“Right.” Charlotte’s face was deathly pale, her eyes huge behind her pink-rimmed glasses. But she nodded and scrambled over to one of the heavy wooden tables, her sneakers squeaking against the damp floor as she pushed. Nicole hurried over to grip the front of the table, and together they managed to drag it in front of the door.

  Another peel of gunshots shattered the mirror over the bar, and splintered one of the front windows. Holly was curled up on the floor, sobbing. Charlotte knelt down beside her, wrapping her arms around their friend. Nicole sat down with them, tangling herself around them both as if she could shield them from harm. As the seconds passed like hours, she held on tight, silently praying that help would come soon.

  Then, thankfully, there was the wail of sirens. Nicole could’ve sworn she heard rapid footsteps running away, and then the sound of a car peeling out. She let herself close her eyes and finally breathe as the police cars screamed to a stop in front of the bar.

  “You can do this,” Nicole murmured, and then tried not to wince at her choice of words. Whether she could, or wanted to, didn’t matter. She didn’t have any other choice.

  It had been more than a week since that awful day at the bar. Once the police had arrived, the three of them had been ushered to the closest station where they’d given their statements. Once they’d finished, the cops had driven them home, and they were assured that NYPD’s finest would take care of everything. She’d tucked Grant into bed that night, shaken but not frightened—not even realizing that she should be.

  Now she was frightened. It had only been a few days later that the threats started coming. Anonymous and ugly, they warned her and the others to retract everything they had told the police. Or else. Nicole had immediately taken everything to the police, who had taken note of the threats, filed away copies of the emails, and assured her—again—that they would take care of everything. Nicole’s lawyer had some different advice. “You might want to look into personal protection.”

  Nicole was fairly certain he’d meant buying a gun. But for her, as much as she hated to admit it, protection meant one thing.

  The offices of Aegis Security were in a nondescript building in Midtown, tucked between a drugstore and a florist. The only thing advertising their presence had been the discreet name on the plaque by the entrance door, stating that they could be found on the third floor. Entering the quiet, well-kept lobby, she signed in with the doorman, following his directions to the elevator bank. Thankfully, they allowed walk-ins. Not that it would’ve stopped her if they hadn’t.

  The offices of Aegis Security screamed professional and efficient, with clean lines and decorating accents in cool grays and blues. The polite young man behind the reception desk took Nicole’s name, and assured her that, if she wanted to wait, someone would be out to speak to her as soon as possible.

  She’d made it clear exactly who she wanted—needed—to talk to, no matter how long she had to wait. And then she’d sat. And she’d waited. It had been close to a half-hour now, but that didn’t matter. She’d wait all day if she had to. Nicole tightened her fingers on her lap, and tried not to look at the picture of Grant on her phone.

  The door to the back office opened. She felt her mouth go dry as he walked out. Michael. Michael Rinaldi.

  It took her a second, because Michael—her Michael—was all grown up. She hadn’t realized that the Michael she’d always thought of was a boy, coltish and still filling out. He was definitely not that boy anymore. Holy hot hell, he had filled out. Muscles strained against the confines of his suit jacket, and the stern lines of his face had hardened into something fierce and just a little dangerous. His brown hair had grown out since she’d last seen him, but the eyes were the same. Dark brown, guarded, serious, as if he was expecting to see all the dark edges in the world.

  Michael stopped, tension radiating off of him. “Nicole.”

  She stood, smoothing down her damp palms on her jeans and tried to smile. It didn’t quite work. “Michael. Good to see you again. I need to talk to you. I’m sorry—I don’t have an appointment. But it really is urgent.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  Nicole steeled herself. “I need your help.”

  2

  Michael headed to the conference room. It’d be empty now—Ken and Easton were out—and it was a better option than his office. More space. He needed space, needed something more than the flimsy width of his desk between him and Nicole.

  Last time he’d seen her, she had been a fresh-faced college student, tears in her eyes but a determined, loving smile on her lips as she kissed him goodbye before he headed overseas. Their last kiss, though he hadn’t known it at the time.

