Marquette Security: The Complete Series: Marquette Security

By Clara Kendrick

Enjoy all FIVE books from the series. Contains over 398,000 words of romantic suspense.

 

Strong, independent, and sexy as hell. All five Marquette security agents have a relentless passion for finding the truth—they just didn't expect to find love as well...

 

BOOK ONE: ETHAN

Strong and silent, Ethan spends every spare minute at Marquette Security, working his fingers to the bone so that he can avoid his reality. Ever since his wife walked out on him, taking their baby girl with her, all Ethan has had is work. But when Megan walks into the office, telling him that his ex-wife is dead and his little girl has been kidnapped, Ethan's routine is turned on its head.

 

BOOK TWO: IAN

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 be 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.

 

BOOK THREE: DEAN

Dean Witherspoon doesn't plan to grow up ever. Settling down, committing, and being responsible just isn't something he's interested in, primarily because it only brings heartbreak. That's why the only woman he's committed to is his sister, Willow. At least, that is, until Quinn walks in, still mourning her sister Mila, and believing there was a lot more to Mila's death than the police had discovered. The investigation leads Dean into the dirty background of Chicago's dance scene and lands both of them in a position they may not escape alive.

 

BOOK FOUR: WILLOW

Willow Witherspoon is one tough lady. As the only woman working at Marquette Security and Dean's baby sister, she is both constantly challenged and perpetually protected. The men she works with protect her because they love her—not because she needs it. She's every bit as strong as any one of them. When Willow takes Benjamin Parson's case, she thinks it's going to be a simple fix—after all, it's just a problem of a lovelorn woman who needs help figuring out what's real and what isn't. But when it suddenly turns into much more than that, Willow won't have much time to figure out who wants to kill Benjamin and why.

 

BOOK FIVE: CONNOR

On the night of Connor Marquette's seventeenth birthday, his best friend, Lydia Irvine, was brutally murdered. That's why he left town, joined the military, and then started his own security and private investigation firm. But he never expected Lydia's unsolved case to come back and haunt him the way it has been for the past six months. He knows that it's time to go back to his hometown and solve Lydia's case once and for all, and he's going to need the help of an old high school friend, Whitney, to do it. Just when he thinks he's making progress in the case, it suddenly becomes clear that everything he thought he knew about his past and the people in it couldn't have been more wrong, and if he doesn't act quickly enough, Whitney is going to pay the price.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clara Kendrick
• Release date: May 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9798224990405

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

BOOK ONE

ETHAN

Prologue

It was dark. Dark like only Chicago in winter could be dark, with the blackness interlaced with chill wrapped around the small, older houses that lined the streets of the suburban Chicago metropolitan area.

It had been just five years ago that darkness had provided cover while two inmates in Chicago’s Metropolitan Correctional Center rappelled down from the seventeenth floor of the building, hanging on to sheets they had tied together. When they had reached the street, they hailed a cab and escaped.

His job was far easier than that. All he had to do was break into this quaint little house in front of him and steal away his prize.

The difficult part was the discipline. He needed to be stealthy, so he couldn’t afford to wear the snowsuit, boots, hats, and gloves that were required to keep him warm as he crouched, waiting, in the snowbank across the street. His skin was ice cold, his fingers numb, and even his eyelashes were shivering.

But he waited.

He waited until every light went out. He waited until the stillness inside overtook the house. Houses, he had found, could sleep too, and that was the moment he had to wait for. He had to wait until everything inside the house was so still that even the walls and the floors and the furniture had stilled into a completely restful state.

That would be his moment to enter and claim what he had come for.

His moment arrived just before two o’clock in the morning, almost two hours after he had taken up his post. With grace that belied his size, he slipped across the street, skirted the driveway, and pressed himself against the side of the brick house. If he closed his eyes and listened, he could imagine that he could hear the heartbeat of the house, slow, low, and steady. Waiting for him.

He knew just which window he wanted, and he rounded to the backside of the house, keeping his body pressed close to the wall, hidden in the shadows. Peering into the window, he could only just see through the blinds that were only partially closed. There she was in the bed, just lying there. Innocent. Unsuspecting.

It made his pulse race, and he had to calm himself. This was no time to let the thrill of taking what wasn’t his overcome him. His long career was built on his ability to control his emotions, reveling in his success only when he was safely away from the scene of the crime.

He pulled out a glass cutter and went to work, carefully and silently removing the window screen and then the middle portion of the window. It was slow, tedious work. That was the only way to do it right and to do it quietly. But he didn’t mind taking his time, and even the numbness in his fingers could not undermine their natural ability. When he had the glass piece removed, he dipped it into the snow, using the watery mixture to wipe away all evidence of his fingerprints. Then he left it there, resting against the side of the house.

One hand reached slowly into the room—just an inch. Just enough to take hold of the blind pull and slowly raise them out of the way. The warm air in the room tickled at his numb hands, hinting at what awaited him inside. Holding his breath, he gripped the windowsill and pulled himself through the window, holding his body completely rigid with the strength in his upper arms. The motion was smooth and controlled and almost soundless, even when he hit the floor and rolled upward into a standing position.

His mouth was dry with anticipation as he stood over her bed, looking down into her sweet, gentle face. His hands itched with eagerness, and he couldn’t stop smiling at the thought of pulling the covers back, lifting her body, and...

She turned over, sighing in her sleep. Her thumb popped into her mouth, and she suckled at it as though she was soothing herself. Blonde curls framed her cherubic face, and she sniffled then shivered slightly as the cold air from outside began to spread about the room.

He had to act now before she disturbed the stillness.

Reaching down, he placed one of his large hands over the girl’s entire face, muffling the grunt of surprise she uttered. She thrashed against him at first, her little fists pushing at his arm. He moved his hand just enough to let him see her eyes, now wide open and terrified. That was the best part, no matter how often he did this. It was seeing the eyes.

She didn’t last long, the sweet little girl. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she slumped beneath his hand. Not dead, but unconscious. He wanted to stop and enjoy the sight of her limpness and the knowledge that it had been his power that made her that way, but there was no time for such things.

