Ian: Marquette Security, #2

By Clara Kendrick

This is the second book in the Marquette Security series, with over 79,000 words of romantic suspense.

 

Former police officer Ian suffered a significant loss that landed him at Marquette Security, working with four other people who are now his closest friends.

 

As much as he loves working with them, though, they're not his partners. No one can ever fit into that role again—at least not until Hayley, an investigative reporter, walks in the office door, looking for help with a case she's stumbled upon in her own work.

 

Together, Ian and Hayley will work to take down one of the largest trafficking rings in Chicago.

 

With his past tragedy triggering his flight instinct and Hayley's life in danger, Ian is unsure how he'll make it to the other side. Will the love he feels for Hayley help him overcome even the worst of situations?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clara Kendrick
• Release date: May 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9798224385614

Clara Kendrick

Discover the captivating world of Clara Kendrick's romantic suspense. With her masterful storytelling and skillful blend of intrigue, romance, and passion, Kendrick draws readers in and keeps them hooked until the very end. Get ready to be swept away by her thrilling and steamy tales of love and suspense. Signup and follow at: Books2read.com/ClaraKendrick Facebook.com/AuthorClaraKendrick

Book preview

Prologue

How much does she know?

The dark room the speaker sat in was lit only by the blue light of the numerous computer monitors that framed him as he sat in a large, high-back chair, one ankle resting against his opposite knee. His hands were deceptively casual, resting on his lap as though they weren’t itching to surround the throat of the woman who had dared to penetrate the secret network that he had so perfectly constructed.

A lot, his partner in crime said coolly, her unperturbed air equally deceptive. She knows a hell of a lot.

How?

Genetic predisposition to excellent deductive reasoning?

He narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, fixing his gaze on his partner. If I wanted jokes, I would go to a comedy show. There are plenty in Chicago. Do I want jokes?

If you don’t want ridiculous answers, then don’t ask ridiculous questions, his partner retorted, taking a seat across from him. How does she know? She knows because that rat—Yancey—tried to sell what he knew.

He didn’t know much.

Well, she seems to be persistent when it comes to leads.

The man looked up at the ceiling, contemplating his options as he stared at the glowing stars that were pasted above him, an odd decoration for the lair from which he controlled a network of crime and evil. But he had little time to devote to removing all the traces of the family who had lived in this two-bedroom apartment he had been renting for the past six months. So, he had accepted that his criminal headquarters came with lavender walls, glowing stars, and a mural of a rabbit on the far side of the room, peeking around the door of the closet.

Nobody who dared to visit him there had the courage to comment on the unusual décor, and he had grown to enjoy the fact that it set him apart. He was likely the first criminal mastermind with a rabbit mascot.

She’ll have to be killed, he decided, sighing as he delivered his edict. Executions were always so messy.

Presumably, his partner agreed, chewing idly on one fingernail.

Well then, have it done.

I’ve already put in a call. I just thought you’d like to know that we’re putting a hit out on an investigative journalist with a grammy in a nursing home.

He chuckled, running a finger over his bottom lip, back and forth. Maybe the grammy is too bad off to realize her granddaughter isn’t coming to see her anymore.

Blessings come in all packages, don’t they?

Their banter amused him, but then, without warning, he was done. He straightened in his chair, turning back to face his array of monitors. Go away now. You’ve distracted me.

The only sound he heard from behind him was a subtle footstep, then the closing of a door. He appreciated that kind of obedience in his coworkers. Things usually went best when people did exactly what he said. When they failed to do so, someone almost always had to die.

Chapter One

Ian

Ian McDowell dipped his spoon into the peanut sauce simmering on his stove, bringing another delicious bite to his mouth. He let the flavors linger on his tongue, his eyes closed as he let his refined palate differentiate between the hoisin, the peanut butter, and the sweet chili sauce that he had blended together on the stove, letting it cook slowly for the past hour. The flavors were three-dimensional, impactful, and burst in his mouth.

Perfect, he declared, taking the pot and carefully pouring the sauce over the waiting bowl of fresh pasta, peppers, onions, cauliflower, and celery. The tender, juicy chicken breast, sliced delicately, sat on top, and dinner was served.