  She shouldn’t look so damn good. Michael was never one to whine about fair or unfair, but this…this was just cruel. Nicole Zito had always been the type of girl to turn heads. Curves to spare and those big brown eyes, and that knowing, wicked smile that made you want to guess exactly what she was thinking. He’d dreamt about those curves, that lush, wicked mouth, even after she’d stomped on his heart without a word of explanation. He’d dreamed about a beautiful girl that he hadn’t been able to forget. But she’d grown into the kind of woman to stop a man dead in his tracks.

  Still, something was clearly wrong. He’d clocked the shadows under those big brown eyes that said she hadn’t been sleeping well. That wild cloud of dark hair was pulled back into a messy knot, and the faded jeans and well-worn jacket looked like something she had just thrown on.

  Nicole stepped inside the conference room and hesitated, looking around.

  “Have a seat.” Michael winced inwardly, knowing that came out brusque. Still, he strangled the impulse to offer her something to drink. If he wanted to get through this conversation quickly, then he didn’t need her lingering over coffee. He needed her to tell him what was wrong, so he could figure out the best way to tell her that he couldn’t help.

  For a second, Michael worried that Nicole might start with the small talk. You look good, how have you been? But she eased into one of the seats, a safe distance from him, he noted—and dove right into the issue with her usual frankness, saying, “Last week, my friends and I saw a man get murdered. Zackary Bryant. It was at a bar downtown.”

  He nodded. Michael recalled hearing something about it. The article he’d read had mentioned that there were witnesses, but no names had been listed. As far as he knew, no one had been charged yet, either. “You went to the cops.”

  “Yes. The three of us—my two friends and I—gave our statements right away. A few days later, we started getting threats warning us to recant what we had told the police, or else there would be…consequences.” Nicole hesitated. “It’s gotten serious enough that my lawyer recommended we get personal protection.”

  Michael’s gut twisted into one hard knot. “Nicole—”

  “I know what I’m asking,” she pressed on. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t desperate. I need your help, Michael.”

  Part of him wanted to tear out of here, find out who the hell was behind the murder and intimidation, and make sure they couldn’t ever threaten Nicole again. But the smarter part of him knew getting involved in this case in any way was a very bad idea. “I can recommend a good firm. Jenkinson with—”

  “No,” Nicole said firmly. “I want you. It has to be you.”

  That set him back. “Why?”

  Nicole took a deep breath. “You’re the only one I trust to take care of my son.”

  “Son.” It was like a punch to the gut.

  She nodded, and pulled out her phone, sliding it across the table towards Michael. “I got that yesterday morning.” It was a picture of a dark-haired ten-year-old on a playground, a pair of familiar brown eyes almost dwarfed by a pair of large glasses.

  Michael stood abruptly, needing to move. The kid looked to be maybe ten. Which meant she’d had him immediately after they… She’d broken his heart and gone out and…

  The kid looked like her. Kind of. The dark hair, the eyes. Not as much as Michael would’ve thought. Must take after his father. The thought made his jaw clench. “You have a son.”

  It took a moment to process the shock and pain—to push them down to where they couldn’t hurt him anymore. Only when that was done did he take in the rest of the message included with the picture. No one else has to get hurt, the email read. Take back your testimony. Jesus. No wonder she looked so shaken. Nicole had the most protective nature of anyone he’d ever met. The thought of her child being threatened like this, just because she was doing the right thing, providing testimony against a murderer… Against his will, he felt a flare of sympathy toward her.

  “Grant.” Her face softened into a smile as she said her son’s name. “He’s why I need your help. I can’t let anything happen to him. I can’t let him lose another mother.”

  That stopped him. Michael tried to keep his expression stern, but she must’ve seen something. “Grant is Emma’s son,” Nicole explained.

  “Your sister.”

  She nodded. “When Grant was six months old, there was a car accident. Emma and Colin and Colin’s parents. They were all in the car—and there were no survivors.”

  The relief came first, a flood of it, and then the guilt. He remembered Emma—at least, he remembered the lanky teenager with the sunny smile who always saw too much for her own good. He still remembered Emma teasing him for months before he got up the nerve to ask Nicole out. His grandmother had told him about the accident. His grandparents were still living in the neighborhood then.

