Leah Braemel - Personal Protection

“Makes sense. That’s how I’d do it.”

He continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “Jill wasn’t feeling good so we’d stopped in to beg out of a scene. We were leaving when he came in. I saw him raise his gun and went for my weapon but he shot me before I could get a round off.” He took a deep breath, his eyes unfocusing as his memories took him back to that night. “Then he…” He cleared his throat. “He shot Jill.”

Jill! The girl in the picture on his mantel.

His fingers curled into fists, the skin white over the knuckles before he stared at them and consciously flexed them. His voice hardened. “I got lucky. I walked out of the hospital with this.” He gestured to his chest. “Jill died in my arms just as the paramedics arrived. And Thalia…well, I didn’t shoot him fast enough to help her. She was already paralyzed by the time I killed the bastard.”

Oh, Lord, so much pain he was carrying, so much guilt.

His eyes were bleak, his voice flat. “I failed them, Rosie. I was sent in to stop the killer, to protect them, and I failed.”

She reached out then, stopping him mid-pace and dragged him toward her, then knelt on the bed and cupped his face in her hands. “It’s not your fault, Sam.”

“Yeah, it is.” A dark look flickered behind his eyes. He rested his forehead against hers and swallowed hard. “Anyway, the other members kept me from going to pieces after Jill died. They visited me in the hospital, and when I got out, they phoned me if no one heard from me for a couple of days. Even though most of them were being harassed by the media and nutjobs that came out of the woodwork telling them they deserved to die. They looked after me, especially during the internal inquiry that ended up with Chad being fired. They were there when no one else was. Even Thalia kept in touch.”

She patted the bed beside her. When he’d stretched out beside her, she lay her head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. Once his breathing slowed, she asked, “So how’d La Porte Rouge get started?”

“After the media finally got tired of their exposйs of the group, and ruined more than one career, Cooper got together with some of the more influential club members. They decided to create an elite club. Somewhere they could feel safe from looky-loos and potential blackmailers, or whackjobs who wanted to cleanse the world of sinners like the guy who killed Jill. By that time I’d left the FBI, so Coop approached me about designing a proper security system for them. They made me a founding partner, which gave me enough money to start Hauberk. And it gave me access to influential clients who needed personal protection.”

After a few minutes, Rosie shifted so she could look him in the eye. As much as she wanted to discuss the past, she knew she had to concentrate on protecting Sam in the here and now. “I know you trust the founding members, but isn’t it possible that your stalker is one of the other members?”

“That was one of the first things I thought of. I went through the membership list, but frankly, there are days I trust most of the Rouge’s members more than I do some of my own operatives.”

Strange how he could find people into BDSM more trustworthy than her co-workers. But she supposed there had to be an incredible amount of trust to allow someone such power over your body and soul.

“How can you be sure?”

“The only way you can become a member of the Rouge is to be sponsored by a member who has been acquainted with you for at least two years. All initiates have to undergo a thorough psychological, medical and security screening before they’re admitted. We don’t allow anyone with a record, especially of drug use. We have to use a bit more leeway when it comes to abuse charges since sometimes society doesn’t understand the games between scene players. Even once you’re a member, we do regular background checks on everyone and all members have to pass semi-annual medical and psychological assessments to make sure no one’s put at risk. And you have to sign a contract stating what your preferences are and agreeing to respect other members’ choices.”

“But surely there are personality clashes. People who object to something or other-either another member or perhaps a rule being enforced, or not being enforced?”

“The public areas are filmed so we can go back to the tapes to make an independent assessment. If the complaint occurs in a private area, then both the complainant and the accused must submit to another psychological assessment. And they’ll have a hearing in front of the Board where they’re required to answer any questions put to them. They fail any of the tests, they’re out. No appeals.”

“Sounds like it’s tougher to be a member of the club than it is to be hired by Hauberk.”

“It is.”

She leaned back against him once more, and pondered the newly lit avenues of possibilities. “Has anyone been kicked out lately?”

“No. And there haven’t been any complaints either.”

She frowned. Damn it. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. “How many members are there?”

“Just over a hundred. But some of them don’t live on the east coast, they keep a membership for when they’re visiting.”

Expensive if membership was a million bucks a pop. “How many founding members are there?”

“Ten now.”

“Now?”

“There were twelve of us originally-but we’ve lost two in the last couple years.”

She went still. “Lost? As in died?”

“You’re thinking this may be related?” Sam shook his head. “It’s not. Josh died in a plane crash about seven months ago, and Deidre died a couple years ago when some drunk ran a red light and T-boned her.” He twined his fingers with hers, lifting them to his lips. “The stalker isn’t a club member, Rosie. And even if they were, why stalk only me, why not Coop or one of the others?”

She huffed and untangled her fingers from his hold. “Even so, there could be a connection that you can’t see because you’re too close to the picture. I want to see the member files-I may be able to see something because I’m not familiar with them.” Other than the ones she watched on the evening news or considered giving her vote. Ay bendito! No wonder they were so rabid about security.

He shook his head. “I don’t want you at the club and Coop won’t let the files leave. Send Andy to look at them. Please.”

“I thought you said you trusted the members.”

He sighed. “I do. But…I don’t want you there.”

She wanted to ask why, but considering the way she’d reacted about his membership, about the club’s very existence, she could hardly fault him. He probably figured she’d freak out. But strangely, she found herself wanting an inside look-because that would allow her a peek into Sam Watson himself. A part she’d sensed he’d kept private, hidden, all along. And maybe she’d find out more about herself.

His cell phone chirruped and with a curse, he checked the caller ID and answered it. From his clipped speech and intense focus, it was important. Three minutes later he ended the call and cursed again.

“Colombia?”

“Yeah. Troy got word that the hostages have been moved again and we’ve lost track of them.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “Look, don’t tell Scott, all right? He’s still blaming himself because he got out and they didn’t.”

They discussed the options for freeing the remaining hostages late into the night before she finally felt confident in returning to the original subject.

“I want to go to the club in the morning and see the files for myself, Sam.”

He groaned. “No, Rosie. That’s not gonna happen.”

“It’s a viable lead and as your team leader I have to check it out.”