Brenda Jackson - A Lover's Vow

She was about to call him an ass again but remembered his warning. “I’m a PI, Dalton. I can recognize a tail. In fact, the person is still parked out there. I plan to go out through your back door and catch him by surprise.”

Her story sounded too far-fetched to have been made up. He’d been followed? Hadn’t he been getting an eerie feeling about that lately? He stared at her. “You sure?”

“Positive. Now I need to—”

“Wait.”

“Like hell I’ll wait, and don’t suggest we call the police,” she said. “I used to be a cop. I can handle this.”

From the way she was handling that Glock, he believed her. But still, if someone was out there, it might be a foe of the USN, the United Security Network. A few years ago, he’d worked as an agent for the United States Government while living in Europe. No one knew...except for Lady Victoria Bowman, one of his former lovers, but his secret was safe with her. His brothers didn’t even know of his involvement with the USN, and his identity and role in the agency was never to be revealed. But what if it had been?

“I need to get dressed,” he said, moving toward his bedroom. “Your assumption that I was followed might be a misunderstanding.”

“Why?”

Jules was asking too many damned questions. “Just sit tight for a second. If the person is just sitting there, that means he won’t be going anywhere.” He closed his bedroom door behind him and quickly began dialing a number he’d hoped he had no reason to ever call again.

A gruff voice came on the line. “It’s late, Granger.”

“That’s too fucking bad. I was followed tonight,” Dalton said, tossing off his robe and grabbing a pair of jeans and shirt from his closet.

There was a pause, and the voice that asked the next question was now alert, attentive. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay. Give me less than five and I’ll call you back.”

“All right.” Dalton hung up the phone. He finished dressing and was slipping into his shoes when he got a call back...in less than five. “Okay, what’s the deal?” he asked.

“Nothing on our end. If you’re being followed, it has nothing to do with us.”

Dalton wasn’t sure whether he should feel relieved or exasperated.

“You must have pissed someone off, Granger.”

The only person he knew he’d pissed off was presently standing in his living room. “Possibly.”

“Take my advice. Find out what’s going on and deal with it before it deals with you. If you need me for anything, let me know.”

He nodded. “Okay. Thanks.” He then opened the drawer to his nightstand and pulled out his own pistol. A Glock that was just as impressive as the one Jules had. He tucked it inside his jeans as he left his bedroom. Entering the living room, he found her pacing the floor. Even when pacing she had that sexy walk that could make his entire body go hard. He tried not to focus on how good she looked in her black leather trench coat and matching boots. The belt enhanced her small waistline. It didn’t take much to remember how she’d looked the two times he’d seen her at that nightclub. He knew how her clothes fit beneath that coat and was tempted to forget whoever was following him, cross the room and strip every stitch of clothing off her body.

She turned around and glared when she saw his gun. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What does it look like? You got your gun, I got mine.”

She rolled her eyes. “This is not show and tell. Do you even know how to use that thing?”

“Probably just as well as you.”

He could tell that his boast had her curious. “If that’s true, then you have some explaining to do.”

Thinking he’d said enough, possibly too much, he turned toward the kitchen. “Let’s go. I hope you’re not making this shit up.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Just to find an excuse to make a booty call. You did let me kiss you.”

“I told you to pretend. You took advantage of me,” she snapped.

“And at what point did you tell me to stop? You could have pushed me away. Bitten my tongue. Scratched my face. But you did none of those things, which leads me to believe you wanted to be kissed.”

“Like hell.”

“I’d like to think I gave you a little bit of heaven, instead.”

Ignoring her curse words, he moved toward his back door. Instead of concentrating on the potential danger outside, he was thinking about their kiss. Why had she tasted so damned good? And her womanly scent had only intensified his desire for her.

“Look, Dalton. Just stay back and let me handle this,” she said, quickly moving in front of him.

“If the person was following me, then I want to know who it is and why. We expose him together or not at all.”

“Fine,” she snapped. “We’ve wasted enough time already. Just follow my lead.”

“Whatever,” he drawled, holding the door open.

She slid out the door into the darkness. A quick glance over her shoulder indicated he was right there, close behind. A little too close for comfort, especially when she could feel his heat through her coat.

And like hers, his gun was drawn and ready.

* * *

“Stonewall, I told you that Bobby is handling things, so relax.”

Stonewall Courson paused from pacing in front of Roland Summers’s desk. Roland was the owner of Summers Security Firm where Stonewall had worked off and on for the past ten years. Although Roland was his boss, he was also a good friend. “I just have a gut feeling that something isn’t right.”

Almost a month ago, Stonewall and his friends Quasar Patterson and Striker Jennings had taken on the duties of undercover bodyguards for the sons of Sheppard Granger, a man whom they’d met while serving time in prison. Shep had quickly become more than just a fellow inmate to the three of them. He had become the father they’d never had, a role model they could look up to and a mentor they admired. So when word got out that his sons needed protection, Stonewall, Quasar and Striker had volunteered for the job. The hard part was making sure no one knew, not even the sons themselves.

Quasar Patterson, who was in charge of protecting Jace, the oldest Granger son, was still bragging about the two weeks he’d spent in South Africa, although he did say Jace and his wife stayed inside their hotel room most of the time. After all, they had been on their honeymoon. And Striker Jennings was protecting Caden, although nothing was happening there, either. At least not since the attempt on Caden’s life last month. According to Striker, Caden had settled into his wife’s place over her wine boutique, and when they weren’t working, the couple preferred staying inside most of the time.

Stonewall had been assigned to Shep’s youngest son, Dalton. He was the real challenge, since Dalton was a party animal who liked frequenting the clubs. He liked women. At times had a restless soul and would eliminate fidgeting by driving that sports car, sometimes breaking the speed limit, on the interstate during the middle of the night when most police officers were somewhere getting their fill of donuts and coffee.

Tonight had been Stonewall’s grandmother’s seventieth birthday, and his sister had thrown a private party at a local restaurant. She’d threatened to do him bodily harm if he didn’t show up. He’d been replaced tonight with Bobby Turner. It wasn’t that Bobby wasn’t good or dependable, but he was young and not as experienced.

“Your gut feeling is probably nothing more than exhaustion, Stonewall. You, Quasar and Striker have been protecting Shep’s sons for over a month now with barely a break.”

Stonewall remembered when they’d begun. It was right after Sheppard Granger had received a mysterious email on the prison computer, warning him that his three sons’ lives were in danger. He’d told his attorney, Carson Boyett, to hire bodyguards, and she’d called Roland. Since Roland, who’d also been an inmate in jail with them at one time, had known of their relationship with Shep, he had mentioned it to them, and they’d readily taken the job.