2. Cole

2

COLE

S unlight slides in through the branches overhead as I stalk down the game trail in Angeles Forest. Heel, toe. Heel, toe. Avoid stepping on soft ground, or underbrush that might make a noise. Hold the canteen so it doesn't rattle.

I've hunted hundreds of times in this forest, but I keep coming back. I fall into the ancient rhythms of predator and prey without trying. My heart rate is calm, but I'm on the edge of readiness.

I drop into a crouch beneath the boughs of an oak tree. My gloved hand pulls back fallen leaves to reveal fresh deer feces. I'm not far from my quarry.

Rising up, my nostrils test the air. I can smell yesterday's rain on the breeze, but not much else. Picking my way along the trail, I keep my eyes open and scanning, always scanning.

Then, I spot it: A beautiful ten point buck, his golden brown coat crowned with a ring of black near his neck. A venerable king of the forest, he's far from his prime but still canny enough to get his doe every mating season.

Unfortunately, this King's time has passed. It's time to commit a little Regicide. I raise the gun and prepare to look through the scope.

I don't know what stops me, exactly. Maybe I spot something out of the corner of my eye, or maybe I've just been in enough hairy situations to know when I'm in danger. For whatever reason, I don't take the shot. I carefully check my surroundings. Something isn't right.

If I hadn't stopped to check, I'd have never noticed it. A tawny-furred mountain lion, creeping slowly through the underbrush, body low to the ground, and ears flat against its head.

At first, I think it's after my deer. Then I realize, I'm the prey.

What a twist.

I grit my teeth in frustration. Anything I do to scare off or stop the mountain lion will surely alert the deer, too. I've been tracking it for ten miles. I don't want to lose it now.

I make a quick motion with my hand, staring right at the lion in hopes it will flee. But our gazes meet, and I can tell that it's going to take much more to get rid of it. It already thinks I'm its next dinner.

As deadly as they are, these lions are endangered. I'm not about to kill it if I don't have to. That's me, Cole Drake, altruist and animal lover.

"Hsst," I say as softly as possible. "Go away!"

The damn thing crouches down like it's about to spring on me. I have no choice. I raise the rifle and aim the barrel about five feet over the lion's head and fire. Loud cracks echo through the forest.

My would-be predator runs to the hills. Unfortunately, so does my deer. I watch it bound away and disappear into the foliage.

"Damn it. Not my kind of cougar."

I sling the rifle over my shoulder and turn around, marching back down the game trail. Some hunters go years between bagging a buck. I get at least one every season.

Until this one.

Maybe I've lost my touch. It's been rough ever since that night in the Red Sea…best not to think about that.

I try to put failing to bag my deer behind me. Figuratively and literally. I'm not an enlisted man any longer. I'm a civvie now. A civvie with more issues than Rolling Stone.

I know when I'm getting close to where I parked my jeep, because my cell service restores and my phone goes off with alerts and notifications. I stop at the edge of the tree line and dig it out of my pocket.

Scrolling through my messages, I delete those not worth my time. No, I don't need new gutters on my house. I never entered a sweepstakes for a ship cruise, so no way did I win a free one…

A message from Jax, my boss at Platinum Security, is the last one I open.

Got a job for you. Come into the office asap.

Well, shit. Looks like I've got work.

Jax used to be a cop, but now he runs the security firm. Every single member of the team is a former military man or law enforcement specialist. The best of the best.

Part of me still can't believe I work for a security firm. I mean, it's not quite as cliche for a former Navy SEAL as being a mercenary or mob hitman, but still. On the other hand, Jax pays his employees very well.

I'm not all about the money though. I like being able to look at myself in the mirror at the end of the day. Mercenary work means you're loyal to the dollar. I can trust Jax not to put me in a position that compromises my integrity.

Not to mention the fringe benefits, not the least of which is a pool table in the office, and awesome parties at Jax's wife's grand mansion in Beverly Hills.

Jax is lucky. Platinum Security might not even exist if it weren't for movie star Easton Ross. I guess she's lucky too, since he saved her life.

I shoot off a text to Jax.

OMW.

My hike ends at the gravel parking lot where I left my truck. Gleaming black, with shiny chrome, and–unfortunately–some bird spots on the windshield, it's a thing of beauty. Jake and I used to go round and round about who makes the best truck. I'm a Dodge man, through and through, but Jake, he liked his Chevies.

Both of us agreed that Ford was an acronym for Fucked Over Rebuilt Dodge.