He picked her up in his arms, dropped the note he had prepared in advance on her bed, and wrapped the blanket that had been lying beside her around her body, covering her face. The only thing besides the glass cutter that he had brought with him was a harness. He put her, wrapped in the blanket, into the harness and hooked it to his back. Anyone who might see him from a distance would think he was wearing a backpack. They would never guess that the backpack was actually a two-year-old girl, suffocated, wrapped in her own blankie, and harnessed to her captor’s back.

Leaving the bedroom was more difficult than entering it, partially because he wanted to stay and touch all her pretty things, but mostly because he now had a child on his back, inhibiting his graceful, practiced movements. There was a slight thud as he exited the window and stumbled into the snow, and for a moment, he panicked. But as he stood there, waiting and listening, the house remained still, the darkness remained unbroken, and his mission remained intact.

He shuffled about in the snow, covering any tracks he might make. It was supposed to snow again during the night, and he counted on that to cover up anything he might have missed—and to cover up the tracks he made as he walked through the backyard and onto the neighbor’s property. He cut across yards, never making a straight path that anyone would be able to follow. Then he pulled out his cell phone and placed the planned call to the man waiting in the red pickup truck several streets over.

I’ve got her. Come pick me up.

Chapter One

Ethan

Psychiatrists thrived during February in Chicago. The city had been dark and cold for months by that point, the slush on the ground a blackened mixture of grime and dangerous ice. Mountains of snow lined the streets, shoved to the side by the plows that marched aimlessly up and down them, spreading layers of salt to melt whatever the machinery couldn’t scrape off the asphalt. The chill in the air was relentless, forcing those who walked about to hunch over, protecting their faces from the wind. Their hands stayed stuffed in the pockets of their coats, and no one took the time to make eye contact as they hurried from one heated building to the next.

It was no wonder that people could become depressed after the beauty of the holidays had dimmed and the winter continued to drag on. By March, the occasional sunny day would begin to thaw their spirits, but February—February was a gray, dismal month.

But Ethan Henry had lived in Chicago long enough to know these things and to find a way to work around them. As he left his apartment, he headed for the underground tunnels of Chicago. These were no ordinary tunnels. They were an underground safe haven. Underground Chicago provided a network of indoor pathways that cut through the city, lined with shops, eateries, and little convenience stores. Advertisements with bright colors lined the walls, music played from little radios tucked up in the ceiling, and people walked about with their heads up, a cup of coffee in their hands.

It was a far more cheerful way to walk to work, certainly beating out the snowy sidewalks or the crowded L train. It had become Ethan’s habit to walk through the underground system each morning on his way to his office at Marquette Security because he needed the little bit of cheer that it brought him. He needed the warmth and the activity and the bustle. He loved Chicago, even with its prolonged bitter chill, but the secret warmth of the underground tunnels made him love it even more.

He stopped at his regular coffee shop as he walked along the underground pathway, ordering his regular—a black Americano and a cinnamon scone. As he nodded to the same young girl who helped him most mornings, he headed back out onto the walkway, warm coffee in hand, and bit into the soft, sweet scone with a dusting of crystalized sugar on the top. It melted in his mouth and warmed him from the inside just as he had to step out of the heated tunnels and into the frigid air to walk the last few feet to his office building.

When he opened the door to the small set of offices marked only by a miniature, engraved sign that read Marquette Security, he was greeted immediately by the sounds of his coworkers and best friends kicking off their mornings with the usual chaos.

Oye, there! Ian McDowell was holding his hands up, backing away from Connor Marquette, the owner of the security team. I told ya I didna want anythin’ ta do with the lass, so I did.

Ian was Irish by descent, though he and both his parents had been born in America. The thick Irish brogue he was using now was just for show—something he did when he was playing around. Ethan stood by the door, watching the two mess about, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth upward.

Connor held up his phone again, swiping through some pictures for Ian. Oh, come on. She’s a sweetheart!

I’m sure an’ she is, Ian agreed, still affecting his accent. But I’m nae lookin’ fer a sweetheart. My boss is a driver, so he is, and he keeps me too busy for lasses.

Dean Witherspoon poked his head out of his office. I’m never too busy for lasses!

Oh, hush, his sister, Willow, said, walking by on her way to the copy machine and playfully shoving his head back. We all know you’re never too busy for lasses, trust me. You don’t have to tell us.

It was Willow who first noticed Ethan, who was still standing there by the door. Her eyebrows shot up. You!

Me...?

Connor turned away from setting Ian up with whoever’s picture he had on his phone and put his hands on his hips when he saw Ethan. It’s your day off. What are you doing here?

Same thing he always does on his day off, Ian said, walking over and clapping Ethan on the shoulder in greeting, then heading for the coffeemaker over by the reception desk. Their hard-working receptionist, Benjamin, glanced up from his furious typing to nod at Ian in acknowledgment. Benjamin was a Type-A personality, which meant that their files and appointments were always in order. However, the young college student rarely joined in on the office antics, which were plenty.

Ethan set his cup of coffee down on the table by the door, then shrugged off his scarf and coat, hanging them both up. I resent the implication that I’m always in here on my day off. Two weeks ago, I didn’t come in once on my day off.

You had a dentist appointment, and your mother was in the hospital! Willow pointed out, picking her copies up as they spat out of the machine in tidy, stapled condition.

It still counts, Ethan insisted, picking his coffee back up and walking over to Willow to ruffle her hair before heading to his office toward the back of the small building. It was a constant joke amongst his colleagues that Ethan was always in the private security office, even on the days he wasn’t supposed to be. He didn’t understand the meaning of relaxation, Dean insisted. And Dean would know, given that he was the king of it.

Their teasing was all in good fun, but everyone knew the reason that Ethan preferred to spend his time in the office, away from home. They just never mentioned it. Not directly. And neither did Ethan.

He sat down at his desk and turned on his laptop, sipping at his coffee as he watched the computer cycle through its boot-up sequence. Typing in his password, he then looked away as his home screen came up. He never looked directly at the picture, even though he couldn’t bear to remove it. Without really seeing the baby girl on his desktop, he pulled up his internet browser, logged into his email, and sent a few quick replies to clients he was either working with currently or whom he had worked with in the past. Then he got to work on what he was really there to do—dig into the cold case files he stored on his computer.