Ian sat down at his kitchen table with an ice-cold beer and his plate. As he ate, he pulled the files sitting on his table toward him. After six years of working for the Chicago Police Department, working for Marquette Security was a dream. His boss, Connor, was also his best friend, the case load was lighter, and he was free to do a lot of his work right there from his kitchen table. It was the perfect setup.

He heard Willow’s voice before he heard her knock. Ian! Open up! Only after that did she rap at his front door.

Chuckling already, Ian pushed his chair back and crossed to the other side of the house, opening the door with an eyebrow already arched. Wills. Why not announce your presence to the entire apartment complex first? Oh, you already did.

I smell food. Let me in.

Willow, the firebrand who worked with Ian at Marquette Security, pushed past him with a friendly pat against his chest, making her way to the kitchen without a care in the world. Ian followed her, watching as she fixed herself a plate from the leftovers still on the stove. It wasn’t unusual for Willow to show up around dinnertime. Despite her tall, lean, lanky form, she loved her food. Ian loved cooking, so they made a good pair.

Help yourself, he teased her, as she sat down at the table with a plate piled high.

I will, she assured him with a grin. Is this a new recipe? I don’t recognize the smell.

Ian sat back down, picking up his fork. Yeah, I just sort of went with it. Turned out good though.

Around her first huge bite, Willow mumbled, Mmhmm, good.

You’re such a pig.

Jackass, she shot back at him, grabbing a napkin and dabbing at her lips with exaggerated daintiness. I thought Dean might beat me here, but I guess not.

Ian shook his head, getting up to grab a beer for her as well. Nope, haven’t seen him since this morning. What’s he coming around for? To mooch off of me too?

You know Dean doesn’t eat it if it’s not beef. Willow rolled her eyes. I told him I was going to swing by here after work, and he said he might join and hang out because his date fell through tonight.

Oh, poor Dean. Ian handed her the beer and sat back down.

Dean was Willow’s brother, and he also worked with them at Marquette Security. The chronic playboy, Dean was constantly regaling them with stories of his varied and excited dating life, which only gave Ian a constant reminder of how stale his own had become. There was a girl he saw now and then, when she was in Chicago on business. She worked for an airline, and she traveled around to different airport hubs, managing short-term projects for a week or two before moving on. Ian liked her well enough, and they enjoyed each other, but neither of them considered themselves in a relationship. Samantha wasn’t the type to settle down, and even if she had been, she wasn’t the kind of girl that Ian would have settled down with. She didn’t give him the sparks that he was looking for, nice a person as she was.

All three of the other guys at Marquette’s Security—Connor, Dean, and Ethan—wanted Ian and Willow to get together, but Ian knew without a shade of doubt that that wasn’t in the cards either. He had known Willow for years, and while she was a beautiful woman, she had always been like one of the guys to him. That was why he often called her Will or Wills. She was as much his sister as she was Dean’s. He would die for her, but he didn’t want to date her.

Willow snapped her fingers in his face. Yoohoo. Where’d you go off to? You spaced on me.

I was just thinking about how I never want to date you.

Oh, well, fuck you too, Willow laughed. Who says I want a date?

Ian laughed with her before scooping another bite of pasta into his mouth. Nobody. I’m just saying. I don’t want to date you.

Well, then, it’s decided, Willow said, taking a swig of her beer. We’re breaking up.

Fine. I want all my stuff back then.

I don’t have any of your stuff!

Ian grabbed the fork out of her hand, jabbing her arm playfully with it. But before the joke could go any further, another knock came at the door, and Ian stood up. When did I turn my apartment into a hostel? he asked, heading to the door and opening it for Dean this time.

Hey, Dean said, stepping inside and shrugging off his coat. It might be mid-April, but in Chicago, mid-April still called for winter coats after dark. It smells like shit in here.

If by shit you mean Thai peanut sauce pasta...

That sounds about right. Dean grinned and headed into the kitchen, ruffling Willow’s honey-blonde hair and making her squeak with defiance. Got a beer?

