The Jaguar Bodyguard Page 3

  As part of her security team, he had access to her daily schedule. So far, he hadn’t seen any suspicious activity as far as meetings with the press went. There were no clandestine assignations with reporters from the tabloids. All of her press appointments had neat little agendas attached about what they planned to cover in each interview or appearance—all having to do with the recent movie as far as Nick had seen.

  What he really needed to check out was her cell phone, but she kept the darn thing with her at all times. At night, it charged on her bedside table. He’d noted the cord placed oh-so-conveniently there on the nightstand when he’d done a security sweep of every room early on. There hadn’t been any time where she wasn’t with the phone long enough for him to get in and either crack its encryption or make a clone of the files on it for him to sift through later.

  He had all the equipment and skills needed to do it, he just lacked the opportunity.

  Disappointingly, there had been no more late-night tea tastings. She had been keeping a tight schedule of interviews and publicity appearances, the PR folks making the most of the unexpected hit they had on their hands. As a result, she was tired when she finally returned home each night, and by the time Nick came on duty, she was already fast asleep, and stayed that way all night.

  Nick worked the midnight-to-seven shift in the house, so he didn’t often cross paths with her. During the day, he shadowed her schedule—sometimes officially, filling in gaps in the security team as she went to and fro her various appointments, and sometimes unofficially, being a face in the crowd, using all his stealth skills to keep an eye on her from a short distance. Mostly, he listened, ready to spring into action the moment she said anything the least damaging about his people or any evidence she might have pertaining to shapeshifters.

  He’d been doing that for a week, now, and frankly, he didn’t think she was going to spill the beans, if she actually had them. He thought, if she did have video, she would have shown it to someone by now, but that didn’t mean his assignment here was over. He was the head of security for the entire jaguar Clan. He decided when this mission was complete, and so far, he wasn’t satisfied. Not by a long shot.

  Whether that decision was made by his head or by something a little lower down, he wasn’t entirely sure, but the inner jungle cat was demanding he stay and watch over the woman. His instincts were to keep her safe, and he’d learned long ago not to argue with them.

  Especially since he’d intercepted another decapitated squirrel at the front gate to the mansion when he’d gone on duty last night. The nut job who had threatened her before was at it again, and he’d found her new home. Not good.

  All of Nick’s protective instincts rose to an angry bristle. Her manager had decided not to tell Sal about the new threat just yet after Nick had called his chain of command at the security company and reported the near-breach. Personally, he thought that was the wrong call, but technically, he wasn’t in charge of this operation.

  His buddies who owned the security company probably realized Nick had a hidden agenda, but they trusted him enough to let it play out. He was on the team as a special favor, and they knew he wouldn’t do anything that might damage their business or reputation. There was a long history between them all, and none of them would betray the other in any way.

  Of course, the guys who owned Halibut Security were all former Navy SEALs. The somewhat fishy name of their company was a bit of a joke between them. It was also a combo of their last names. Haffern, Linelli and Buttons were the three principle owners, and all were human.

  Nick wasn’t sure if they realized that many of their friends and work associates from the Teams were shifters. Oh, they might understand that some guys had special skills, but they probably didn’t understand exactly where they came from. It was a well-hidden fact that a bunch of selkies had created the Navy SEAL program in the Viet Nam era, and many other kinds of shifters had gone out for the Teams ever since.

  There were quite a few humans who made the cut as well, and if their teammates had a little extra instinct, or strength, or whatever, nobody commented openly. There was a code they all followed, and they were brothers in arms, regardless of their exact species.

  It helped that the admiral in charge of all Special Operators was himself, a creature of myth and magic. He knew how to best utilize the special talents of each group he put together, and he had created a few very selective shifter-only squads that he used in cases where humans would never discover exactly how they accomplished their near-impossible tasks.