Mysteries were his passion, and he had already solved six cold cases just by working on them in his spare time. He had a reputation for being able to follow any lead, no matter how faint, and today, he was going to start researching the case of two women who had disappeared seven years ago while on a company retreat. There was little evidence in the case file, and he knew it would prove a challenge—one that might take him months. But that was the appeal. Keeping himself busy for months would keep his mind from dwelling on his life outside of work. The life that had largely disappeared when his wife, Emily, had taken Olivia and left him without explanation.

Pushing aside such thoughts, he dove directly into the case file, spending the next several hours poring over the backgrounds of the two women and the few details that had been verified about their disappearance. He liked to immerse himself in the facts, letting them roll around in his mind and bury into the crevices of his thoughts so that whenever the moment was right, he could pull out that one piece of information that would unlock the entire mystery.

Benjamin checked in with him several times, bringing him new cups of coffee, but otherwise, Ethan was left to himself. Connor kept them all busy on cases, and Ethan could hear Ian, Dean, and Willow walking up and down the halls, taking phone calls, and going in and out of the offices. It was all background noise to him as he sat in his brown leather chair, a third cup of coffee in hand, glasses perched on his strong, angled nose.

Then a voice interrupted him. Come have lunch.

Surprised, Ethan glanced up as Dean poked his head in the door, his gaze expectant. Busy, Ethan said, gesturing at his computer. Working a case.

A cold case, Dean said, leaning up against the door jamb. What’s the hurry? Thirty minutes for lunch won’t kill you, big boy.

Ethan rolled his eyes in amusement. Dean was, out of all of them, the one who had grown up the least. He was a boy at heart and had an ever-optimistic way about him. In some ways, Ethan admired Dean for his carefree attitude. He wished he could be more relaxed—again, something that Emily had stolen from him.

It won’t, Ethan agreed, picking his pen up to continue making notes on his pad of scratch paper. But no. Thanks anyway. Shouldn’t you be on a case?

Just wrapped one up this morning, Dean told him, dragging a hand through his blonde waves of hair. Paperwork and whatnot. Come on...I’ll buy. We can go to that sandwich shop you like.

Ethan smiled, then shook his head. Rain check. Sorry. I’m really immersed here.

Fine, fine, Dean said, sighing heavily. Maybe Willow will go.

As Dean disappeared, Ethan made the mistake of minimizing one too many of his browser windows, and he found the picture on his desktop staring back at him. Swallowing hard, he looked into the big blue eyes of the little girl he had known for only a few months before her mother had whisked her out of his life like he had no rights over her. Olivia had been a happy child, inheriting her mother’s smile and sparkling eyes, plus Ethan’s dark hair and light skin. She was a beauty, that was for sure. But more than that—Ethan could have sworn Olivia was brilliant. She seemed to soak in every detail about the world around her, constantly babbling even at four months old.

And then she was gone.

Ethan swallowed back the pain that always curled at the back of his throat whenever he allowed himself to dwell on his wife and daughter, then stood. He would stretch his legs, go to the bathroom, and then refocus for another hour before he got his own lunch. It was a plan. Something solid to keep his mind occupied.

Stepping out into the hall, Ethan almost ran into Connor, stopping short as his boss sidestepped to avoid colliding with him.

Hey, Connor said. I was just coming to see you. There’s a woman here for you.

Ethan arched an eyebrow. A woman who disappeared from a retreat seven years ago?

Huh?

Nothing. Ethan shook his head. It’s the case I’m researching. This woman. What does she want?

She wants to talk to you, Connor said, obviously hedging. She says she knows you.

Okay... Ethan frowned at the look on his friend’s face, tilting his head curiously. And?

Connor sighed. Her name is Megan. She says she knew Emily.

Everything inside Ethan went cold and still, his expression freezing into one of determination, as his hands curled into fists at his sides. No.

Ethan.

No. Ethan’s voice was both forceful and shaky at the same time. Megan was Emily’s best friend. They were thicker than thieves. Megan helped her run away. I know she did. I have nothing to say to her.

She must be here for a reason.

Not one I’m interested in, Ethan retorted, rage blossoming deep within his chest. He could picture the woman in his mind, and her red hair, green eyes, and faint freckles only fueled his anger. Absolutely not, Connor.

Well, she won’t talk to me, Connor told him, crossing his arms over his chest. And she’s obviously in trouble. I’m asking you to do this, Ethan. As your boss, if I have to. But preferably as your friend. I know how hard the past can be to overcome, but I’m asking you to talk to her. Call it a gut instinct.

Everything inside of Ethan still wanted to refuse. The past was still too present in his mind, the pain still too raw. But Connor was more than just his boss. He was the man who had pulled Ethan out of some of the darkest times of his life and who had given him work to focus on—a purpose to get him through when he had nothing else. There was almost nothing that Ethan wouldn’t do for Connor to pay off the debt. But meeting with Megan Donaghey might be the one thing he couldn’t manage.

Chapter Two

Megan

Megan paced back and forth in the lobby of Marquette Security, her heart pounding in her chest. Everything was riding on the next few minutes and whether or not Ethan would agree to see her. It had been more than two years since they had been in the same room together, and even when he and Emily had still been married, Megan and Ethan had never been that close. She had found him too quiet and reserved for her taste, and she and Emily had privately joked that he was a stick in the mud. Not that Emily hadn’t loved Ethan. They’d had a gentle, sweet love born out of years of friendship. The kind of love that Emily had always said could last a lot longer than any flame of passion that sparked between two people.

Just thinking about her best friend caused tears to spring into Megan’s eyes, and she tried to choke them back, knowing that if Ethan did talk to her, she would have very little time to explain herself before he shut her down. He would associate her with Emily leaving. With Olivia leaving. And he would be right, because Megan had helped her friend run away from Ethan two years ago, despite her reservations. Ethan would have every reason to hate her and no reason to trust her, so there was no time to waste on the emotions of the past few weeks.

