Still Not Yours: An Enemies to Lovers Romance Read online

  “Don't touch them again. For the police,” she says gently, then settles down next to me and plucks the crumpled note from my trembling hands.

  “Holy fuck-a-roo.” Her brows knit as she scans over our names. Then she shakes her head, looking at me with her wide blue eyes pale, worried. “How'd this happen?”

  I sniffle, rubbing at my eyes.

  Maybe I feel a tad better now that I’m not wearing that outfit. I hope the police burn it when they’re done with it, but I’m better able to speak, to pull myself together, and I tell Milah everything.

  “This black car pulled up to the curb right when I was leaving your place,” I say. “This guy got out and started asking me about you. I thought he was paparazzi and was just going to blow past him, but then he said something about how you owe him for a ‘special delivery’ and that you’d remember Vancouver. I...I didn’t even know what he was talking about. But then this van comes roaring down the street and these other men lean out and next thing I know there're gunshots and a dead body.”

  “Two,” Milah corrects, her voice ragged at the edges, almost a croak. “There were two dead bodies.”

  “What?!” I feel the blood drain from my face. “Two? No...no, I only saw them kill one...”

  “The driver,” she whispers. “We found them both out front. They shot the driver while you ran.”

  “The second gunshot.” I swallow back the thick, awful feeling in my throat. “I was running and heard a second gunshot. I thought they were firing at me, but...”

  “They would've.” Milah lets out a worried, fretful sound, pressing her fingers to her mouth, then just buries her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, Liv, this is all my fault...there was a show in Vancouver. Several tours ago. I don’t remember much of it, I wasn’t really myself –”

  Wasn’t really myself. That’s Milah code for on another coke bender.

  “But listen, hon, I know I fucked up. I wanted to impress a lot of people up there and I blew a lot of money on some really good stuff. Like, really pure, best I’ve ever had.” She breaks off and gives me a guilty look. “I don’t mean it like that, I guess. Just that it was expensive, and I guess I must’ve borrowed from the wrong people. I’m sorry, Liv. I’m so, so sorry, I can’t believe what a fuckup I am. I’m trying to do better, but this stuff just comes back to –”

  “Milah.” I try to keep my voice gentle. Here we are, back to being the older younger sister. “You owe people drug money?”

  “Maybe.” She gets off one word and then she hangs her head.

  Mutely, she nods, her little-girl pout drawn and trembling. I sigh, pressing my fingers to the bridge of my nose.

  “Paying them off isn’t going to work. People are dead now. We’re calling the cops. Maybe even the FBI.”

  “No!” She goes pale, shaking her head frantically, her ponytail bobbing. “The freaking Feds? We can’t!”

  “Hey, you were the one preserving evidence over there like it’s an episode of CSI: Miami.”

  “That was before I knew what this was about.” She bites her lip, turning the full force of those pleading baby blues on me. “Going to the police will just make it worse. Trust me, Liv...they may even arrest me for possession.”

  I tense. “What? Are you carrying right now?”

  “No!” She knots her hands together. “Just, you know, past stuff. What if they take these guys down and I go with them?”

  I roll my eyes. “Then I'm sure Daddy will be standing by with a legion of lawyers to bail you out.”

  Groaning, I flop back against the Egyptian cotton sheets. Suddenly I’m less afraid of these men with guns and more resigned to whatever mess Milah has gotten herself into now.

  “Can't we just get this over with? Tell Daddy to fix everything like we always do?”

  “Daddy won’t need to,” Milah says almost triumphantly. “Because I know just the thing. And the man.”

  2

  Little Too Much (Riker)

  When I tell people I’m married to my job, I don’t mean it so damn literally.

  That’s just how it feels right now as my daughter gets out of the back seat of my Wrangler with a chipper little wave, and my phone starts blowing up with one text notification after another.

  No rest for the wicked? Maybe, but work can wait another ten seconds. There's one thing that can't.

  “Hey, Em, you forgetting something?”

