Orion: Mastiff Security Volume Two, #5

By Glenna Sinclair

This is the fifth book of Mastiff Security Volume Two, with over 50,000 words of romantic suspense.

 

Orion Jamieson was supposed to protect her, but Caterina Marceau was injured under his care, and what happened afterward… was too dark to think about.  But it was his darkness, his guilt, that turned to anger toward the men who caused the accident in the first place—paparazzi.

 

When his boss at Mastiff offered him a case in which he was to steal a picture from a paparazzi to protect a client's privacy, he jumps at the chance. But life is never completely black and white. Sometimes, there are gray lines that can be a fertile playground.

 

Can Orion swallow his anger long enough to help a young photographer in trouble? Or is his past just too much to overcome?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Glenna Sinclair
• Release date: Jan 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9798224347391

Glenna Sinclair

Experience the heart-racing novels of Glenna Sinclair, the master of romantic suspense. Sinclair's books feature strong male protagonists, many with a military background, who face real-world challenges that will keep you on the edge of your seat. Books2read.com/GlennaSinclair Facebook.com/AuthorGlennaSinclair GlennaSinclairAuthor at Gmail dot com

Book preview

Prologue

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Upper Manhattan, New York City, New York

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Two Years Ago...

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She’s coming down the stairs.

Orion Jamieson stepped out of the car and glanced up and down the sidewalk, making sure the way was clear before he opened the door. They’d chosen to bring her down the back stairs to avoid the paparazzi and fans who’d gathered near the front door. She enjoyed her fans, but they could often be overwhelming. Today was an important day in her career. She needed to focus on that and nothing else.

The moment she appeared at the door, he moved to stand beside her, not just offering a polite escort, but putting his body between her and the open mouth of the alley. He’d been a cop for seven years before he turned to private security as a way to make a living. He knew how to keep an innocent protected from the dark actions of others, whether they were armed with a gun or a camera.

Today’s the day, Orion, she said, her voice a little shaky.

It is.

Do you think I’ll be okay?

I think you’ll be brilliant.

She smiled up at him, her beautiful face bright with gratitude. You’re always so good to me. I don’t know why, but I appreciate it.

You’re easy to be good to.

And she was. Unlike most celebrities, she was down to earth, the kind of woman he’d grown up with, the kind who was just as happy washing dishes as walking a runway in France. He’d never seen her throw a fit because someone had brought her the wrong order from the coffee shop or because her shade of lipstick wasn’t the exact red she’d requested. He’d seen her be exceedingly patient with fans, even those whose demands would tax even a saint’s patience. She understood fame was fleeting, and she was determined to make the most of hers.

She was one of the good ones, as his mother used to say.

He helped her into the backseat of the car before walking around to the driver’s door.

Why do I always sit in the back? Why can’t I sit up there with you?

He glanced into the rearview mirror. Because the windows aren’t tinted up here.

But it’s lonely back here.

I’ll turn on some music.

She shook her head. Just talk to me. When’s the last time you went home to see your mother?

Orion smiled. He’d mentioned his mother once, and she’d never forgotten it. Last weekend. She made me a pot roast.

That’s cool. My mother never learned to cook. A special evening at her house was takeout from McDonald’s.

I don’t suppose it’s the food that’s important.

I guess you’re right about that. I’d do just about anything to share one of those McDonald’s dinners with my mom again.

He glanced in the rearview again, just catching the wistful look on her face before she saw his stare. She smiled, brushing a hand against her forehead to push a piece of hair out of her eyes, but the smile was only surface deep.

I’m sure your mother would be very proud of you if she could see you today.

Yeah. My first day on a real movie set. That was the goal when she first started contacting all those modeling agents back in the day. She thought I could be the next Marilyn Monroe or Audrey Hepburn.

I think she was right.

I don’t know. I can stand in front of a photographer and smile, but I’m not sure I can successfully walk and talk and remember dialogue all at the same time. What if I fall flat on my face?

What are the chances of that?

I think they’re huge.

Orion glanced into the rearview again as he negotiated the congestion of downtown Manhattan traffic. I think you are graceful and strong and intelligent. I think you’ll do the best at anything you set your mind to.