She could just barely hear the low timber of two male voices down the hallway, and she knew that the man she had met when she walked in—Connor—was trying to persuade Ethan to see her.

Trying to distract herself, she looked around the cozy-looking office, noting the red and white candles sitting on the shelves behind the reception desk, the Chicago Bulls paraphernalia decorating the walls, and the thick, braided rug that warmed the hardwood floor. What caught her attention most was the framed pictures that lined one wall. She recognized Ethan in several of them, as well as the man who had greeted her at the door. In all of the pictures, the group of people appeared to be happy, laughing together. Megan could only assume that they were the five agents who worked at Marquette Security, but they looked more like a family than coworkers.

The receptionist came back from the file room, returning to his desk and casting her a curious glance. Megan ignored him, twisting her fingers together. The seconds seemed like hours, ticking by so slowly that she would hardly be surprised if her red hair had turned gray by the time Ethan decided whether or not to see her.

Ma’am? It was the male receptionist, looking at her with concern now. You’ve been helped?

Yes.

He smiled at her, then gestured toward one of the seats. Would you like to sit? Can I get you some coffee or something?

She tried to respond with a polite no, but the mundane, polite niceties wore on her frayed nerves, and she suddenly felt that she couldn’t wait another moment. Instead of answering, she hurried past the young man in his red-and-white-plaid shirt, dark-wash jeans, and perfectly coiffed hair, then walked down the hall, her eyes darting from door to door, looking for Ethan.

Ma’am! Benjamin called after her, his voice alarmed. Ma’am, you can’t go back there!

Megan!

Megan ignored him, starting to take the turn around a corner that would lead her further into the office spaces. She was moving fast and didn’t have time to dart out of the way when a large body suddenly loomed in front of her. They collided, sending her stumbling backward as hands grabbed at her.

Megan!

Ethan! Gratefully, she clutched his arms, determined to keep him in front of her. Thank God. We have to talk.

Connor told me you were here. Ethan firmly disengaged her hands, setting her back from him several feet. There was nothing warm or gentle in his eyes, even though Megan knew him to be a kind man. I’m only seeing you because he insisted. What do you want? You have thirty seconds.

Connor walked up behind Ethan, gripping his shoulder. Ethan.

It was a reprimand, though a gentle one. Megan watched as Ethan’s left eye twitched slightly, and then she saw him visibly attempt to relax and take a deep breath. He was on edge, and it made her worry about the task they had ahead of them.

Fine, Ethan said tightly, stepping back and gesturing for Megan to walk into his office. Can I get you a cup of coffee?

There’s no time for that, she said, sitting down on the small, green armchair that was beneath the frosty window at the far end of Ethan’s office. I know you have a lot of issues with me, she told Ethan, as he closed the door and stood in front of it, his face impassive. I don’t blame you. But we have to put those aside for now. Ethan, it’s Olivia.

When she said his daughter’s name, everything about Ethan changed. The stiff way he held his shoulders softened, allowing them to slump. His rigid expression wilted, his eyes betraying their sadness. It made Megan’s heart hurt to know how much pain he was in and how much more pain she was about to bring him. But it couldn’t be helped.

What about Olivia? Ethan asked, his tone resigned. Did Emily send you here to tell me she’s not mine?

Surprised, Megan frowned, distracted for a moment from her real purpose. No! Why would you say that?

Ethan shook his head, walking over to his desk and perching on the edge. The way all of that went down...Emily just leaving. Taking Olivia. Essentially blackmailing me into giving up my parental rights. It’s the next logical step if you can call any of that logical.

She was yours, Megan said quietly.

Ethan was quiet for a moment, then his head jerked up, and his eyes narrowed. "Was? What do you mean, she was mine?"

She’s gone, Megan whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks as she said the words out loud. "That’s why I need your help. Emily is dead, and Olivia has been taken. I think I know who has her—no. I know that I know who has her, but I can’t do it on my own. You have to help me find her."

Gone? Ethan was on his feet, all the earlier defeat she had seen in him disappearing in an instant. What the hell do you mean, she’s gone? Emily’s dead? He advanced on her, his eyes glittering with a mixture of fear and anger. You need to give me answers. Now.

Holding up her hands, Megan stood, trying to calm him down. I’ll tell you everything. I promise. I’m on your side. I love that little girl. I’m desperate to find her, so I get—

You get what? Ethan interrupted her. You get what it’s like for your wife—the woman who is supposed to be the one person you can count on when you don’t have anyone else—gives you this incredible gift of the most perfect little girl in the world, then when she’s six months old rips her from you, disappears, and leaves you with nothing? You get what it’s like to spend two years feeling guilty for abandoning your daughter but helpless to do anything else? You get what it’s like to have a someone, who is practically a stranger, show up out of nowhere and tell you that your wife is dead and that your daughter has been stolen?

Megan backpedaled quickly, realizing there was more rage in him than she had prepared herself for. No. Of course not. Ethan, I know you have no reason to trust me. Or like me. Or work with me. But Olivia needs us. When I tell you the whole story—

When you tell me the whole story, it still won’t bring my daughter back to me, Ethan told her, sitting down at his desk and picking up his cell phone.

For a moment, Megan was confused, unsure as to whether he had dismissed her. But when he spoke, she felt relief wash over her, easing the tightness in her chest.

Benjamin. Ethan’s voice was clipped. It’s Ethan. Yes, from my office. Listen, clear my schedule. Work with Connor and reassign my cases, then tell anyone who calls looking for me that I’m not available. Check my emails every day and respond to anything important. Can you do that for me?

There was a pause, and then Ethan thanked the receptionist and put the phone down before turning back to her. How long has she been missing?

About a week, Megan whispered, lacing her fingers together in front of her as she tried to wrap her head around the fact that he was going to help her.

A week.

She nodded, biting her lip.

"A week, and you’re just now coming to me?"

Ethan...

He held up a hand, cutting her off. Don’t. I don’t want to hear any of your excuses, Megan. You and Emily were always full of reasons why I needed to be cut out of things. He paused for a moment. How long has Emily been dead?