  I ignore it until she looks back, sighs, then comes around to the driver’s side, leans in, and pecks me on the cheek with her bright, impish little smile that she wears so bravely every morning to hide just how shy she is.

  She’s so tiny you’d never guess she's in her teens, this pixie with forest-green eyes and long brown hair – and you’d never guess how smart she is, either.

  So smart she gives me a run for my money daily. So smart the goddamn NSA is already sniffing around for scholarship submissions to get her fast-tracked through cryptography.

  She's only twelve.

  Older and brighter than most people will ever be, but her heart is still a child's.

  I can’t help but want to pull her back into the car then.

  Just pull her away from school, shut off my phone, and shelter her from the day I know that's coming, when she'll be making her way out into a world I can't save her from.

  She’s always so guarded, though, her shyness more a shield and a defense than any fear. I know when she comes home tonight, she'll smile and tell me school was fine, but her shoulders will be heavy and that careful withdrawal in her eyes will tell me everything I need to know about how lonely her days in class are.

  I'm not sending her into a training center for the frigging government. She isn't ready. Even if it'd cover college expenses that are coming up way too fast for my bank account.

  “Have yourself a good day,” I say, nodding my head.

  I can’t keep her locked up forever, though. I can’t even keep her locked up today.

  All I can do is watch her go with a final wave and a smile when she says, “It’s your turn to make dinner tonight, Daddy.”

  Meanwhile, the phone loses its mind, vibrating like a loose grenade.

  Fuck.

  I never thought I’d see my life like this. Having a daughter young enough to still call me Daddy, but old enough that I’m already thinking about how the hell I’m going to manage without her when she’s all grown up.

  Not until her first bell rings and she disappears inside the school building with a last flip of her hair over her Spock backpack do I bother with my phone. Texts have changed into ringing off the hook – two phone calls – but that’s always been my rule for working at Enguard.

  Family first, even if it means letting Landon work himself into a foaming lather while I see Em off to school.

  Once the third call starts rumbling, I fish my phone out and lean back in the driver’s seat, draping an arm over the steering wheel while I swipe the Answer button.

  Through the windshield, Jenny Cavanaugh’s mother catches my eye and flutters her fingers at me with a syrupy little smile. I force a thin smile back – she gave me food poisoning with her tuna salad at a PTA potluck, and I hold grudges – then murmur into the phone.

  “Yeah? It's Woods. What’s the emergency?”

  “Just get your ass down to the office,” Landon says. He sounds more exhausted than annoyed. “We’ve got hell on our hands, and it’s probably not something we should discuss over the phone. Even on a secure line.”

  Awesome.

  I strap on my seatbelt, jack the Wrangler into reverse, and then back out of the parking lot one-handed. The other's busy transferring the phone to my dash holder and flicking the Bluetooth clip in my ear. “Not going to give me even a small clue?”

  “Milah,” Landon says grimly. “Milah Holly.”

  Triple fuck.

  Luckily, there's always a silver lining. James is going to owe me a drink.

  We’ve had a running bet since Sk
ylar got her niece back – that either we were completely out of the woods on catastrophic clusterfucks this year, or we were just getting started.

  First there was that mess with Crown Security and a firefight that nearly took the police to break it up, not to mention Milah Holly getting poisoned at her own concert. Then there was Skylar’s niece getting kidnapped, missing for months, and Sky herself nearly ending up another victim to a deranged madman who’d do anything to keep that little girl.

  My buddy, James, thought that was the end of our chaos streak.

  My old man always taught me fortune comes in threes, both good and bad, and I’ve only counted two disasters so far.

  Sometimes, I hate being right.

  Even if it means getting an entire bottle of aged Glenfiddich as my reward.

  Fine scotch can go a long damn way to taking the edge off whatever price I have to pay to win my bet.

  Sighing, I pull the Jeep into traffic and set course for the office. “Are you calling everyone or just me?”

  “Everyone else is already here. But this job’s specific to you, Riker.”