  In this operation, Nick was the only shifter on the team. He reported directly to Linelli, a guy he’d worked with a few times during his stint in the Special Forces. They’d always had a good working relationship, and that seemed to carry through to civilian life, as well. Nick had called in the discovery of the dead rodent just after midnight, and Linelli had dispatched extra guys to work the perimeter overnight.

  There hadn’t been any additional problems, and the decision on what to do about the threat had been put off until the morning. Nick had asked for and been given a double shift, following Sal at a discreet distance as she went about her public relations appearances during the day. He’d caught a few hours of sleep while she attended a gala fundraising dinner and was ready for duty again that night.

  By that time, her handlers had decided not to tell her about the renewed threat. Nick thought that was a bad call. It was her life on the line. She deserved to know. But he had to keep reminding himself—he wasn’t in charge here.

  Still, his instincts clamored for him to get additional personnel on the ground. Which was why he placed another call to Linelli just after midnight.

  “I know you guys specialize in security,” Nick said, trying to be diplomatic, which wasn’t really his strong suit. “But what about investigations?”

  “We generally leave that to the police,” Linelli admitted. “We’re strictly bodyguards and security systems.”

  “What if I could get you an investigator I’ve worked with before? A guy with our kind of experience and a boatload of discretion?” Nick really wanted to get to the bottom of the threat to Sal’s safety. Just guarding her against danger wasn’t enough. He wanted the danger eradicated completely. Killed. Dead.

  “I don’t know. It’s not something we really do… But, if you feel that strongly about it…”

  “I do,” Nick told him when Linelli trailed off. “Something really bad is going down here, friend. You know my instincts are never wrong. Think what it would do to your company’s reputation if you lost her to violence.”

  “Shit.” Linelli sighed heavily over the phone line. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

  “I fear it,” Nick admitted quietly. Guys like them didn’t often admit to fear.

  There was silence for a moment on the other end of the line, then Linelli spoke again. “Who do you have in mind?”

  “Ever hear of a guy named Collin Hastings?”

  “Hear of him? Hell, man. He’s like the most exclusive private investigator in the country. Everybody wants to hire him, but nobody can get past his screening process. He only takes on very special cases, from what I hear.”

  “I can get him. Guaranteed.” Nick might be stretching the truth a little bit, but he didn’t doubt that, if Hastings wouldn’t come running at his call, he could ask his Alpha to make a special request that could not be refused. At least, not lightly.

  “Shit, Nick. You’ve got more surprises in you than a Mini full of clowns.” Nick could hear the respectful exasperation in Linelli’s voice. “Okay. Call him. If you can get that guy, I know discretion is a given. We don’t want this getting around, but you’re right, it would be a complete disaster if we lost a client to a fruitcake that gets his jollies killing squirrels and scaring ladies.” Linelli paused, then continued, “I’ll talk to Buttons and Haffern. You talk only to your contact. Nobody else. I don’t want the rest of the security team knowing that we’re going outside our bailiwick
on this one. The investigation is your baby. You interface with Hastings and report back directly to me. We need to keep this quiet, but I also want to know what’s going on, so regular reports would be appreciated.”

  Nick knew that meant they were mandatory, but he had expected that. It was Linelli’s company’s reputation on line, after all.

  “Roger that,” Nick replied. “I’ll call him and let you know once he’s accepted the case.”

  Linelli chuckled. “You’re that sure of yourself. Man, you’ve got brass ones, Nick. Glad you’re on our side.”

  They hung up after exchanging a few more words, and Nick got right to work, contacting the premier shifter detective in the United States. He had a big favor to ask.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Hastings agreed to come up to Hollywood from his current base of operations in Las Vegas the next day, but as it turned out, that wasn’t soon enough. In the middle of the night, the silent alarms started going off, one after another. The perimeter was being breached in a big way.

  Nick tried to mobilize the perimeter guards, but nobody was responding to his radio calls. Shit was happening, and he had only one thought—protect Sal at all costs. He couldn’t do that effectively from the marble foyer. No, he had to have eyes on her.