Just over three weeks. Fresh tears slid down Megan’s cheeks. She was sick for a long time. Then badly sick for a few months.

Ethan got out a pad of paper, scribbling down notes instead of reacting to his ex-wife’s death, though Megan could see his jaw working—a clear sign that he was internally dealing with the emotion. So, he said, clearing his throat. Olivia disappeared just days after Emily died.

That’s right.

And you know who has her?

Yes. Megan nodded, dragging her fingers through the mess of red waves that framed her face. Yes, I’m sure it’s him. I’m sure it’s Bryan. She showed him the note she had in her pocket—the one left behind on top of Olivia’s empty bed. It was typed, with no distinctive qualities.

Don’t go to the police, or she’ll pay for it.

Ethan took the note, staring at it for a long moment. We don’t need the police. I’ll find him myself.

That’s what I’ve been trying to do. I thought he might negotiate with me.

"There’s not going to be any negotiation."

Chapter Three

Ethan

Ethan unlocked the front door of his apartment, stepping through first without holding the door for Megan. When he heard the door close behind him, he assumed she had followed him inside. He didn’t usually have people over to his place. There was almost nothing to fill the nine hundred square feet that he called home, expect a worn, brown couch, a small TV that sat on the floor in the far corner of the living room, and a simply framed bed in the bedroom. He had a few pictures here and there—his parents, a sister who he rarely saw since she was in the military, and his childhood dog, Jasper.

There was little else though, and none of the items warmed the stark living space. Even the cabinets in his kitchen were largely empty. Those that were filled held old paperwork he needed to save rather than dishes or pantry items. It wasn’t a home. He didn’t want it to be.

Sit down, Ethan told Megan, gesturing toward the couch. I’m going to grab my laptop from the bedroom.

You live here?

When Ethan turned, Megan was frowning, looking around the small apartment with obvious distaste. It got under his skin in an instant. Should I have stayed in the three-bedroom, two-bathroom suburban house that Emily and I bought when we were still a family? That would have been fun to come home to every evening. Maybe I could have had my dinner sitting in the rocking chair in my daughter’s nursery.

Ethan. Megan took a step toward him, her green eyes anguished. The emotion he saw in her threw him off kilter. He wanted to write her off as cold and heartless after what she had helped Emily do, but it was clear that Megan was aching inside, just like he was.

Against his better judgment, he relented marginally, dragging a hand over his face. Sorry.

No, I’m sorry. Megan laced her fingers together, her hands resting under her chin. It was a unique gesture, and he suddenly had a memory of seeing her do it a number of times before. I know how much Emily hurt you. And I know I helped her do it. You hate me. That’s okay. But we have to put that aside and work together to find Olivia.

I know. Turning away from Megan, Ethan walked into his bedroom to grab his laptop from its usual spot on top of his burgundy bedspread. The bed was tossed about. He rarely took the time to make it in the morning. It was the little things that he had let slip since living on his own. A flicker of concern crossed his mind, as he wondered if Megan had noticed the layer of dust on the tops of the picture frames or coating the blades of the fan.

When was the last time he had been home long enough to notice those things himself?

He walked back out to the living room and sat down on the couch, on the opposite side from where Megan perched. Setting his laptop between them, he picked up one of the many pads of paper that sat on the floor by the couch, ready for note scribbling. With the pen he always kept in his pocket, he jotted down the date and case name on top of the first, fresh sheet of the pad, and then he looked up at Megan.

We’re going to treat this like I treat all my cases, he told her. Start at the beginning and tell me everything.

But...

He cut her off, raising a hand. Everything. It doesn’t matter if it’s painful for me to hear.

Okay. Megan bit her lip, then cleared her throat and began to talk. You remember that before you and Emily were together, she was with Bryan. You guys were friends while she was married to him, weren’t you? You know what he looks like?

Ethan nodded, making notes on his paper like this was all new to him. In reality, it brought back images he hadn’t pulled out of his memory bank in years.

Merry Christmas! Come in, come in. Emily opened the door for Ethan, the warm light from inside the house providing a flattering backdrop that lit up her golden hair and bronzed skin. Her eyes danced, her cheeks already flushed from the eggnog she had been drinking since six o’clock. She was dressed in a tight, red dress that highlighted her slender frame that still managed to be curvy in all the right places. Ethan tried to keep his eyes on her laughing face, returning her cheery greeting as he stepped inside the home he shared with fellow security officer, Bryan—Emily’s husband.

It was no doubt that Emily was a beautiful woman, and as the Christmas party wore on, he found her fun and engaging as well. She laughed with all the guests while still managing to run the kitchen, keeping fresh snacks and hot, spiked drinks overflowing. Bryan was a lucky man, he thought.

That was surprising, given that around the workplace, Bryan was one of the least-liked security officers. He was big, brash, and often overbearing, throwing his muscle around like he owned the place. He tended to forget about things like seniority when it came to job selection, and he was not one to shy away from a conflict if it arose. Ethan minded him less than the others, though, more than used to over-the-top masculine types after years in the security industry. Bryan didn’t get under his skin too badly, and the two often ended up on jobs together just because Ethan was the only one willing to work with Bryan long-term.

But that didn’t mean Ethan wasn’t surprised about seeing a woman like Emily with someone like Bryan. They didn’t seem to match.

You’re awfully quiet! Emily appeared at Ethan’s side, a fresh drink in her hand that she pushed toward him. Here you go. Something to get you loosened up. Bryan will be counting on you to back him up on all the exaggerated security team stories he’s going to tell tonight.

Ethan chuckled, thanking her for the drink. He’s quite the character, your husband.

Oh, don’t I know it. She waved a dismissive hand, laughing again. But Ethan noticed a tininess to the laugh that he hadn’t heard from her before. Then she was gone, flitting about the other guests.

Yes, she was beautiful, he thought again. But then he put that from his mind, sipping the spiked apple cider and wandering over to another group of guests for idle small talk. He wasn’t the kind of man who spent too long admiring his friends’ wives, however lovely they might be and however much he suspected that they were not altogether happy.

