Above Protection (Imperfect Heroes Book 1) Read online

  I nodded. “Yep. Vic’s inside?”

  He swung his chin toward the building. “First floor.”

  I watched as the agent in the passenger looked down and began texting on his cell phone.

  “Thanks. Y’all can go,” I muttered to them both, making my way toward the building’s front door. It was locked. I found a security box with a keypad and entered the code given to me in my packet.

  It didn’t take me long to find suite 171 down a long hallway. I knocked on the door, something that could only be described as nerves churning in my stomach.

  What the hell?

  Chapter 6

  Rayanne

  I flipped the TV off. There was no way I could watch even one more minute of it. Flicking my gaze toward the clock on the stove in the kitchen, I could see it was nearing 5:30 p.m. Where the heck was this knight in shining armor?

  Pacing along the throw rug in my living room, I walked back and forth, chewing my thumbnail. What was going to happen when this special agent got here? Were we going to have to leave right away? Was he going to have to stay the night and watch me sleep? How did this work? My fingers twitched for my cell phone to try to Google it, but realized I couldn’t. No data. No Wi-Fi. No nothing. Cut off, sequestered, utterly alone.

  I told myself I only had to endure this for another 11 days. That once I testified, it would all be over with. But did I truly believe that?

  Yes, yes I did believe it. I had to, it was the only sliver of hope I had to cling to. I had to believe that after I testified, and the Watson brothers were put in prison, that I would be okay. I could go back to my regular life.

  But what about Shane – the Watsons’ nephew? I’d found out he’d been recently indicted, too, but he was still on the run. Maybe he was the one sending me the creepy phone calls. Those calls scared me more than anything. I hated them. Most days I felt like just handing my phone completely over to the FBI and getting a new number. I couldn’t live with the fear for much longer. But I couldn’t. They needed for me to continue to get the get phone calls in hopes they could find this guy.

  I about jumped out of my skin when three loud knocks rattled my front door. Slowly making my way toward it, I wondered what I should do. Look through the peephole? What if someone was behind it, pointing a gun at my face? Should I ignore it, hope they go away? I doubted they would. I was scared for my life, but I knew the special agent was going to be showing up soon and it was probably him or her.

  I stood to the side of the doorjamb and peered through the peephole. At the same moment, my phone chirped with a text. I ran over to the dining room table where I’d left it and checked it.

  Jack-N-Jill: Knight is there. Let him in. Name’s Hawthorne. Brown hair. Beard, blue eyes, tall. Don’t be afraid to ask him for I.D. ;)

  I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Pound-pound-pound. My door rattled again.

  Seeing a tall, bearded guy scowling at me though the peephole, I slowly disengaged the locks and slid the door open, shielding the entryway with my body. The door was only cracked enough to allow my body to fit.

  Swallowing down fear and some other feeling that made my stomach churn that I didn’t have the energy analyze, I said, “Can I help you?”

  The guy was still scowling. He pushed his way past me, practically causing me to fall backwards. I threw my arms out to gain my balance, and then closed the front door.

  “What the hell is your problem?!” I barked at him, all the frustration from the past few days bubbling over.

  I watched as his eyes scanned my condo, his right arm tense and hovering over his hip. It was mid-September and I briefly wondered why he was wearing a jacket. I watched as he went into the kitchen, then quickly ducked into both bedrooms, then the bathroom.

  He finally emerged back into the living room, and when he turned burning blue eyes to me, he gritted out in a deep gravelly voice, “You just open the door to anyone who knocks, Blondie?”

  I stomped my foot and crossed my arms over my chest. I watched with amusement as his eyes scanned my chest during the gesture, but I kept my frown firmly in place. “First off, don’t call me blondie. Secondly, who the hell do you think you are, barging into my house like that?”

  His posture didn’t change. “Didn’t the feds warn you I was coming?”

  “Hi, I’m Rayanne. I’m good, thanks for asking! And you?”

  The crease lines between his brows got deeper and I got a bottomless satisfaction over how pissed off he looked. I could already tell that this guy was a complete jerk, and there was no way I was gonna let him treat me like this.

