Chapter 1

1

YORK

" A bsolutely not." I shot Shannon a dark look. "Hell to the fucking no."

Shannon crossed her arms. She was the CEO of EDS, the company where I worked as a research engineer. I usually dealt with Teddy, my direct boss, but for some reason, Shannon had wanted to handle this. Lucky me. "I wasn't asking if you wanted a bodyguard, York. I was informing you that you'll be getting one. Period."

"I don't need a glorified babysitter."

"Yes, you do. According to the FBI, there have been credible threats against the company and against you specifically."

Panic bubbled inside me. A bodyguard? Some jacked-up, high-testosterone dude on my ass twenty-four-seven? The idea of some asshole observing my every move, dissecting my habits, and invading my personal space was intolerable. I'd built my life on carefully maintained schedules and solitude—not surveillance. I couldn't think of anything worse. "They're overreacting."

She leaned back in her chair, plucking some invisible lint from her sleek black jacket. "Remember what you always tell the sales department when they're lecturing you on missing another deadline?"

Oh fuck. She was bringing out the big guns. "You may have to remind me."

"Does ‘they need to do their job and you need to do yours, and you don't tell them how to sell what you create, so they shouldn't try to dictate how you create' sound familiar?"

"Somewhat, yes."

"Your motto has always been to let the experts do their job. Well, the FBI are the experts, and they've picked up chatter on EDS and the Chameleon."

My heart skipped a beat. "They called it by that name?"

She nodded.

"But that's?—"

"—an internal name, yes. We have a leak, York. A serious leak."

Shit. Until now, I'd taken the whole FBI involvement with a grain of salt. When Teddy, the head of the research lab, had informed me he'd contacted the FBI, I figured he was overreacting. I was well aware that the chameleon technology I had developed was revolutionary. Although not my preferred term, it had been the easiest way to explain to nontechnical people how my military defense system determined the specifics of the attack and adapted its response based on the parameters. But I hadn't expected people to be willing to go to such extreme lengths to get their hands on the technology.

The news about the internal leak had me cornered, and no amount of intellectual prowess or mathematical genius could calculate my way out of it. "I'm hoping you're working on finding that leak."

"That's one of the reasons the FBI is involved, but in the meantime, we have to keep you safe. The last thing we want is for you to end up in some ramshackle dark basement with a bunch of bad guys set to torture this information out of you."

My stomach dropped. "If it was your intention to scare me shitless, I'm happy to inform you that you've succeeded."

Her eyes softened. "Good. I'll do whatever I have to to keep you safe."

Dammit. I hated it when people used emotional tactics. Did they think I wouldn't notice? Or did they simply not care? I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Do I at least have some kind of say in who'll be guarding me? You know I don't like people, so the idea of having someone with me at all times is terrifying."

"We've hired a reputable company, and they're sending someone over in"—she checked her watch—"a few minutes."

"You gotta be kidding me. I don't even have time to get used to the idea?"

"Time in which you could be kidnapped, you mean? Nope. I'm not playing around, York. This is happening, like it or not."

Fuck. My. Life.

"So you waited until the last possible moment to tell me…"

She shrugged. "Can you blame me? The less time you had to try and convince me to forget about it, the better. You can argue the socks off anyone, and what's worse is that people actually end up thanking you for it."

"I can't help it if I have better arguments."

She snorted. "No, you can't, but you still haven't learned that having better arguments doesn't mean you're right. It just means you're better at arguing and logic."

I didn't dignify that with an answer. Arguing with Shannon was as fruitful as explaining quantum physics to my Star Wars collectibles. She always stood her ground. And I respected her for it, just like I admired the way she ran EDS. She tolerated no BS from anyone and ran a tight ship—no easy feat with so many geeks under one roof.

Her office was a stark juxtaposition of polished chrome and glass, accented with splashes of green from a meticulously cared-for fern or bonsai. The room looked like a futuristic terrarium, one that reflected Shannon's personality—orderly, with no place for clutter or nonsense.

A knock on the door, and Bonnie, Shannon's secretary, stuck her head around the corner. "Mr. Minch from Anderson Security is here."

Shannon nodded. "You can send him in." She gave me a stern look, her silver-rimmed glasses perched precariously at the end of her nose. "Behave."