Ethan. Megan had leaned toward him, tapping his knee. Are you listening to me? Bryan—Emily’s ex. You’ll remember what he looks like, but he’s gained some weight. Lost some muscle. He’s balding on the crown of his head. Don’t you need to know these things?

Ethan cleared his throat, bringing himself out of the past and beginning to make notes. Yes. I’m writing it down. Keep going.

Okay, so Bryan, Megan said again, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. Her wavy, red hair tumbled around her face, spilling over her shoulders, and she pushed it out of her way. Do you know why he and Emily divorced?

He did, of course, but he gestured for her to continue. Tell me like I don’t know.

Right. Bryan and Emily had an ugly divorce. She caught him cheating on her and told him she was divorcing him. He was furious—he wanted her to give them another chance. But she refused. Probably because she had wanted out of the relationship for a long time anyway, they weren’t that happy.

Ethan nodded, writing furiously on his pad of paper in a shorthand he had perfected over the years. Go on. They divorced.

And six months later...she started dating you, Megan said, clearly feeling her way through a sensitive area. But Ethan didn’t have time for her to be delicate. Olivia was in danger. He looked up at her pointedly, his expression telling her to keep going. You guys got married pretty quickly, Megan hurried on. And two years after you got married, she got pregnant and had Olivia.

Then what?

Megan bit her lip, hesitating. There’s part of the story that you don’t know, Ethan. I know how angry you are with Emily for what she did, but there’s a lot of background that I’m going to tell you that may change how you feel.

He couldn’t imagine anything changing the way he felt about his wife. Even her death, shocking as it was, didn’t inspire him to try to forgive her for the past. He tried not to think ill of the dead, but Emily was an exception. She had wrecked him completely.

How I feel is not part of this case, Ethan told Megan firmly, trying to believe it himself. Don’t sugarcoat anything. Tell me exactly what happened. His voice wavered just a bit. Tell me why she left me.

Megan nodded, but she didn’t speak immediately, instead apparently coming to terms with her own emotions. Ethan gave her a moment to gather herself, watching as she buried her face in her hands and focused on breathing deeply. A hint of compassion for the woman threatened to make him sympathetic toward her, but he crushed it quickly, refusing to let her apparent emotional state cause him to forget that she was Emily’s partner in crime.

Megan might be his only link to his daughter, but she was also the enemy. He had no doubt that when they found Olivia—and they would find her—Megan would attempt to get custody of her. She and Emily had shared in everything together, and Ethan was confident that Megan would try to follow through on Emily’s wishes—to keep Olivia away from Ethan. But he was prepared to fight her tooth and nail every single step of the way.

Sorry, Megan said, jolting Ethan out of his determined thoughts. She had lifted her head, her pale face drawn but determined. I just still miss her. But you’re right. We don’t have time for our own emotions. I’ll tell you why she left. I’ve always thought you had a right to know anyway.

Chapter Four

Megan

It was never as simple as you thought, Megan said quietly, looking down at her hands as they lay folded on her lap. Her fingers were twisted together, her forefinger rubbing habitually against the opal ring she always wore on the second finger of her right hand. It was a gift from her late mother, the only family she had had in the world—aside from Emily and Olivia. Now they were both gone, too. But not Olivia—not if she could help it. Emily didn’t just set out to hurt you, Ethan. She really didn’t.

Ethan’s cleared his throat. Could have fooled me.

You and Emily married so quickly, Megan murmured, thinking back to those chaotic months after Emily’s divorce. She had barely had time to figure out what independence was before she was married again.

Nobody held a gun to her head.

Megan looked up at him. I didn’t say you did. She wanted to marry you, but she may have chosen differently if she had known the full...situation. After the divorce, Bryan’s bad habits got worse. He drank more. He slept with more women. He took up drugs for a while. He went off the deep end, essentially. He lost his job...his apartment. Everything. And he blamed Emily.

Ethan was writing furiously again, avoiding her gaze. Okay, so he was unstable. What’s next?

It was only about a year into her marriage to you that Bryan began to contact Emily.

That got his attention fast. Ethan jerked his head up, his eyes narrowing. She never said anything about that.

Megan shook her head. No, she didn’t. She didn’t even tell me at first. She was ashamed.

Frowning, Ethan set his notepad aside and stood up, pacing the barren space, his arms crossed over his broad chest. Megan studied the way his brow furrowed and how his lips pursed ever so slightly as he thought. She had always known he was an attractive man. She had often envied Emily for the number of good-looking men she had seemed to attract. Everything about Emily had looked perfect—from the outside anyway. Perfect blonde hair, perfect gym body, perfect white teeth, and bright smile and blue eyes. There were very few people who had known how imperfect the blonde had felt on the inside.

Why would she be ashamed? Ethan finally asked, stopping his pacing and turning to her. If anyone should be ashamed, it’s Bryan for acting that way. Did she feel guilty for turning him into the slob he was always going to be eventually?

Sighing, Megan dragged her slim fingers through her wild red hair. No. She was ashamed because Bryan was blackmailing her, Ethan. He had pictures of her.

Ethan’s eyes went wide, then flashed with anger. From their marriage?

Yes...and from before their marriage, too. Megan stood up as well, moving toward him. She wanted to reach out and try to calm him down, and if she was being honest, she also wanted the comfort of human contact. But she didn’t dare. Emily had a lot of school debt. For a while, she...

"She was a prostitute?"

Megan gasped, swatting at Ethan’s arm in reprimand. No! How could you think that? She was a dancer! Just a dancer.

Ethan’s body language softened slightly, but not much. A dancer. Like a stripper?

Not in the exact sense of the word, Megan said, feeling defensive for her late best friend. She wanted to tell Ethan where he could stuff his patriarchal judgment of how a woman used her body, but that wouldn’t help them find Olivia, and they were taking too much time as it was. Look, it doesn’t matter what she did. It was in the past. But Bryan knew about it. It was how they met. And he had pictures—lots of pictures. He held them over her head, threatening to expose her if she didn’t keep meeting him.