Ian gestured toward the fridge as he sat back down. Help yourself. There’s leftover pizza in there too, if you’re hungry.

Dean grabbed the box and sat down at the table, prompting Willow to snort at him. Plebian.

Whatever that means, Dean retorted, leaning comfortably back in his chair and making a show of biting into a big, cold slice of pepperoni pizza. Mmmm ...

Ian doesn’t want to date me, Willow told him, faking a sigh.

Dean shrugged a shoulder. Proves he’s an idiot.

Aww, that’s so sweet.

I’m not an idiot, Ian protested. Which one of us wrapped up a case today? An idiot couldn’t have figured out that it was Mrs. Lowe’s granddaughter who was siphoning all of her funds, and not her son like she thought.

Willow patted his arm. You’re a genius. Truly.

Another knock came at the door, and Ian threw up his hands. That’s it! I’m charging every single one of you.

This time when he opened the door, Connor was standing there in the hallway.

Did I miss out on the fact that my apartment is now company headquarters? Ian asked, stepping back to let his friend in. You want dinner?

I assume that means Willow and Dean are here, Connor said, chuckling. No, no need to feed me. I’m just swinging by because I know you just wrapped up a case and have the next couple of days off, but ...

Ian crossed his arms over his chest. But you have a good one for me.

Yeah. Connor handed him the file he had tucked under his arm. Everyone else is pretty tied up right now. I tried Ethan first, but Olivia and Megan are both sick with the flu, so he begged off.

Ouch. Ian winced. Ethan, another of his closest friends, had been through hell earlier in the year when a madman had kidnapped his daughter, Olivia. It had turned out all right, with Ethan regaining his daughter and Megan, now his girlfriend, in the process. But Ian knew that the whole situation had taken a toll on Ethan.

Yeah, he needs to be there with them. I can take the case—no problem. He opened the folder, flipping idly through it. What’s the rundown?

Her name is Hayley Rutledge, Connor told him. She’s an investigative journalist, but she’s investigated her way into a dangerous situation. She’s looking for help unraveling the case, and for someone to watch her back. Seems like she’s got a good head on her shoulders, but she’s definitely jumped into the deep end with the case she’s working on.

Ian nodded, still scanning the paperwork. Got it.

Hey, boss. Willow appeared in the doorway, beer in hand. Want one of Ian’s beers?

Connor chuckled. No. Thanks. I’m driving out to Ethan and Megan’s place to bring them some soup, so no alcohol for me.

Hey, that’s above and beyond, Ian said, tossing the file down on the end table to look at it later. What a great boss.

Are we sucking up to the boss? Dean poked his head into the room, too. Don’t leave me out. I need brownie points.

Connor’s voice was droll. He really does, after that interview he gave the other day.

How was I supposed to know the reporter didn’t have a sense of humor?

You’re terrible at sucking up, Willow said, opening the beer intended for Ian and taking a sip of it herself. Watch how it’s done. Connor, you did such a great job handling that client earlier today. I mean, that guy was a mess, and you just calmed him right down. Do you think you could work with me on conflict resolution? There’s so much I could learn from you.

Connor snorted, rolling his eyes. A bit heavy-handed.

I might puke up my pizza, Dean agreed, pushing his sister fondly.

Ian was laughing, as he held the door open for Connor again. Never know what you’re going to find when you stop by here, huh?

No kidding, Connor agreed. Keep these two in line, would ya?

Will do, Ian promised. And I’ll call Hayley first thing in the morning. Or is she expecting a call tonight?

Morning is okay, Conner said, stepping out into the hallway and waving. Don’t get into trouble.

Ian closed the door behind him and turned, finding Dean attempting to force a piece of pizza between Willow’s tightly-clamped lips. You’re both children. You know that, right? I can’t believe you’re allowed to carry guns.

Chapter Two

Hayley

Damn, damn, damn, damn!

Hayley Rutledge wasn’t the type who usually did a lot of swearing. As a lover of words, she considered a reliance on the four-letter variety a sign of a lack of creativity, but the occasion called for a repetitive, verbal release of frustration, and she didn’t feel badly about it. Even when her neighbor opened the door to her apartment, thinning white hair still in rollers, face pinched with sleep and annoyance.

