Overture (North Security, #1)

“Bullshit,” he says.

“Fine. Maybe I wasn’t sure I still wanted it. After everything that happened.”

“Take it. That is, if you want to play this violin, then I want you to have it.”

I swallow hard and take the case, my fingers brushing his on the wooden handle.

“And if you ever need me—” His voice breaks.

“I know where to find you,” I finish for him.

He shuts the door and slaps the top of the cab so we move forward. I watch my home disappear through my tears. Only when we get to the airport do I realize that it’s Josh driving the cab. “What the hell?” I say as he steps out to squint at a parking meter.

“Do you have a quarter?” he says, digging through his pocket.

With an exasperated sigh I reach into my jeans and find a dollar bill. He plucks it out of my hands. “Thanks. You have now officially hired North Security as your personal bodyguard.”

I cross my arms. “Pretty sure that’s not legally binding.”

“And I’m pretty sure Liam North would shit a brick before he ever let you leave without adequate protection. The guy in the Crown Vic may be dead, but someone else ordered the hit. You’re not safe until we neutralize them for good.”

A rush of emotion wells in my throat. I know I need to leave Liam, but it hurts worse than anything I can imagine. I could turn Lady Tennant into firewood, and it still wouldn’t break my heart as much as this. A sob escapes me, and Josh’s face blurs into a thousand pointillism dots. Through the tears, I see him open his arms. I let him hold me as I break apart. He has the same build as Liam, the same coloring, and I feel close to the man I love—and so far away I’m not sure we’ll ever be able to cross the distance.


LIAM

I sit in the armchair in my office, the fire blazing. It can’t penetrate the chill. Samantha took any warmth from the house, and I don’t expect it to return.

That doesn’t absolve me of my responsibility where she’s concerned.

I should probably feel guilty about defiling a priceless violin with a micro-tracking device, but there is nothing I won’t do to keep her safe.

Elijah enters the room, his face implacable. He wants to kick my ass, but it’s a testament to how terrible I look that he doesn’t bother.

“You’re a bastard,” he says instead, no heat in his voice.

“Are you more angry that I failed in protecting Samantha—or that I failed in protecting you?” I enlisted the day I turned eighteen, leaving my brothers behind. Josh was old enough to defend himself by then, at least. Elijah had no such power. It took years before I had the money and the strength to return home to get him out of there.

“You didn’t fail,” he says. “That’s not giving Samantha enough credit.”

No, she became a strong woman with fierce loyalty. No thanks to me. I don’t expect I’ll ever get to touch her again. Won’t get to see her except from afar. But I can damn well protect her. “A drug lord?”

A humorless smile. “That was an unexpected detour.”

“Christ, Elijah.”

“We found the target and confirmed his identity.”

I flip through the pages in a manila folder, proof that one Kimberly Cox never actually existed. She has a convincing portfolio of freelance articles, an apartment in Brooklyn, a 401K. She had a contract with Classical Notes to interview the performers on tour.

Except that she’s not a real person.

The woman who came to our house that day was a fraud.

“Did he make you?” I ask.

“Negative, but he knows someone’s after him.”

A few months ago I heard whispers that Alistair Brooks survived the assassination.

I sent the Red Team to find out if the whispers were true. And then a reporter shows up asking questions about her background. Quite a coincidence. That had been enough to make me concerned. I stepped up her security detail quietly, making sure one of the men was always nearby.

Josh will keep her safe while I find the traitorous fucker and finish the job.

She’ll be safe once and for all—and she won’t ever have to know that the man who ordered the hit was her father.

*

Thank you so much for reading OVERTURE!

I hope you love Liam and Samantha. Find out what happens when Samantha goes to Tanglewood for the opening of her tour—and Liam learns he can’t live without her.

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Turn the page for an excerpt from The Pawn…





Excerpt from The Pawn





Wind whips around my ankles, flapping the bottom of my black trench coat. Beads of moisture form on my eyelashes. In the short walk from the cab to the stoop, my skin has slicked with humidity left by the rain.

Carved vines and ivy leaves decorate the ornate wooden door.

I have some knowledge of antique pieces, but I can’t imagine the price tag on this one—especially exposed to the elements and the whims of vandals. I suppose even criminals know enough to leave the Den alone.

Officially the Den is a gentlemen’s club, the old-world kind with cigars and private invitations. Unofficially it’s a collection of the most powerful men in Tanglewood. Dangerous men. Criminals, even if they wear a suit while breaking the law.

A heavy brass knocker in the shape of a fierce lion warns away any visitors. I’m desperate enough to ignore that warning. My heart thuds in my chest and expands out, pulsing in my fingers, my toes. Blood rushes through my ears, drowning out the whoosh of traffic behind me.

I grasp the thick ring and knock—once, twice.

Part of me fears what will happen to me behind that door. A bigger part of me is afraid the door won’t open at all. I can’t see any cameras set into the concrete enclave, but they have to be watching. Will they recognize me? I’m not sure it would help if they did. Probably best that they see only a desperate girl, because that’s all I am now.

The softest scrape comes from the door. Then it opens.

I’m struck by his eyes, a deep amber color—like expensive brandy and almost translucent. My breath catches in my throat, lips frozen against words like please and help. Instinctively I know they won’t work; this isn’t a man given to mercy. The tailored cut of his shirt, its sleeves carelessly rolled up, tells me he’ll extract a price. One I can’t afford to pay.

There should have been a servant, I thought. A butler. Isn’t that what fancy gentlemen’s clubs have? Or maybe some kind of a security guard. Even our house had a housekeeper answer the door—at least, before. Before we fell from grace.

Before my world fell apart.

The man makes no move to speak, to invite me in or turn me away. Instead he stares at me with vague curiosity, with a trace of pity, the way one might watch an animal in the zoo. That might be how the whole world looks to these men, who have more money than God, more power than the president.

That might be how I looked at the world, before.

My throat feels tight, as if my body fights this move, even while my mind knows it’s the only option. “I need to speak with Damon Scott.”

Scott is the most notorious loan shark in the city. He deals with large sums of money, and nothing less will get me through this. We have been introduced, and he left polite society by the time I was old enough to attend events regularly. There were whispers, even then, about the young man with ambition. Back then he had ties to the underworld—and now he’s its king.