Ethan lifted a hand to his face, rubbing the line of his jaw. After we got married, she was actually using her degree. Her marketing job.

She would have lost it.

So she met with him. Ethan’s voice was tight. Strained. Did they...?

Sometimes, Megan said quietly. She didn’t sleep with him if she could avoid it, and most times she could if she played along with him until he passed out from drink or drugs.

But sometimes.

Megan nodded. Yes. Sometimes. She felt like it was her only choice. Then she got pregnant.

Ethan’s face went white, and he leaned back against the living room wall. So, you lied. She’s not mine. Olivia is Bryan’s daughter.

No, Megan said, her tone as firm as she could make it. She’s yours, Ethan. But Emily was worried—she was worried the whole pregnancy that Olivia would look just like Bryan. When Olivia was born, all we could tell was that she was beautiful. But she looked too much like Emily to know who her father was, so Emily had her DNA tested. And she’s yours.

In spite of herself, Megan did cross to him now, taking his hands in hers and pressing them hard. She’s yours, Ethan. I swear it.

Then why? His voice was thick and raspy. Why did she leave? Why did she take my daughter from me?

Because Bryan got worse after Olivia was born, Megan said, thinking back to all the times that Emily would show up at Megan’s apartment, confused, desperate, and sobbing. She could still remember sitting on the living room floor with her best friend in her arms, rocking her back and forth and promising that things were going to be okay somehow. She had promised Emily she would do whatever it took to keep her safe, but she knew she had failed her. Every day, she wished she had taken some sort of action against Bryan when she had had the chance. Why had she not insisted that Emily come clean to Ethan? Why had she not taken her to the police? He got so much worse, she repeated, stepping back from Ethan and turning away from him. He started threatening her, especially after she convinced him that Olivia wasn’t his.

Ethan walked back over to his notepad, seeming to need the security of having it in his hand. He wrote, not looking up at her. He threatened her life?

At first, yes, but she didn’t take him seriously.

What did she take seriously?

He threatened Olivia’s life.

Ethan’s eye twitched, almost like he had been expecting that answer, and she had just confirmed his worst fears. He threatened her life, and now he has her. He didn’t wait for her to answer before he pushed on. None of this explains why she left, though, Megan. If she was hiding all this from me in order to protect our relationship, then why did she leave? Why did she...?

His voice drifted off, but Megan knew what he was thinking. Emily had resorted to drastic measures to keep Ethan away. She had stooped to Bryan’s level in order to protect her daughter.

She made a deal with Bryan, Megan told him. The third time he threatened Olivia’s life, she snapped. She screamed at him. Demanded to know why he wanted to ruin her life and how he could take out his anger toward her on a little girl. Bryan told her that what made him the angriest was seeing her with you. So, she...

She gave me up. Ethan sat down on the couch, his face in his hands. She gave me up to protect Olivia.

Megan sat beside him, her hand resting on his back. She did love you, Ethan.

Not enough to trust me. I would have protected her. I’m a security officer, for God’s sake. Did she think I couldn’t take Bryan out?

By the time Olivia was a few months old, Emily was at her wit’s end. She thought you would never forgive her if you knew what she had been doing. Megan rubbed his back lightly, wishing she could offer more comfort but knowing at the same time that there were no words that could ease the pain he must be feeling. She felt like she had already lost you, and all she could do was protect Olivia and her own reputation as much as possible. She made a deal with Bryan that if she cut you out of their lives forever, he would let her watch him destroy the pictures he had of her and leave Olivia alone.

Ethan scoffed. And she took him at his word?

What choice did she have?

She had the choice of trusting me! Ethan’s voice was hard and loud, and he jerked to his feet, his fist flying as he punched a hole in the wall. She was never my wife. Not if she could hide all of this from me. She’s dead to me.

Megan reeled backward at the anger in his tone, and her impulse to defend her friend took over. Don’t you talk about her that way. She’s not just dead to you—she’s dead. She wasn’t perfect, and I didn’t always agree with how she handled things, but she was a good person, and you loved her once, so show some respect!

Ethan didn’t turn to look at her, instead pointing to the door. Get out. You didn’t come to me with any of this either. If you really cared about her, you would have.

Regret cut through Megan like a knife, burying itself in her gut. Ethan...

Get out, Megan. When he did turn to look at her, it was with anger flaming in his eyes. I can find my daughter on my own. You have no claim over her.

Chapter Five

Ethan

Ethan stormed back into the offices of Marquette Security, stalking past Benjamin despite the receptionist’s attempts to greet him and ask if he was all right. He had made it halfway down the hall when he sighed and turned around, walking back to Benjamin’s desk.

Sorry, Ethan managed, dragging a hand over his hair. No. I’m not all right. Where is Connor?

He’s out on a case, Benjamin said, standing up, immediately at attention. What can I do?

Ethan allowed a brief moment of appreciation for the receptionist’s dedication to break through his all-consuming panic over his daughter’s safety. You can make me a pot of coffee. Then you can clear your schedule and help me track someone down.

As Benjamin immediately jumped into action, Ethan continued his trek toward his office, making it all the way to the door this time before getting stopped again.

Dude, what’s going on? Dean asked, stepping out of his office. I heard one of Emily’s friends came looking for you. What gives?

Not just one of her friends. Her best friend, Ethan said, unlocking his office door and walking inside to his desk. Olivia is in trouble, he continued, turning on his dual-screen desktop and sitting down, his fingers tapping impatiently against the desk. It’s a long story. Don’t have time to go into all the details right now.

Benjamin pressed past Dean, who stood in the doorway, and pulled a chair up to Ethan’s desk, sitting down with his tablet in hand, ready to work. Coffee will be ready in eight minutes.

Good. Ethan pulled up Merlin, the professional-level investigative database that Connor paid a yearly fee for. It compiled public records, credit information, telephone data, social networks, and business records, and it was where he always started when he needed to get the low-down on a target. He typed in his username and password, glancing up at Dean. You on a case right now?

Yeah, I’ve got a meeting with a client in ten minutes. Dean’s usually cheerful face was creased with worry. Olivia, Ethan? What is it?