I can almost picture his crooked smile now. He wore that smile right before we descended into the Red Sea. Every time we went down, we knew it might be the last. That didn't make it any easier when only one of us came back up.

The ride to LA takes a couple hours. Gives me too much time to think. I don't know why I keep dwelling on Jake. That's an old failure, even if it still burns.

Cranking up the tunes helps. Judas Priest has a new album, and it's a banger. I turn the volume way, way up and just drive, and jam. It's therapy, of a sort.

When I see the LA skyline, it breaks me out of my fugue. Traffic's a real bitch. I thump the heel of my hand on the steering wheel in time with the music on the radio.

The broadcaster breaks in, hawking the latest tour by one of those boy bands. Funny, I thought one of them died. Or maybe it was just rehab. I didn't care enough to pay all that much attention.

Stuck in traffic, my frustration with the failed hunt and traffic threaten to boil over. I remember the trick my SCUBA trainer taught me, and put it to use. Picturing a flame in my head, I feed it all of my frustration, anger, pain, even positive emotions, until nothing remains but perfect, placid calm.

Blood stops pumping like mad through my body, slowing to an easy crawl. Breathing returns to normal. I feed everything to the flame.

When I arrive at Platinum Security, the calm has spread all over my body. I nearly run into the boss' brother, Sebastian, as he steps out onto the sidewalk, shutting the door behind him.

"Hey," he says.

"What's up?"

"A direction."

He waits, but I don't laugh. Then he wanders off muttering about me being a sourpuss. I'm not sour. I don't feel anything at all. I fed all of that to the fire.

I open the door and step inside the office lobby.

Something flashes in the air, moving in a blur. Almost like I'm watching myself in slow motion, I reach out and pluck the object out of the air. When I look at what's in my hand, it turns out to be a paper airplane. A paper airplane now crumpled and ruined.

"Sorry, Cole."

Jax, my boss, stands there in all of his beefy glory. I stare at the paper airplane, and then at him.

"It's a stress relief thing. Easton turned me onto it."

I cock an eyebrow at him.

"If you say so."

"Well…Easton actually suggested I try Origami to help focus and relax my mind, but my cranes looked like crippled chickens. But paper airplanes? I got that down pat."

"Hey, Jax," Ryker calls from the next room. "What's the office Wi-Fi password again?"

"How many times do I have to…Platinum Security Rocks. But with all caps and three x's."

I wipe a hand down my face and sigh.

"What?" Jax asks.

"We're in the security business, and… that …is our password for the Wi-Fi?"

"It's ironic enough that no one will guess it," Jax says with a shrug.

Ryker appears in the doorway to the rec room. I give him a chin thrust, which he returns. Ryker is a good guy to have watching your back. He's been a friend ever since we were stationed in San Diego together.

"I tried that password, it didn't work," he says to Jax.

Jax rolls his eyes.

The two of them fuss over Ryker's phone, trying to get the Wi-Fi to work. I walk over to the dartboard on the far wall and run my fingers over the numerous holes. I'm still feeling the effects of my flame trick. I didn't even gasp or flinch when the paper airplane almost smacked into me.

This is a place I like to remain. In the stillness, the cold left behind by the flame's hunger. Nothing and no one can get to me when I'm like this.

"You taking care of yourself, Cole?"

I glance over at Ryker and shrug.

"Well enough, I suppose. You?"

He grins ear to ear. "I can't complain. You want a beer?"

"No, he's here to work," Jax answers for me.

Jax and I adjourn to his office. Things have gotten better around Platinum Security. Used to be, Jax could barely make rent. Now he's got all the trappings of a burgeoning CEO, minus the golden putter. I try to picture Jax idly putting in his office and I just can't do it.

"What's the job?" I ask, settling into the chair opposite his desk.

Jax arches his brows and folds his hands on the glass top.

"Standard protection detail. I'll let the client explain when she arrives."

"All right." I have no problem with waiting.

"Who's the client?" I ask.

"Her name is Emory Thorne, an in-demand dance choreographer. She worked on the set of one of my wife's movies."

A thoughtful frown crosses my face.

"Emory…why does that name sound so familiar?"

"She was at a party a while back. You remember, the night that Charlotte and Grayson got engaged?"

All my coolness and dispassion evaporates like morning dew under a desert sun. I remember Emory all too well. Even from all the way across Easton's backyard–and that's one Hell of a backyard–she grabbed something primal in me and didn't let go.