  “I’m not here for pleasantries, Blondie. And you didn’t answer the question. Did they tell you I was coming, or not?”

  With my arms folded securely over my chest, I said slowly, “My name is Rayanne Lynch. Nice to meet you.”

  “Special Agent Duke Hawthorne,” he growled. “Now, can we please act like adults and answer questions?”

  I smiled smugly. “Sure. Yes, they did tell me you were coming, about two minutes ago, Duke Hawthorne.”

  A look passed over his features I couldn’t decipher, but I just kept talking. “My turn. First question. Duke, are you always so rude and lacking manners?”

  His dark eyebrows hit his hairline, and he relaxed his posture, placing both hands on the hips of his Docker-type pants. “Manners! I’m not here for pleasantries. I have a job to do…”

  “And you seem to be oh-so good at that job,” I said dryly, cutting him off.

  Before I could blink twice, Duke had closed the distance between us and was in my face, his thick hand closing around my thin upper arm. “First of all, Rayanne Lynch, I know a fuck of a lot more about you than you think.” I opened my mouth to rebut him, but he continued. “Secondly, your opinion means nothing. I’m paid to get you the hell out of St. Petersburg, and to make sure nobody puts a bullet in your head.”

  I recoiled at his bluntness, a vision of my body lying dead on a sidewalk somewhere with blood leaking into a pool onto the cement began to take shape in my brain. My eyes filled with tears, despite me fighting them. That made me angry. How dare he scare me like that!

  “Third, you will do everything I say. You hear me? Everything. If you won’t or can’t agree to that, then you can be on your merry motherfuckin’ way, and fend for yourself. You got that?”

  My eyes went wide. I couldn’t help it. His closeness was making me uncomfortable but not in the way it should have. I swallowed hard. My gaze flicked down to where his hand still gripped my arm, then back up into his infuriatingly sexy blue eyes. “Uh, yeah. But, Duke?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “What?”

  “Could you not be such a freaking jerk? I mean, you could have some tact and be nicer –”

  “No,” he growled, letting go of my arm. “No, I can’t. And I won’t. Now go pack a suitcase, and don’t keep me waiting.”

  Huffing but saying nothing, I snatched my phone from the table on my way to my bedroom. I saw I had another text.

  Jack-N-Jill: Don’t worry, Knight’s bark is worse than his bite. Good luck.

  I smiled in relief. I was beginning to like whoever was sending these FBI texts.

  I sure liked them a hell of a lot more than I liked Duke.

  My suitcase sat by the front door and I looked at Duke, who had both of his meaty thumbs typing away on his phone. I stood there, waiting for instruction. My coat was slung over my arm.

  He looked up from his phone. “What?”

  Cocking my head to the side, my light eyebrows furrowed. “What-what?”

  “Why are you standing there?” he asked, his demeanor still tough and unrelenting.

  I huffed. This guy was the worst communicator ever. “I’m just waiting to leave, Cowboy.”

  His fingers paused over the screen of his phone. He looked at me, a confused expression passing over his ridiculously handsome face before he finally spoke. “Blondie, it’s after 6 p.m. Where we’re going is a 12 hour drive. We�
��re not going anywhere tonight. Go turn on some Real Housewives or some shit, and make yourself comfortable. We leave at first light.” He jerked his chin toward the front window, where early evening light was still streaming in.

  First light? Who talks like this?

  I felt the anger seep up from my core and expel itself from my mouth. “You’re kidding, right? You bark at me to pack a bag and then tell me we’re not even leaving ‘til tomorrow?”

  Duke pocketed the phone and I saw a little bit of amusement dance in his eyes as if he’d found a button to push. “Yes, that’s right. First light comes early and I wanted you to be ready.”

  “You are unbelievable!” I yelled at him, turning on my heel, heading back to my room to sulk.

  I heard him snort. “You got a big ol’ bed, don’t you? Got room for me?”

  I stopped in my tracks at his words. “What?”

  He smirked at me but said nothing.