Ethan shook his head. Go to your meeting. I’ll brief everyone when I have some actual information. When Dean still hesitated, Ethan waved him on. Honestly. Go. I’ll call if needed.

As Dean reluctantly headed out and Benjamin sat nearby, awaiting orders, Ethan put Bryan’s full name—Bryan Neil Grayson—into the database and sat, staring at his computer as it the loading icon circled round and round.

Ethan...? Benjamin’s voice was clear and crisp, with just a hint of hesitation. If I’m going to help you, perhaps an update on the situation?

Ethan glanced over at him. Right. We’re looking for Bryan Neil Grayson. He has my daughter. At least, I think he does. He’s my ex-wife’s ex-husband, and he was obsessed with her. Apparently. I’m just learning this from Emily’s best friend, Megan.

If he has Olivia...shouldn’t we contact the police? The manpower—

No, Ethan said sharply. We’re not involving the police.

But—

Not unless it becomes desperate, Ethan insisted. I have my reasons, not the least of which is Olivia’s safety. He threatened her life if we went to the police. For right now, let’s assume that I can track Bryan down and sort this out myself. He could only hope that it would be that simple. Olivia was just a shadow of a memory in his mind and one he often tried to block out. But his love for her was as strong as any father’s love for his daughter. It was instinctive and could overcome anything. He would risk everything to save her life if that’s what it took. But aside from the threat to Olivia’s life, going to the police might actually mean the end of his life as he knew it, and he wasn’t ready to take that step yet without trying to find her first on his own.

The screen suddenly loaded, information about Bryan filling the waiting window. Ethan scanned through the data, recognizing the name of the security guard agency they had both worked for years ago. This was the right person.

He had eight different addresses on file and four telephone numbers. His social media accounts, commonly used email addresses, credit score, and job history were all right there on display for Ethan, who began printing page after page of data.

His credit score is a 352! Benjamin was leaning forward, elbows on his knees as he tried to see the screen better. How is that even possible? Does he default on loans for his hobby?

Ethan gave an obligatory half laugh. No, he’s just consistently a moron. That’s what I’m counting on, too. He’s not smart enough to get away with something like this—not for long. We’re going to find him holed up in a Holiday Inn room that he paid for with his own credit card ten miles outside of the city limits. Everything inside of Ethan needed to believe that was true, even if his gut was telling him a different story.

So, what do we have? Benjamin said, getting his tablet ready for notetaking. Current address?

Ethan rattled off the last known address, followed by his phone number, email address, and Twitter name. No current employment. Shocking. The guy doesn’t have a job.

Which means no one is missing him.

Well, here’s a list of known family members, Ethan said, clicking on a different screen. Holy flip—he has eight siblings. He printed off the screen with the siblings’ addresses. That would come in handy if Bryan was holed up somewhere with one of them, passing Olivia off as his own. Parents are dead. Mother just died three months ago. Poor little Bryan.

There was no actual sympathy in Ethan’s voice, and Benjamin didn’t pause in his notetaking to acknowledge the sarcastic jab. The two men were similar in their laser-focused work ethic, and it wasn’t long before they had a file organized with all of the pertinent information on Bryan. Benjamin had a backup on his iPad, too, and each file was also saved to Ethan’s computer. Bryan’s entire public history was at their fingertips.

Pull up his Twitter, Ethan told Benjamin, bringing his phone out. I’m going to block my number and call his cell. He might be stupid enough to answer.

Got it, Benjamin agreed, pulling up his own Twitter feed and typing in Bryan’s handle as Ethan punched numbers into his cell phone.

The phone rang seven times before an automated voicemail message played in Ethan’s ear. He listened to the robotic female voice inform him that the person whose number he was trying to reach was unavailable and that he should leave a message at the tone.

I know where you are, Ethan said into the phone, deliberately making his voice low and menacing. And I’m coming for you, Bryan. I’m coming for my daughter.

He hung up the phone, tossing it aside. He hadn’t really expected Bryan to answer, but it was a disappointment nonetheless.

What about Twitter? Ethan asked Benjamin, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers beneath his chin. Anything?

Nothing useful, Benjamin muttered, shaking his head. He follows a bunch of women who like to post pictures of themselves in their bathroom mirrors, and he’s part of some questionable political groups. But he doesn’t post much himself. Facebook is the same way. Looks like he’s not active on it.

Ethan got to his feet. Well, there goes our easy options. Time to do fieldwork, and the good news is—it just started snowing.

Wouldn’t be Chicago if it didn’t snow mid-February, Benjamin agreed, shutting off his tablet and standing up as well. I’ll go get the coats. I assume we’re going to the addresses we have?

That’s right. Ethan heard the front door of the offices open and hurried out, coming across Connor in the hallway. Good, he said, stopping in front of his friend. You’re back.

How’s it coming? Connor asked. I stopped back by between consults to check-in. Any luck?

Ethan had briefed his friend before leaving the office with Megan earlier and had then texted Connor that he had dumped Megan from the case and was returning to the office to do some locating. The two kept in regular contact, and Ethan knew that anything he asked of Connor, he would get. We’ve got field work to do. As many as seven addresses that I think are viable options for Bryan to be hiding out. I could use manpower.

You’ve got it, Connor said immediately. I just checked in with Willow, and she’s free in half an hour. I can reschedule my meetings for the day and help out. Where’s Benjamin?

Here, Benjamin said, stepping out of Ethan’s office and closing the door behind him. I can do whatever is needed.

Good. Ethan skipped over expressing his gratitude, knowing that the two men knew him well enough to know how appreciative he was. Benjamin, if Connor can come with me, then it’s better for you to stay here and coordinate. When Willow comes back, update her and give her the second half of the addresses. See if you can find Ian to go with her. I don’t want her going alone.

Connor arched an eyebrow. Willow wouldn’t be happy to hear that.

Not because she can’t do it, Ethan clarified. I don’t want anyone going alone. I have no idea what kind of danger Bryan poses, but I know he threatened Emily and Olivia’s lives. Better in pairs.

Always better in pairs, Connor agreed, heading