Behave? What was I, a rebellious teenager? Although, come to think of it, that was kind of my reputation, and I hadn't worked hard to dispel anyone of that notion. It had its advantages when people saw you as somewhat eccentric or plain antisocial. I'd discovered I could get away with a lot. Or maybe that was because EDS recognized my expertise and the value I added to our R&D team.

The man who walked in wasn't the bulky body-builder type I had expected, though he was tall—an inch or so taller than my six foot one—and in excellent shape. But his muscles were sleeker, almost like a jaguar, and he looked equally dangerous. Calm but with an intense look in his eyes. He was also older than I had expected. I'd been counting on some twentysomething young dude, but he had to be at least five years older than me, which put him in his late forties.

"Ms. Bruneau, I'm Quillon Minch. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine." Shannon all but batted her eyes at him, and honestly, I couldn't blame her. He was pretty damn hot. Well, for a guy, anyway. "I'd like you to meet York Coombe, your client."

Quillon—and what the fuck kind of name was that?—spun around and extended his hand. His eyes widened for a moment, but it was gone in a flash, and his expression was neutral again. Had I imagined that? I must have. Our paths hadn't crossed, or I would've remembered. I might not like people, but I had an excellent memory. "Nice to meet you, York."

"Thank you." I couldn't get the "likewise" past my lips because I was anything but pleased to meet him.

His mouth curled up. "I take it you're none too happy about my presence?"

I quirked an eyebrow. "Are you always this direct?"

"With clients? Yes. It prevents miscommunication, which can be lethal in my line of work."

"In mine too."

"I would imagine so."

"You know what I do, then?"

Quillon chuckled. "Can't pretend I understand even a little bit of it, but I get the gist, yes. You design, develop, and improve military defense systems."

"And he's very, very good at that," Shannon said. "The best, in fact."

"So am I at my job," Quillon said calmly, and I had no doubt he was telling the truth.

"I appreciate your role in my protection. But let's get one thing straight. I value my solitude. I'm not thrilled about having a chaperone."

"Understood." The ghost of a smile touched Quillon's lips. "I'm here to keep you safe, not to disrupt your life more than necessary. We'll find a balance, York."

"Let's sit down and discuss how this will work." Shannon gestured at the sitting area in the corner of her office, which consisted of an uncomfortable black leather loveseat and two equally hard and unyielding sofa chairs. Though maybe she'd done that on purpose to keep people from visiting too long, which, come to think of it, was a smart strategy.

I lowered myself into one of the chairs and curled my hands around the cup of coffee Bonnie had handed me when I walked in. Too bad it was already lukewarm. Sigh.

"Your firm came recommended by the FBI," Shannon said to Quillon, who nodded.

"We prefer to work closely with law enforcement agencies because instead of focusing on celebrities, we concentrate on clients who are deemed at risk. The FBI has referred many clients to us, and we're grateful for the pleasant cooperation. It makes our jobs a lot easier."

"Did they also inform you they'll be doing an extra background check on you and anyone else assigned to York?" Shannon asked.

"Yes. From what I understand, it's necessary to get the needed security clearance."

"Correct. We're a military contractor, and almost everything York works on is considered top-secret military technology. You couldn't be in a room with him otherwise."

"Understood. I already gave my full consent to do whatever is necessary. I'll be the primary on York's case, with two coworkers as backup and three more for the night shifts."

I held up a hand. "Backup. Night shifts? Where? I have a one-bedroom apartment."

Quillon turned his attention to me. "I'm aware. I'll be sleeping on the couch, and we'll station another agent either outside or in the main lobby, depending on the setup of the building, which I haven't been able to check out yet."

Sleeping on the couch? Was he serious? "You can't sleep on my couch."

"Why not? Is it that uncomfortable?"

"No, of course not. My couch is very comfortable. In fact, I've fallen asleep on it many times. But that's not the point. You can't be in my apartment at night."

"At the risk of repeating myself, why not?"

"Why not? Jesus, where do I start? How about the fact that I need my privacy?"

"Your safety trumps the need for privacy. Would you rather be inconvenienced and alive or comfortable and dead?"

I rubbed my temples. "That's an attempt at emotional blackmail that won't work with me."

"It's not blackmail, York. It's a clear choice in priorities."