  “You’re kidding, right?” I pointed at the couch. “Hope you like that.” My eyes moved from his too-big feet to the top of his brown hair. “Because it looks like you’re couching it tonight.”

  I stomped to my bedroom and slammed the door behind me.

  Special Agent – were they for real? This guy was like a comedic parody of a special agent. Someone you’d see on TV pretending to be one. Like some slapstick television show about guys who were just paid to act like special agents. Larger than life, that Duke.

  And he’s got the Hollywood good looks to go with it, my subconscious snarked at me.

  “Shut up,” I said aloud.

  Mad at myself for even caring, I went to my linen closet and pulled out a blanket and pillow and exited the bedroom. Instead of throwing them at him like I wanted to, I calmly placed them on the oversized armchair next to the couch. I briefly caught his eyes and he almost seemed… grateful. Almost.

  Chapter 7

  Duke

  Was she for real with this Barbie-sized couch? Who, in their right mind, would buy something like this? It looked like it came from some high-end store and belonged in a showroom, not in a real, live living room. I looked around and didn’t see any sort of recliner or La-Z-Boy like I had at home to watch football. There was just the red suede sofa and loveseat, and some small, uncomfortable looking armchair, all perched on wooden legs I hoped could hold my weight. I shrugged out of my jacket and duty belt and laid them on the small chair. Pulling the handgun from its holster, I checked to ensure it was loaded and ready. I grabbed the pillow and blanket from the fancy chair she’d set them on and tried to lie down on the longer of the two sofas. I definitely didn’t fit and they weren’t going to be very comfortable, but I told myself I needed to get some shut-eye in preparation for the long drive ahead of us tomorrow. I’d slept sitting up in the middle of a sand-pit in the freezing cold in Afghanistan more times than I could count so I could deal with half-sitting-sleeping. I tucked the gun under the pillow.

  God, that drive tomorrow was going to suck. My leg was starting to ache and I hoped that it wasn’t worse when I awoke tomorrow. I hadn’t bothered to check to see if that little sports car they’d given me had cruise control but I prayed it did. I was going to need it if this leg acted up on that damned drive. Absentmindedly, I reached down and rubbed the scar. Part of me wondered if it really did hurt or I was having some sort of phantom pain. After all, the doctors had hauled me into surgery immediately upon arriving at the hospital in Germany…

  “Sergeant Hawthorne, I need you to calm down. I’m going to help you, but if you keep swinging and thrashing, I’m going to have to sedate you. I cannot help you if you don’t calm down.”

  “Motherfucker, I’ve got a fucking piece of metal sticking out of my fucking leg. I cannot calm the fuck down, and if you don’t get it out, I’m gonna kill something, starting with you!”

  “Hawthorne, come on, you can’t talk to an officer like that. Man up, guy,” Ellis Anderson says to me, his jaw ticking with annoyance as he glances apologetically at the military doctor who has been trying to calm me.

  I’m writhing in agony. I’d passed out on the battlefield and awoken in the chopper – and had apparently been making everyone’s life a living hell since. I keep trying to tell myself to grit my teeth and bear it but I’ve never felt such pain. I’d welcome them chopping my leg off at this point if it would make the pain stop.

  “It’s okay,” the doctor replies to Anderson. He looks to be in his early 50s. He wore scrubs the same color as his wise, golden eyes. The name embroidered on his scrubs top tells me he’s Navy – the highest-ranking you could go. I really wanted to care, to be respectful, but I just couldn’t muster up enough fucks to give.

  “Could you cut the small talk and do something about this?” I grit out, pointing to the large piece of metal that had shredded my now bloody camo pants and was protruding from my thigh.

  “Absolutely,” the doctor replies with a smile. The last thing I see is a large needle coming at my arm, and then there is nothing but the blessed blackness.

  The smell of coffee woke me and I blinked a few times, wondering where I was. I had a crick in my neck that made me groan, and when I saw the red furniture and fancy rug covering the hardwood floors, I remembered where I was. Instinctively, I reached for my gun under the pillow. I breathed a little easier when my hand closed around my piece.