Ms. Rutledge, what is all this commotion about? Do you know what time it is?

It’s seven thirteen a.m., Hayley informed Mrs. Grand. And I just stubbed my toe and dropped all of my papers. She gestured to the paperwork that was scattered over their shared hallway in the high-rise Chicago apartment building. Not the best start to my day, wouldn’t you say, Mrs. Grand?

The older woman sniffed haughtily. No reason to ruin the morning for the rest of us.

The door closed in Hayley’s face, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from swearing again. Mrs. Grand was a good neighbor because she was quiet. The last family who had lived in that apartment had had four kids, and there’d been constant noise. But the old woman tended to be cranky and had no problem expressing her displeasure. She was also categorically unhelpful.

No, that’s okay, I’ve got it! Hayley said to the closed door, stooping to try to gather her paperwork back into some kind of organized system, her foot still throbbing. She had to make sure to gather every single piece of paper—none of it could be left behind unless she wanted to risk exposing herself even further than she already had.

Mrs. Grand’s apartment door opened again. Oh, the woman said sharply. By the way. A man was looking for you yesterday. He seemed very upset that you were not home. Are you dating? I hope not. He was quite unattractive.

Hayley’s head jerked up, her eyes fixating on Mrs. Grand’s. Tell me everything about him.

I just did!

Straightening, her paperwork in her hands, Hayley shook her head. No, you don’t understand. I need to know every single thing. He wasn’t a boyfriend, Mrs. Grand. He was someone who wants to get me in a lot of trouble. You didn’t tell him anything, did you?

The old woman seemed shocked. Well, I just told him the truth—that you’re not often home, but you almost always have lunch at home.

Hayley groaned. You didn’t.

Well, I can’t see how I was supposed to know!

In the future, Hayley suggested, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice as she guided the woman back into her apartment, walking in with her. Just don’t tell anyone anything about me.

Are you involved in some kind of drug business? Mrs. Grand sounded horrified, physically recoiling from Hayley’s touch. Don’t hurt me!

It was all that Hayley could do to keep from rolling her eyes. Instead, she stayed gentle and coaxing. Of course not, Mrs. Grand. I’m a journalist, remember? And sometimes I write stories that upset people. They come looking for me, and I don’t want them to find me. That’s all.

Mrs. Grand seemed pacified. Oh. Well, he was tall.

Sitting down at Mrs. Grand’s kitchen table, a place where Hayley had on occasion gotten stuck listening to stories from the 1960s, Hayley pulled out a pad of paper and a pencil, the writing utensil posed eagerly at the top of the page. How tall?

As Mrs. Grand described the man, Hayley having to pull every detail out of her by force, Hayley sketched. She made long strokes with her pencil, then erased, redrew, erased again, and gradually shaped the face of a man that Mrs. Grand said resembled the one from the day before.

Hayley stared down at the face, memorizing the small eyes that were too close together, the broad forehead, the lump of a nose, the beard, and the lips that just barely exposed jagged teeth. He was a big man, Mrs. Grand had said, so Hayley had drawn him with a broad chest, muscled shoulders, and a thick neck.

He looked terrifying, and he had been standing at her door. He knew where she lived.

The thought left her cold inside, and she had to take a deep, slow breath to steady herself. There was no use in scaring Mrs. Grand. At least, no use in scaring her too much.

Okay, I’ve got it, Hayley told her, tapping her pencil against the page. You have a pretty good memory. But now I need you to do something for me.

I think I’ve done enough at seven in the morning, sitting here in my bathrobe!

You’ve been wonderful, Hayley agreed. But if you see this man again, I need you to stay in your apartment, don’t say a word to him, and call me immediately.

Mrs. Grand let out a huff. I don’t think you should be involved in these things if they’re so dangerous, young lady. You don’t even have a man nearby to keep you safe!

It’s my job, Hayley reminded the woman, getting to her feet and picking up her files. And I don’t need a man to keep me safe, Mrs. Grand.

Just as she spoke, her cell phone rang, the peppy little tone jingling from the pocket of her fitted, black dress pants. It was an unknown number, but that wasn’t unusual for her.