"My apartment is too small. I'm serious. We'll both go insane. I'm not an easy person to get along with under the best of circumstances, as most of my coworkers will attest to. Trust me, after a few days, you'll want to kill me yourself."

Shannon winced. "York does have a reputation of being somewhat…ornery."

Ornery? I couldn't let that stand. "I object to that label. Ornery has a negative connotation, and I'm not mean or evil-spirited. I'm just not a people person, that's all."

"That's the understatement of the year," Shannon mumbled, and Quillon repressed a grin.

I refocused on Quillon. "Look, I spend my days wrapped up in equations and algorithms. I unwind with Tchaikovsky, not small talk. I don't do well with people."

"Your objections are duly noted." He looked blank again.

"But they're also ignored?"

He leaned forward and pierced me with a pair of green eyes that reminded me of the woods back home: various shades of green ranging from light moss green to the dark green of the firs and flecks of golden brown. "My job is to keep you safe, and I'll do whatever is necessary to accomplish that, with or without your approval. It's easier if you cooperate, but if you don't, I'm still going to protect you."

I put my cold coffee down with a sigh. "For how long?"

"Until the FBI concludes the threat is gone," Shannon said.

"Which could take months." I groaned, knowing all too well how glacier-slow federal agencies could work. I'd tangled with the DoD enough to have firsthand experience.

If this man was watching me for that long, I'd go mad. Not because of him. I had nothing against him, though he didn't look like he would be my new best friend. We seemed to have nothing in common. But that aside, I didn't make friends easily.

It still baffled me I'd befriended Fir, the local doctor in my hometown of Forestville. For reasons that surpassed my understanding, he genuinely enjoyed hanging out with me, and every time we met, I experienced a profound sense of gratitude. But he was the exception, and I didn't expect to endear Quillon to me. Not that I wanted to.

"Why don't we take it one day at a time?" Quillon said. "And if we need to make adjustments, we'll talk."

Easy for him to say. What attracted a man like him to this sort of job? It was basically glorified babysitting. How did that appeal to him? "What's your background?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your background. How did you end up in personal security?"

"Anderson Security was founded by Remington Anderson, a decorated Marine who served in the first Gulf War. He recruits from the Marines, and that's how he found me."

A Marine. Of course Quillon was a Marine. Just my fucking luck. Essex's shadow would always hang over my life, even more than twenty years later. He'd been a bully wrapped in the flag, and now here stood Quillon Minch, cut from the same cloth.

"Thank you for your service," Shannon said. Thank god she uttered those words. Now I didn't have to say anything. I wasn't sure if I could keep the venom out of my voice.

"It was an honor to serve in the Marine Corps."

"Being an ex-Marine doesn't necessarily make you good at your job. I hope you have more qualifications than being a lance corporal in the Marines?"

I'd said it to get a rise out of him, but he didn't take the bait. "York, I'd be happy to send you a copy of my résumé, which includes training in high-risk contained escort, hostile environment key asset protection, and advanced security management, and I have a degree in criminology. Oh, and I was a master sergeant."

Fuck. He'd made me look like an asshole. Well, in all fairness, I'd done that myself. He'd merely answered a question aimed at humiliating him and had turned the tables on me. And I only had myself to blame. "Impressive," I offered lamely.

"Not as impressive as the technology you're developing."

Jesus, he was good. I had underestimated him. "It's not a competition."

He shrugged. "If you say so."

Shannon looked from Quillon to me and cleared her throat. "Right. I've studied the contract your boss sent me, Mr. Minch, and I'm ready to sign it. Our lawyers have signed off on it as well."

"Glad to hear it. That means we can get this show on the road." He turned to me. "Just FYI, the contract contains a clause that bills your company a thousand dollars every time you slip your protection. We have a reputation to uphold and don't tolerate our clients disrespecting us. We'll bend over backward to accommodate you as much as possible, but certain aspects are nonnegotiable. First and foremost, you do not go anywhere without us. Under any circumstances."

Damn, he was intimidating like that, his face tight and his eyes blazing. He held himself with a military precision that spoke of discipline and years of experience, yet he exuded a calmness, an assurance that felt oddly comforting, even amid my trepidation. "Got it."

"I'm serious, York. Starting now, I'll be watching your every move. You so much as take a leak without telling me, and we're gonna have a problem."

Fuck. My. Life.