  Me? There's an edge in my boss' voice I don't like.

  My hackles raise, put up their dukes. I can’t help it.

  I’m a senior security adviser, dammit. Sometimes the muscle, most often in charge of firearms training, safety, and certification for all our field agents. I don’t usually have specific jobs assigned to me. I’m more like the team's backbone.

  “Landon,” I ask, “what the hell are you getting me into?”

  “You’ll see,” he says. “Drive faster.”

  * * *

  I’m almost tempted to “accidentally” get stuck in traffic.

  But before long I’m pulling into my parking spot outside Enguard Security. Landon’s right – the whole team is here already, earlier than usual, their cars lined up in the lot.

  From Sky’s junky old Buick to Landon’s Impala to Gabe’s Dodge to James’ sleek Camry. When I walk inside, the command center looks like a war room – everyone gathered grimly around a projector screen where Sky’s laptop beams up a bunch of collected tabs with a map, a route, several open dossier files, and a photo of a waifish, fragile-looking blonde girl who most definitely isn’t Milah Holly.

  Though I think there's a distinct resemblance...

  She looks like the kind of girl who attracts danger, from her wide, startled eyes to the subtle tremor captured in a single soft parting of her pink, articulated lips.

  She looks like the kind of girl who could drive a man to lose his mind with the need to protect her.

  She looks like a siren call to self-destruction.

  She looks like trouble, in neon beauty, and I have a feeling she’s about to become my problem.

  Before I even get a chance to ask a question, Landon’s passing around handouts.

  I skim the blocky chunks of text and photos. Olivia “Liv” Holly, barely twenty-one, daughter of some investment and business incubation mogul, younger sister to pop queen Milah Holly. I catch mention of a gang called the Pilgrims, and flip through a police report with two dead bodies before Landon starts up.

  “This is a protection job, pure and simple,” he says, “but not quite like any protection job we’ve done before. We’re basically taking this girl into witness protection, but it’s a private operation. Not even the cops will know where she is.”

  Gabe – hovering over Skylar protectively as always – props his shoulder against the wall and asks in his low Southern drawl, “Don’t make no sense for it to be us, does it? Don’t the cops have setups for this kind of thing?”

  “They do,” Landon says. “But this girl witnessed a hit. I’m thinking organized mob, the Pilgrims from the looks of it – and you don’t work with the cops if you don't want to cross the Pilgrims. They’re run by this asshole who calls himself Lion, and he’s got his fingers in everything. The cops, private security, maybe even CIA. They’d hang her out to dry in a second if he wanted her.”

  James frowns, folding his arms over his chest, and somehow never manages to even crease his impeccably pressed suit. “What makes you so certain it’s the Pilgrims?”

  “Let’s just say we have history.” Landon’s mouth sets in a grim line, dark blue eyes flashing. “When my father ran Crown Security, he had connections in some low places. Dallas’ father had some even worse ones.” I can tell he tries not to shudder mentioning Dallas, his old rival.

  He leans over and taps a few keys on Sky’s laptop. The projector screen changes to show an image of a tall, grizzled man with a thick mane of hair half-in, half-out of wiry blonde braids, his beard wild around a grim mouth, the clench of his scarred fists as brutal as the coldness in his eyes.

  If he weren't so brutally smart, he'd look like a homeless psycho. More like a modern day pirate than any kind of pilgrim, but I've never had to name a gang.

  “I’d see Lion around the office sometimes. Usually looking for people to shore up his protection racket, wringing local businesses for cash to keep them safe from rival gangs. He makes a lot of enemies.” Landon looks at us, making sure we're staying sharp.

  I’ve been silent, taking it all in, fighting against the growing sense that this is something I don’t want to get involved with, but now I can’t help but speak up.

  “So, what, you think two crime syndicates may be involved?”

