Ethan: Marquette Security, #1

By Clara Kendrick

This is a standalone romantic suspense novel with over 79,000 words. 

 

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.

 

Together, he and Megan chase the kidnappers across the country, following lead after lead until they run directly into the darkest secret in Ethan's past.

 

The consequences of his past actions could now cost him everything—his daughter and the woman with whom he's falling head over heels in love.

 

Suddenly, there is potential for so much good in Ethan's life, but they'll all have to survive the darkness first.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clara Kendrick
• Release date: May 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9798224167326

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

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