Thank you, Orion, she said softly. I hope you’re right.

Have I ever lied to you?

This time when she smiled, the smile touched her eyes. Never.

He’d worked for her exclusively for over a year. He liked to think he’d gotten to know her quite well in that time. They often had conversations like this, sometimes in the car, sometimes in her apartment or the many hotel suites where she stayed when traveling. She liked to talk when she was tired or anxious or bored, but there never seemed to be anyone around for her to talk to. She had few friends and fewer confidants. Orion supposed it was the price she’d paid for her fame.

They turned a corner, less than a mile from the studio, when a car suddenly crossed three lanes of traffic to move up behind them. Orion slowed slightly, trying to catch sight of the driver. But it wasn’t the driver that concerned him. It was the man with a camera hanging half out the passenger side window.

Paparazzi, he said.

She twisted in her seat to get a look. How do they always find us?

There are only so many routes we can take from your apartment building to the studio. I guess they put someone on each route, and those guys just happened to get lucky.

But they know what car I’ll be in and everything. She shivered. It’s creepy.

It was. Orion and his crew switched out cars practically on a daily basis, doing their best to change them up as much as they could to keep people from figuring out her daily routine, but it didn’t help. They always figured it out somehow.

Sit tight. I’ll get us there.

She crossed her arms over her chest, drawing her thin cardigan tighter against her body. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, and her clothing consisted of a simple pair of yoga pants and a long t-shirt under the cardigan. She was anticipating spending several hours in the makeup, hair, and costume rooms at the studio, so there was no reason to dress up. But, like any other supermodel, she was conscious of how people perceived her even during her downtime. She didn’t want to be photographed like this despite the fact that Orion thought it was these moments that revealed her true beauty.

He knew he was a little in love with her. She didn’t, and that was the way it should be.

He sped up again, going the speed limit and not a bit more. The paparazzi, however, were clearly doing at least fifty in their attempt to catch up to them, jumping through traffic so recklessly that Orion could see cars swerving to avoid collision after collision.

It was going to be one of those days.

They caught up to them after only a few minutes, honking their horn repeatedly to try to get her attention. Orion watched them speed up to the side of the car, the photographer poised to catch a snapshot should she suddenly come into view. The windows in the back of the car were tinted, however—a tint that didn’t allow anyone outside of the car to see in. The only picture these paparazzi were going to get was a shot of Orion’s profile.

The problem was, the entrance to the studio property was on the right, and the paparazzi’s car was in the right lane. Orion sped up just slightly, attempting to get ahead of them so that he could switch lanes, but they just sped up, too. So, he slowed down, but then they slowed as well. They weren’t going to let him over.

I’m going to have to circle the block, he said.

I don’t want to be late my first day.

I know, but I’m sure they’ll understand.

He slowed at a red light. The paparazzi’s car had to slam on the brake, nearly hitting the car in front of them as they reluctantly obeyed the traffic laws. Orion could see the driver and his photographer friend trying to get his attention, but he ignored them. Acknowledging them would only encourage them.

When the light turned green, Orion eased the car into the intersection. The paparazzi were caught behind a car that was slow to get moving, giving Orion the chance he needed to merge into the right lane. He glanced into the mirrors, making sure the way was clear, before he began to move. However, he didn’t see that the paparazzi had switched lanes and were quickly coming back into the right lane at the same moment he was merging. Although Orion was only going thirty—if that—the paparazzi’s car was already hitting close to fifty when they attempted to exist in the same spot at the same time.

It all happened in a flash. The impact was mostly at the rear on the driver’s side, but it pushed them forward at an angle because Orion had been in the middle of a turn. They slammed into the side of a brick building, the solidness of the building stopping their momentum so abruptly that they both flew forward. Orion hit the steering wheel with his chest, the airbag deploying at almost the same second, flinging his body backward and slamming it into the seat hard enough to break it. He lost consciousness for a moment, the world still full of sounds—metal hitting metal, glass breaking, engines roaring—and woke to a world that was absolutely silent.