  Nick took the steps up to the second floor four at a time, making light work of climbing the sweeping staircase that led to the bedrooms. He followed the scent of fear to Sal’s bedroom, his heart climbing into his throat at the silent indicator that she knew something was very wrong.

  He smelled something else, as well…a predatory scent. Pungent. Sickly sweet. Madness. Obsession. Shifter.

  Oh, shit. Sal’s stalker was a crazy-assed shifter. It wasn’t common, but sometimes, shifters did lose touch with reality and go bat-shit crazy. He hadn’t encountered that scent often, but he recognized it now. The bastard was up here. Close to Sal. Or had been. The scent was growing fainter…

  Nick burst into Sal’s bedroom to find her holding a handgun with an expert grip. The sliding glass door that led to a small balcony was wide open, filmy curtains blowing in the night breeze. The shifter was gone.

  The scent trail went out that way and down. He’d jumped, Nick saw right away, going to the balcony, discounting the fact that Sal still held her handgun. She wouldn’t shoot him. And if she did—unless she’d loaded her pea shooter with silver bullets—he’d heal. The risk was negligible.

  Nick wanted desperately to follow the mad shifter’s trail, but he had conflicting desires. On the one hand, he wanted to hunt. On the other, he wanted to protect. He couldn’t exactly jump off the balcony in Sal’s sight. That would raise more questions than he was prepared to answer. And he couldn’t leave her alone. Not when the perimeter team still wasn’t answering their radios.

  He very much feared they’d been taken out by the shifter. It wouldn’t have been too difficult. A crazed shifter, uncaring about secrecy, could easily have used his superior strength and senses to take down a group of human security guards in quick succession, leaving his path to his target clear.

  Nick wanted to growl, thinking of Sal as a target. That just wasn’t right. She was a caring, beautiful woman. Not a target.

  He closed and locked the balcony door, for all the good it would do. Then, he turned back to her, glad to note she had lowered her handgun but kept it ready at her side.

  “Let’s get you out of here,” he said in as calm a tone as he could manage. He picked up the slinky robe lying across the chest at the foot of her bed and handed it to her.

  She put it on, never relinquishing her handgun. Good girl. He liked her instincts. She wasn’t going to be one of those silly girls in the horror movies who hide in the basement or give the bad guy their only weapon. No, Sal was a fighter. Nick’s inner cat liked that. A lot.

  “How did he get past the guards outside?” she asked as she joined him near the door to her bedroom. She wasn’t balking at coming with him, and her question was a good one.

  “That’s what I need to find out, but first, I need to keep you safe. This room is too exposed, and I need to get to the com equipment, though help should already be on its way with how many alarms were going off as I ran up the stairs.” He started out the door with her close behind, his senses stretched to their maximum range, just in case the bad guy had only been bluffing about running away. “Stick close to me,” Nick told her. “Unless we run into trouble, then hug a wall and give me room to fight, but stay in sight so I know you’re okay. Clear?”

  “Clear,” she replied, as if she was one of his men, acknowledging orders.

  He heard her gulp and knew she wasn’t as calm about all this as she was pretending to be, but he’d take it. She was holding up well so far, which made his job a whole lot easier. He knew from past experience that it was really difficult to protect someone who didn’t know how to listen and follow orders. And she was armed. He hadn’t realized she had a handgun, which was something she should have told Halibut about when she hired them, but he wasn’t too upset about it.

  “You know how to handle that thing?” he asked, nodding toward the weapon still held in her right hand, pointed toward the ground.

  She nodded. “I haven’t always been as you see me now. I learned how to defend myself when I was very young, and I keep in practice. I hit what I aim at.”

  Better and better. Nick’s inner jaguar wanted to purr. His mate was hell on wheels when faced with danger.

  Wait a minute. Mate?

  Nick paused and would have swayed if he wasn’t holding onto the banister at the top of the stairs. Crap. He’d gone and done it. He’d found his mate. The cat had known but had, for some unknown reason, waited to spring it on his human half until just this minute. Great. Just great.