  “Bingo. Milah doesn’t know the two dead men, and her sister claims they were asking after Milah and a debt before they were gunned down. I saw the forensic photos.” Landon folds his arms over his chest. “I think the Pilgrims were after Milah Holly for drug money, and a rival gang shot them up while they were shaking down her sister. The motive, that's less clear.”

  My heart sinks. Em's little face pops into my head.

  I’m getting a bad feeling about this. A very bad fucking feeling about this. I grind my teeth, turning things over, while Sky speaks up.

  “There’s the old lodge in Eugene,” she says. “Where we do field practice. We could convert it into a safe house, boss.”

  “That would be far too obvious,” James interjects in his usual refined tone. “From what we know of these Pilgrims, they specialize in finding people in hiding places few expect. I believe for this job we need something more...unorthodox.”

  They’re all looking at me. Waiting. Looking right at me, like they’re some hive mind having the same devious thought. I tense, fingers curling into fists until the handout's pages crinkle.

  “What?”

  “I think you need to get remarried,” Landon says.

  “No.”

  “Not really, of course.” Landon sighs, fighting at a smile he bites back. “Look, it's not like we're enjoying this. It’s just the most obvious solution, Riker. You say she’s your fiancée, finally coming to meet your kid, and she moves in with you. You slot her into your home, play house for a while, and keep her safe while we partner up with the FBI and do the dirty work. You'll be her chaperone while we're hunting down everyone involved, making sure they never threaten anyone again.”

  “Meet my kid.” I mirror the words back slowly and precisely, a bitter echo. The dread inside me crystallizes into something cold and dark. “You want me to endanger my daughter by bringing Milah Holly’s problems into my house? You want me to prioritize her sister over my own child?”

  The entire office goes dead silent save for the faint clicks and whirrs of Sky’s laptop. Everyone is watching me in a sort of tense, frozen silence, like I’m a block of C4 waiting to ignite and blow the entire room to kingdom come.

  I can’t move. I'm too pissed off.

  Stillness is the only way I can control my anger, my rage, and keep my training from taking over until I sink away into a dark place where I become someone no one here wants to deal with.

  These people are my crew, my friends. But today, dammit, they're really testing my nerve.

  Landon’s watching me with something almost like sympathy – no, that's not quite it.


  Trust.

  “I want you to be who you truly are,” he says softly. “The only person here who has the strength and the skill to keep them both safe. I trust that you can do it. I know Emily does, too. She's an angel, and I'd never do anything to endanger your daughter. Olivia Holly needs someone like you. It's cover, Riker, nothing more. What happened to the younger Holly isn’t her fault, and you’re the best one to protect her. The story behind it doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me.” I’m feeling so much, I can’t express anything at all, everything evening out into this flat, dead tone. “You want me to bring another woman into my home and just...tell my daughter to accept her? That's seriously what you're asking?”

  “Emily's a brilliant young lady, isn't she?”

  Landon pauses until I grudgingly nod my head. I can't deny that part.

  “Then she's smart enough to understand. Wiser than her years. It’s only temporary, and again...” A sigh heaves Landon’s chest. “I’m not asking you to do this out of the goodness of your heart. I’m offering a hazard pay bonus equal to one year's salary. The company will cover the cost of the necessary security upgrades to your house. Whatever you need to feel comfortable and keep safe. We'll turn the damn place into Cheyenne Mountain.”

  I almost want to quit my job right now. Turn around. Walk out.

  Never look at Landon Strauss or any of these people watching me with expectant eyes ever again.

  Landon’s just put a price tag on my family and my pride. A year's salary.

  Fuck.

  And the worst part is, a part of me knows it would be a smart idea to accept, when that money could mean everything for my daughter’s future.

  Landon doesn’t know it, but he’s dangling a carrot on a stick – and a whole year's extra salary would be enough to get us out of debt. Crystal’s been gone for four years now, leaving just me, Em, and a pile of chemotherapy bills that I’ve been battling the insurance company on even when I didn’t have the fortitude for it. All because those relentless bastards want to take us for everything we have and leave us penniless.