Rutledge.

Hayley Rutledge? the male voice said. Hi, this is Ian McDowell, with Marquette Security. You spoke to my boss, Connor, yesterday, and he gave me your case. I hope it’s not too early.

She checked her watch. It was after eight o’clock. Damn!

Uh, sorry?

Hayley winced Sorry. Not you. You’ve just made me realize that I’m incredibly late for an appointment. I do want to talk to you though. What she’d told Mrs. Grand was true—she didn’t need a man to protect her, but she could admit that, with this case, she might need some backup. Actually, you don’t happen to have any female agents, do you?

One, Ian said, sounding amused. But she’s got a heavy caseload at the moment.

No, that’s fine. That’s fine. Hayley held the phone between her chin and her shoulder, waving goodbye to Mrs. Grand as she let herself back out into the hallway and hurried to the elevator. Look, what are you doing this morning?

It was my day off today, so my schedule is pretty clear. When do you want to get together?

My schedule is the opposite of clear, Hayley told him, stepping into the elevator and punching the ground-floor button several times, as though that would make the elevator doors close faster. Any chance you can meet me at Johnson and Johnson Retirement Home?

Sure, Ian said, sounding affable. When?

Now, Hayley said, getting out on the ground floor of the building and hurrying out into the nippy spring air, and then rushing down to the L-train station just a few blocks away. Google the address and ask for Gertrude Rutledge’s room. Someone will help you find me.

Uhh—

She hung up the phone before he could voice whatever hesitations he had. Ideally, she wouldn’t be using her grandmother’s nursing home room as a meeting place for herself and her hired gun, but extreme circumstances called for exceptions. She had a full day ahead, packed with a visit to her grandmother, a staff meeting at the Chicago Tribune, a meeting with a source, a lunch with her potential agent for the book she had in the works, and a press deadline at four in the afternoon. There was no time for Ian McDowell, unless he came to hang out with her and Grammy.

Hayley jumped on the L-train, grabbed a seat, then opened the top file in her stack, again reading over the data that had convinced her that the case she was onto was a lot bigger than just her.

I just didn’t think this kind of thing happened in real life, she said under her breath.

I didn’t either.

The voice startled her, causing her to look up from her papers to see a young, probably college-aged guy sitting across the aisle from her. He had a grin on his face, and he was slumped back in his seat in a way that suggested his age and good looks made him cocky.

Excuse me? Hayley’s brow furrowed, her lips pursing unconsciously.

Oh, I just thought you were referring to the fact that two very attractive people happen to be sitting across from each other on the L-train early one morning, the boy said smoothly. He has brown hair with just a hint of wave, and she has rich, dark brown hair, cut into a sleek bob that frames the delicate features of her face while still giving off an air of power, intelligence, and capability. Their eyes catch—his, brown, with golden flecks, and hers a soft green that adds warmth to a face that would otherwise be so perfectly classic that it could appear cold.

Despite herself, Hayley was intrigued. The boy couldn’t be more than twenty-two, and that was generous. She had to be at least six or seven years older than him. And he was cute, certainly, but still in a boyish way that did nothing to stir her up. But she was a sucker for a beautiful turn of phrase and descriptive flair, and he seemed to possess both.

What book did you get that out of? she asked, sitting back in her seat and pinning her gaze on him—soft green though it might be.

He chuckled. So skeptical. It only adds to your charm.

How old are you?

Does age matter?

She lifted an eyebrow. Have you read the news...ever? Yes, age matters.

I’m legal. He winked at her. And I like successful older women.

Okay, well, let’s be careful with the term ‘older’, shall we? Hayley uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, not sure where this exchange was going. Why was she encouraging him? Had it really been that long since she’d had a date?

Successful, mature women?

Better, she acknowledged. Glancing around, she realized they had made an audience out of the rest of the passengers in the car. She had to smile, even though her stop was approaching. The ding sounded, and a voice came on, announcing her street. Grabbing her bag and her files, she stood up, looking down at the boy, who was still grinning up at her, apparently unconcerned with possible rejection.

Hayley tossed