  Nick went down the stairs—one at a time on this trip—with Sal following close behind. He let his senses guide him. No threats down here that he could discern. He led her to the security desk in the front foyer and parked her in the spare chair while he plugged into the system and made the necessary calls.

  “What’s going on over there?” Linelli asked when Nick got him on the line. “Judging by my remote alarms, all hell is breaking loose.” Some of the sensors were mirrored to a second panel that Linelli, or any of the principles of Halibut Security, could access at any time to check on both their clients and their employees.

  Nick gave a concise sitrep, filling his old friend in on the situation. “I’ve got the client with me,” he told Linelli first. “I haven’t been able to check on the guys stationed outside.”

  “No worries. Keeping the client safe is your first priority.” As Nick had known, but it was good to hear Linelli taking Sal’s safety as seriously as Nick did. “Backup should be to you within the next three to four minutes. I’ll check on their ETA. I’ll coordinate from here for the moment, but will come down if the client wants someone to yell at.”

  Nick almost laughed at the resignation in Linelli’s tone. Apparently, working with the Hollywood elite created situations where he had to be the designated stooge. Better him than me, Nick thought. He would not have enjoyed having to listen to some civilian harangue him about how to do his job.

  “The lady is cool under fire,” Nick was glad to report. “And armed.”

  “No shit?” Linelli sounded impressed. “Does she know what she’s doing?”

  “Looks like it,” Nick reported.

  “I knew I liked her when she signed up.” For Linelli, that was high praise, indeed. “You should see the first squad arrive. They’re coming in openly. Black SUV. They’ll blink their lights for you. The second, third, and fourth units will come in on foot, on the flanks and from behind. They’ll check on the original team and report back directly to me. I’ll let you know what we find out.”

  “I expect you’ll find everyone incapacitated. Probably knocked out by blows to the head. At best, you’re going to have some concussions to deal with,” Nick said, knowing his tone was grim. He might have to get creativ
e in how he reported this to Linelli.

  Though the human ex-SEAL might suspect there was something a little larger-than-life to some of his former co-workers, the secret wasn’t out. There was a don’t-ask, don’t-tell policy pertaining to shifters in the armed forces. Nick wouldn’t be the one to reveal the secret—even to someone as cool as Linelli. This entire mission was all about preserving the shifter secret.

  “A team, then? More than one perpetrator?” Linelli was on alert again.

  “No. Only one,” Nick said. “We’re secure for now. Perp’s gone.”

  “What kind of man could get all of them?” Linelli asked the million-dollar question, of course. He was no slouch.

  “I’ve run into something like this before,” Nick told his old friend, skirting the question. “Most of it is still compartmentalized, but I can say, it’s possible. I recognize the mode of attack.”

  Linelli gave a long-suffering sigh. “And here I thought I left all that secret super power shit behind when I left the Teams.” Linelli muttered a few curses before continuing. “All right. If you’re right, most of the team is going to be out for a few weeks nursing concussions. Since it sounds like you have the top-secret decoder ring—which nobody ever saw fit to give me—I’ll let you run with this. I assume you have men in mind to reconstitute the night shift?”

  Nick wasn’t imagining the edge in Linelli’s voice. The human knew darn well that there were certain secrets kept even from fellow Special Operators, and he sounded more than a little bitter about his lack of knowledge. Nick understood. He couldn’t help illuminate things in this case, but he definitely understood. It was frustrating to run a mission with bad or missing intel.

  “Hastings arrives later today. Some of his folks would be perfect for this job.”

  Another one of those annoyed sighs. “Okay. Pick your team. Send them to me, and I’ll sign off on them once they clear background checks. There are liability issues since Miss Lane’s contract is with Halibut, but if we put Hastings’ people on as sub-contractors or something, we should be able to do this. I’ll sort it out. For now, just keep her safe. Make contact with the backup teams and report back in thirty. Linelli out.”