I hadn't spoken to her that night, though. I doubted she would even remember it.

When the gentle knock comes at Jax's door, my pulse jumps up.

Jax stands up almost as fast. He swiftly goes to the door and opens it.

"Hello, Ms. Thorne," he says in as professional a tone as he can muster. He shakes hands with Emory, but I can't really see anything of her other than the top of her golden blonde mane. A former spook named Grayson Shaw stands beside her.

"Hello," she says. "And please, call me Emory. We're hardly strangers."

"Of course. Emory. Thanks for bringing her in, Grayson."

Jax steps back and I get the first look at her I've had in months. Emory's sky blue eyes hold a veneer of misery and fear that instantly makes me angry. Not at her, but at whatever is scaring her. Her once lively posture is stooped, her shoulders hunched.

"No problem, boss," says Grayson. He turns to Emory.

"I'm going to head back to Charlotte. You're in good hands now, Emory."

"Thanks Grayson. Tell Charlotte I'll catch up with her later."

Grayson nods and then turns towards me.

"Don't mess this up, Cole. Who knows, you might even get the chance to practice your dance moves." He winks at me and then shuts the door behind him.

I shake my head. That's what I get for confiding in Grayson. He was there the first time I saw Emory at the party a few months ago.

"Please, have a seat, Emory." Jax indicates the chair beside me. "Would you like something to drink? I have bottled water, spritzers, sodas, and Gatorade, but it's the peach flavor no one likes."

"Some water would be great, thank you."

"How come you didn't offer me a drink?" I ask.

Jax gives me a dirty look, but he withdraws two bottles from the mini fridge behind his desk. He gestures toward me after handing off the waters.

"Emory, the smartass next to you is Cole Drake. I'm assigning him to your case."

She turns to me and smiles. Some of her warmth comes through, more than enough to get my blood pumping. God, she's gorgeous. Like if a sunset became a person.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Drake," she says, shaking my hand.

"You can call me Cole," I reply. Her skin is so soft, it's almost like heaven. I try to keep my cool, but I just can't. I do manage to keep the excitement off my face.

Jax sits back down and then takes us both in with his gaze before focusing it squarely on Emory.

"Emory, I know some of what's going on, but would you please go over it again? I know this is painful for you, but the more Cole knows, the better he can protect you."

Emory bunches her hands up on top of her knees. She purses her lips and puts on a brave face. I can almost see her feeding her own flame, reducing the barriers to speech into ash.

"I, um, well…my ex-boyfriend has escaped from prison, and I'm afraid he might come after me."

I keep my expression neutral. I'm a little underwhelmed about the prospect of guarding against an ex-boyfriend, to be honest. I had expected something meatier for my first solo assignment. I mean, Gray got to take down a cult.

I couldn't bag my deer, so maybe I'd like to bag another kind of prey.

"Who's your ex-boyfriend?" I ask, carefully neutral in tone as well.

Her gaze flashes over to me. The pain, the reluctance to recall trauma, is a look I know all too well. It's the look I have in my own eyes.

"Julian Lovejoy."

I do a double take. "Wait a minute. The yuppie guru guy? Life coach and all of that?"

She nods. "Yes. We met at Keanu's premiere, the one with the guns and the dog."

Keanu? If she's on a first name basis with A-listers, Emory is a bigger deal than I thought.

Emory's gaze grows distant as she looks into the past.

"At first, it was so flattering to have this super successful, very well known man coming after me. He showered me with attention. Love bombed me until I didn't know which way was up. For about three weeks, I'll admit, things were pretty good."

Her expression darkens, and her hands tighten into fists. Tendons stand out on the back of her forearms, and she faintly trembles.

"But then…I don't know. It was like his mask of compassion started to slip. He turned controlling, and, and aggressive."

She covers her face with her hands.

"One night, we were having an argument, and he hit me."

My blood boils. Trembling with anger, I envision how things will go if I get my hands on this guy.

I've seen Julian Lovejoy's podcasts and YouTube videos. He's not a small man by any means. Six and a half-feet tall, body honed by exercise, and well-versed in the martial arts–smashing bricks on stage was a favorite ‘empowerment' ritual of his–the man could kill Emory without really trying.

"It wasn't like he brutalized me. It was just a slap across the cheek, but I still fell down. He told me to get up and stop being dramatic."

She looks over at me suddenly, her eyes widening.

"I left him after that. I waited for him to fall asleep, and I left so fast I forgot my shoes. I walked all the way from Rodeo Drive barefoot, because I was too afraid to go back."

