.

Is that so, Mr. President? Coy questioned.

Definitely so, Ransom fired back with a wink.

I knew the war hero thing – saw it on all your commercials. Must not have been classified, so not as big of a deal, I gather. Coy leaned back and smirked at his newly determined nemesis, glaring at the arm hanging around his sister’s neck.

"Oh, it was a big deal. Big."

Huh. Is that even legal to have as a civilian now? Coy questioned. I can’t tell you why I have mine because…classified.

"Right. Classified. You mentioned that Coy boy. But see, I’m the president. I can just change laws and shit, sooo…"

Yeah. I didn’t vote for you, Coy deadpanned with a hard I give zero fucks shrug, and Dillon spat the water she was nervously drinking all over the table in front of her and stood.

Okay, Dillon said, brushing the droplets of water from her skirt and wiping her chin on the back of her hand. Um, so that’s great. You both have big guns and did important things. Good for you. Now, let’s get back to whatever…Mercy was…saying.

Dillon plopped back down in her chair, intentionally inching away from Ransom and challenging Coy with a death stare warning that implied something about a long gun and him being the target if he didn’t knock his shit off.

Right. Mercy cleared his throat and eased back into business. Like I said, long gun. Found. Not used. The amount of damage and what we see on the playback from surrounding surveillance video suggests a different scenario.

Which is? Kroy probed.

Explosives. Mercy gritted his teeth at the thought of what they’d just found. The idea that his brother was the target of something heinous was infuriating. Dillon, his sister-like friend, being caught up in it too was just as maddening. They could have been killed.

The area was swept before our arrival, Kroy confirmed. How the hell was that missed?

Two reasons. One is that they were micro explosives, which made them hard to detect. Likely spread out to almost trace amounts, making it hard for K-9 sweeps if they were used.

They were perimeters only, according to the report.

Is that protocol? Dillon asked. Her question felt reasonable to ask without giving anything away.

No. Not at all. The searches are thorough, Kroy began. We sweep in a number of ways to limit any room for error. K-9’s, tech, you name it, it all gets used.

Ransom shook his head in disbelief as he read a report that Kroy had passed to him moments before. "They limited the sweep because…time constraints? Are you kidding me? They didn’t have time? I’m not trying to sound like an asshole, but…since when is there no time for the president’s safety?"

You only sounded like it a little bit… Coy shrugged.

Ransom's brow furrowed. Excuse me?

"Like an asshole. You said, not to sound like an asshole. You only sounded like a little bit of an asshole, but given you’re the president, I’d say it’s justified."

Ransom sat back with his fingers laced behind his head as he stretched in his chair and turned his attention to Mercy, whose face was firmly planted in the palms of his hands. Is this guy for real? Am I supposed to say thanks to that or something?

Mercy tossed his hands in the air. I don’t fucking know. Look, Cane is taking time off right now, so I brought Coy to fill in. He’s new.

He’s new? Ransom said. Oh, that’s great. Brought the new guy.

I’m really good at what I do. It’s as much a pleasure to be here as it is for you to have me here.

What does that even mean? Ransom tossed his hands up.

It means I think the feeling is mutual for both of us. Coy maintained his cool.

Okay. Well, at least that’s out in the air, in case it wasn’t already obvious. Dillon pulled the attention back to her. You two, just stop talking. You’re the president. You’re some sort of elite operative, best in the world or whatever, so you’re equals on the awesome chart, okay? How about we all start acting like adults on the same team. There’s a real threat here…or it sounds like it anyway, she continued to play her role, "so let’s work together and subscribe to the whole, if you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all thing. Agreed? Jesus, this should be embarrassing for both of you."

The room remained silent for a moment as the dust settled and the testosterone dissipated while they each regrouped and brought their best to the table.

Okay. Wow. That worked, she said with pride. Mercy, can you finish what you were telling us before the cockfight broke out?

Cock what? Ransom turned to her.

Coy joined him with an offended tone. What the…?

Good. See. You’re both mad at me now… Mercy? Please proceed.

Mercy chuckled. As I was saying, micro explosives. There is evidence through the entire scene suggesting they were spread thin to avoid detection and maximize impact.

Hence damage limited to mostly glass and nonstructural interior and exterior building matter, Kroy added.

Exactly. For all we know, the window washer had the explosives in the cleaner and spread them across the windows when they were cleaned. Or the produce delivery was laced. They could have been brought in multiple ways.

So they’re all suspects, including the employees of the café? Ransom asked.

Not if they didn’t know it was happening. They could be pawns, and this happened before any of them actually laid their own hands on the stuff used. We’re running thorough checks on everyone who was there, vendors, janitorial, you name it. But I don’t think we are going to find anything other than they were victims too, Mercy confirmed.

Let’s address the elephant in the room. Kroy’s tone was somber, deep, and a cross between rage and disappointment. It could have arrived with us.

Mercy nodded. It could have. This stuff is so advanced that it could have been in someone’s pocket or on a stick of gum they dropped. Given some of the injuries your detail sustained, it could have been on them…namely shoes. For all we know, maybe someone shined their shoes with it. What we do know is that this is domestic. This technology and material are ours.

Ours? Ransom repeated. Great. Who the hell did I piss off other than half the government who plays for the other party? And half of my own party for not selling out for their agendas. I have a lot of friends in this town, but I have even more enemies because I don’t subscribe to the institution of bullshit.

Ran, that’s not even the bulk of it. This was planned. Mercy paused to let that sink in.

And you can’t put a plan into action without prior knowledge, Ransom said. That narrows the field to those who knew I was on the go that day and where.

Mercy nodded.

Ransom turned to Dillon. That means I put you directly in the line of fire. You are marked now. I’m…so sorry.

Dillon couldn’t speak. Ransom was loud, confident, and sure of everything he said and did…except at this moment. There was a sense of defeat and remorse in