  Stretching my neck out, my head swiveled until I caught sight of the vic. She was in the kitchen with her back to me, pouring coffee into two ceramic mugs. She had on a pair of jeans that left nothing to the imagination and some sort of pink shirt. She was also barefoot. Probably a rule in this museum she calls a condo.

  She turned around and carried both mugs over to me, carefully setting one on the fancy glass end-table near my feet. She then sat on the red chair and crossed her legs all girl-like.

  I eyed the cup and my stomach rumbled. I needed to eat but coffee was a good start. I picked up the mug and it felt good between my cold hands.

  Taking a speculative sip, I watched as steam curled up from her mug as she brought it to her plump, pink lips. She said nothing, just watched me with her legs crossed.

  “I think we got off to a bad start yesterday,” she finally said.

  Eyeing her but saying nothing, I continued to hold the hot mug in my hand as I stared at her.

  Rayanne cleared her throat. “I didn’t mean to be rude when you first came in, I just didn’t expect you to come in with guns blazing like that.”

  I took a sip of the coffee. It was hot and bitter, just the way I liked it. I had no response for what she’d said, so I got up and tossed the blanket back onto the couch.

  “We’re leaving in 30 minutes, so be sure you’re packed,” I said, heading toward the bathroom with my coffee to shower and drain the main vein.

  I smiled when I heard her sigh in exasperation.

  After my shower, I got dressed in the bathroom and picked up my phone when it chirped.

  Jack-N-Jill: You on the road yet, big guy?

  I shook my head. This whole Cloak-And-Dagger bullshit was already on my nerves. I didn’t know why they couldn’t tell me which agent was in charge of texting me. They said it was for all of our safety, and that the computer they used to send the texts was highly encrypted and untraceable. I knew all the special agents and investigative research specialists that worked in the “bat cave”, as we called it, where all the super-secret computers were, but I had no idea if it was any of them sending the messages.

  I replied: Will be in 10. I’ll text when we get to our first stop.

  Jack-N-Jill: Very good.

  I packed up my toothbrush, comb, and razor after I was done with them, along with yesterday’s clothes I’d slept in, and shoved them into my bag. As I exited the bathroom, Rayanne was waiting by the front door wearing some slip-on shoes and had a light jacket draped over her arm. One large suitcase sat at her feet and she had a small purse slung over her slender shoulder. She stared at me with a blank expression and I bit back a
smile. She was waiting by the door like a good girl.

  This one catches on quickly.

  I moved past her, grabbed her suitcase, and opened the front door and looked both ways down her hallway with my gun drawn. I saw the coast was clear so I went into the hall. She followed behind me, and I turned around and said, “Lock the door.”

  She nodded and did as she was told. We used a side emergency exit that led to the back of the massive condo complex. I disarmed the little sports car. It didn’t seem to have much of a trunk, but thankfully her little red suitcase and my camo duffel fit fine back there.

  She stood by the car, still staring at me with that blank expression. I used my key to point at the passenger door, already annoyed. “What are you waiting for? Get in. We have a long drive.”

  Looking a bit offended but saying nothing, she slid into the passenger seat and closed the door. I got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. I knew the FBI would make me leave my cell at the vic’s house, so I’d printed out specific instructions from my work computer before I’d left. This whole paper map thing was gonna suck ass. I was beyond spoiled with technology.

  Remind me never to slam a suspect’s face into the pavement again. This whole Witness Protection detail was for the motherfuckin’ birds. I’ll be glad when this is over.

  The map told me I have to cross over the bridge again to reach the interstate, so I headed toward it. The view was just as breathtaking as it was yesterday, and I put my sunglasses on to shield my eyes from the glare of the sun’s rays on the water. I glanced briefly over at the vic, and she also had her sunglasses on, her hand up to her pouty lips as she stared out the window. She looked deep in thought, and I looked away. I’d been kind of a dick to her, but she’d rubbed me the wrong way from the moment I met her. Was that her fault? Maybe. I guess if I had a hit out on me I might be a little jumpy and testy too. Plus, she was way too easy on the eyes, from her blonde head to her red painted toenails. Not cool. I didn’t need that type of distraction.