"At least you got out of there."

She nods. "Not all women are in a position to do what I did. Leave their abuser, I mean, so at first I thought I was lucky. I sent him a text begging him never to contact me again, blocked his number, and thought that would be the end."

Jax covers his mouth with his hand, a disturbed look in his eyes. I know the feeling.

"But it didn't end there," he asks softly. "Did it, Emory?"

She shakes her head, golden locks shimmering in the light.

"No. It didn't. I started seeing him, just lurking, when I was out in public. He called me so much, I wound up turning my phone off for days at a time."

"I thought you blocked his number?"

"A man with his resources can buy a thousand phones if he wants. I got the impression he wasn't going to stop. He was just going to keep on me until it drove me insane."

"Did you go to the police?"

"Of course I did," she snaps. "And they said they couldn't do anything unless Julian actually did something criminal. I mean, I asked for a restraining order, and got one, but that didn't stop him from being at the same places I was in public, always keeping just far enough away that the law couldn't touch him."

Jax stares for a long moment before speaking.

"Tell us when things started to escalate."

Emory smiles, but there's no happiness in it. A tear rolls down her cheek.

"He…I had this rescue dog, and, um…I came home one night, and my door was standing wide open and the dog…the dog was…"

She covers her face and sobs. I want to comfort her so damn bad, but I don't know how. A woman who's been stalked by a violent ex obviously doesn't need some guy she just met trying to hug her or something.

So I wind up sitting there, feeling helpless, and hating Julian Lovejoy's guts. How would Jake describe a piece of shit like Lovejoy? Oh, yeah. Meat to be wasted.

An image of Jake flashes through my mind. Sitting on the deck of a massive destroyer, his legs dangling over the side while he puffed on a half-bent Lucky Strike. Squinting in the sun, he turned his freckled face to me and said…

Not even bacteria should have to be nourished by that kind of person.

"Cole?"

I snap out of it, and turn to Jax.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that. What did you say?"

"I asked if you understand the nature of what we're up against?"

I nod. "Yeah. Being incarcerated didn't make Lovejoy any less rich. Or any less connected. Probably a lot of his Hollywood friends think Emory is hysterical or vengeful and made the whole thing up to frame him."

I turn to her and bow my head slightly.

"No offense. I know that's not what happened."

She nods, and I continue.

"Lovejoy will still have plenty of people willing to help him stay on the lam. Whether that help comes in the form of finances, or a place to hide, it doesn't matter. He's going to be elusive for the police to track down, so I will buckle down to guard Emory for the long haul."

"Impressive," Jax says nodding.

"I'm not finished. Lovejoy is a purple belt in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, ninth dan black belt in Judo, and eight dan black belt in Shotokan Karate. He attended counter-terrorism and anti-abduction training classes, which included use of small arms. In short, he's a very dangerous man, and not to be taken lightly. Did I leave anything out?"

Jax snorts. "Show off. How in the hell do you know so much about this guy already?"

"I was stuck in a dentist's office with a dead phone battery and only a copy of Time magazine to read. Lovejoy was the cover story."

Emory wears a worried frown.

"I didn't know about all that extra training, I just knew he was into Karate. I guess I'm right to be scared."

"You're right to be cautious, and hire protection," Jax corrects her gently. "And as dangerous as Lovejoy might be, I'm giving you a bodyguard who's more than up to the task."

Jax glances over at me.

"Go ahead, tell her what a badass you are."

I shrug. "I used to be in the Navy."

Jax leans back in his chair and grins.

"Please forgive Mr. Drake here. He is painfully modest. For the record, Cole Drake is a former Lt. in the Navy SEALs with extensive training, including a specialty in underwater demolitions. That would be the most dangerous military assignment in the world."

"Jax, come on, you don't have to–"

"Lt. Drake has been in over twenty-eight active combat sorties. He has been decorated with two bronze stars, four purple hearts, one silver star, the Legion of Merit, the Distinguished Service Medal, and…"

His voice drops an octave in respect.

"...The Medal of Honor. I hate to be so overbearing about it, but his modesty forced the issue. Cole Drake is a fucking one-man army. If I had to take on Godzilla and King Kong, Cole Drake is the first man I'd call. If God himself–"

"I think she gets the point, boss. I'm a killer."

I turn to Emory.

"Don't worry, Emory. I'll keep you safe. I promise."

Even as the words leave my mouth, I regret having said them.

After all, I made Jake that promise, too.