His first thought was the woman sitting in the backseat. He twisted, pain flaring all over his body, so intense that his vision went dark again for a brief moment. But he moved anyway, needing to find her. It took a moment. Despite the fact that it was a bright, beautiful spring morning, the interior of the car was very dark. He moved his hand, reaching for her. And then he heard her crying softly.

Are you okay? he asked.

What happened?

They must have run into us.

He felt her take his hand. She used it to pull herself up—she must have fallen across the seat or into the floorboards—the pain excruciating as she pulled on muscles and ligaments that were bruised and broken. He held on tightly just the same. One side of her face came into view, her skin pale and her expression filled with confused fright. She touched him, her hand sliding over his shoulder, his chest.

You’re bleeding!

I’m fine.

They could hear sirens then, help coming to the rescue.

Are you hurt? Is anything causing you pain?

The side of my face is a little numb.

She began to lift her hand to touch it, but he pulled it back down.

You probably shouldn’t touch it in case you have a cut. Don’t want to infect it.

She was staring out the side windows. Orion twisted a little more, the pain again impossible to ignore. But what he saw outside those windows was more infuriating, more outrageous, than anything else he’d ever experienced. The paparazzo, his head bleeding profusely, his wrist already black and blue from the broken bone just under the skin, was attempting to take pictures through the broken windows with one hand.

Get down!

She did, moving as gracefully as ever, hiding under his broken seat. He tried to get up, to get out of the car and beat the shit out of that asshole. Causing this accident and then taking advantage of it! What kind of human being would do something like that?

But he couldn’t move. His legs were pinned by the destroyed car.

He tugged his cell phone out of his pocket to call his crew, but the damn thing was shattered.

Cops and paramedics arrived just then, shooing the photographer off.

You’re a little stuck, the paramedic said the moment he came to Orion’s window. It’s going to take a few minutes to extricate you.

That’s fine. Just get her out of here, please.

The paramedic moved to the back window, able to see in because the glass had disappeared in the crash. Are you hurt? he asked her.

My cheek is a little numb, but I think I’m okay otherwise.

Okay. Let’s get you out of there.

Orion couldn’t see anything because of the way his body was positioned, but he could feel them moving behind him, could feel them tugging the door open. It took a few minutes because the frame of the car was so badly twisted from the impact with the building, but they managed to get it open. She stepped out just like she had climbed in, gracefully. He caught a glimpse of her just as she caught sight of herself in the side view mirror.

All the glass in the car had broken except for that. And that was a disaster.

She screamed and screamed and screamed.

He would forever hear those screams in his dreams.

One side of her face was cut so deeply, so badly, that he could see her teeth through a massive hole in her cheek. Her eye drooped, her nose was lopsided. And that cut went from her temple all the way to her lip, the skin hanging in a useless flap.

The paramedics did the best they could to get her to the ambulance and cover the wound as quickly as possible, but a small crowd had already gathered. They all had cell phones.

There was nothing Orion could do.

His left leg shattered, his spleen crushed, and his belly full of blood, Orion was in surgery and then in recovery for the next few days. When he woke, it was to headlines like this: Supermodel Caterina Marceau Disfigured in Horrific Accident.

Her career was over. Her face would never be the same.

He tried to see her while they were both in the hospital, but she refused. She was refusing to see everyone who came, even her agent, her manager, her small circle of friends.

When she was released from the hospital—so he heard—she hid behind a veil. They told her more surgeries would reduce the drooping and the jagged line of the scar. One day she’d be able to cover most of the damage with heavy makeup. But she’d never regain feeling in parts of her face, never walk the runways of Paris, never grace the front of fashion magazines again. And she’d never be the actress her mother had always dreamed she would be.

Her life wasn’t over. It was just altered.

Orion knew she would have been able to live with that. She’d never really embraced the fame that came with her chosen profession. She had always talked about wanting to marry, having a houseful of kids and being one of those moms who was always standing outside the school to pick up her kids, the one who always had the time to help her kids with their homework in the afternoons. She wanted a simple life. A quiet life.

But those pictures, the ones taken right after the accident, were everywhere. There was one particular shot—one that the paparazzo with the broken wrist had somehow managed to take—that showed