  “Grant is why I came here,” Nicole said. “I’m not going to just sit and wait quietly for the police to find out who murdered Zak. Not when the killer has my son and my friends in his crosshairs. I need to keep everyone safe now.” She clenched her fingers tightly on the table in front of her. “The police aren’t sharing a lot, but my lawyer mentioned that they’d said Zak’s murder might have something to do with the mob. That’s why my lawyer advised me to look into protection, at least until the murderer’s been caught, or the police have ruled out any mob ties. Apparently, there was another incident like this, up in Boston. A witness to a mob hit went missing after they wouldn’t take back their testimony.”

  Michael nodded. He’d heard about that. The team liked to keep their ears open. That particular case had been a nasty business. Last he’d heard, the police still hadn’t found all the pieces of their would-be witness.

  He ran a hand through his hair, gut churning. He couldn’t take this case. It wasn’t an option. The way his heart clutched when he thought she’d had a kid with someone else—he couldn’t fool himself into believing he was impartial. Not by a long shot, not with her. And he needed to be, if he was going to do his job. He cared. Ten years, and Nicole Zito still had her hooks in him.

  But she was looking at him, with those big brown eyes. He saw the fear. And the trust.

  The trust had him swearing. “This is a bad idea, Nicole.”

  “I know. I wouldn’t be here if there was anyone else I could trust.” Nicole hesitated, her fingers clenched so tightly her knuckles were white. “I’m begging you.”

  Michael raked a hand through his hair, torn. Nicole hated to ask for help. He knew that better than anyone. And the threat was clearly credible.

  “What’s your budget?” he bit off. Maybe he could find her another firm. Better—well, not better, because he and the guys prided themselves on being the best. That didn’t mean someone else couldn’t do almost as well when it came to keeping her and her son safe.

  She quoted a number that was way below industry rates. Michael tried not to wince. There was no way she was going to be able to find a quality firm for that amount.

  Michael stopped pacing and gripped the back of a chair. He was going to regret this. “I’ll take it to my partners. See what they have to say.”

  “Thank you,” Nicole said. He tried to ignore the rush of relief in her voice.

  “But,” Michael growled, fighting the urge to cross over to her and pull her into his arms. Nicole never needed support like that, and she’d made it very clear ten years ago that she didn’t want him. “If we do this, we keep things purely professional.”

  Nicole shot him a hot glare. He tried not to smile. At least her glare was better than that tense, frightened look. “My life is being threatened. My son’s life, not to mention the lives of my best friends. I think I’ll manage to restrain myself,” she returned.

  Michael gave a curt nod. “Just as long as we understand each other.”

  “This is a terrible idea.”

  Michael grit his teeth, but managed to take a moment before answering. “Reasons?”

  His partners, Easton Yates and Kenton Price regarded him with almost identical expressions of skepticism. Fair enough. It wasn’t like the reasons weren’t obvious.

  He’d called them both into the conference room as soon as they’d gotten back. Which was, thankfully, after Nicole had left. Neither of them had ever met Nicole in person, but they’d both been there when she’d shattered his heart. Both Ken and Easton had served in Michael’s unit, and when he’d decided to retire from the SEALs and start a personal protection business, neither of them had hesitated when he’d asked them to come along. Aegis Security was his baby, but all three of them were full partners, with equal say. Which meant that any new job had to be approved by all three of them.

  Ken leaned back in his chair. They tended to wear suits in the office, but he’d immediately lost his jacket and tie when Michael had called them into a private meeting. Tall, blonde, buff, he tended to remind people of a certain famous doll’s boyfriend—something Michael knew annoyed him to no end. He fought back against the association by eschewing anything that could ever be described as “preppy.” Michael had seen him glare at polo shirts as if they’d insulted his mother. Right now, he was looking at Michael like Michael had just suggested changing into tennis whites and tying the sleeves of a sweater around his neck. “Do I even need to state the reasons? It’s Nicole Zito.”

  “I know who it is. I’m asking you to consider this objectively.” No need to say that might be impossible.

  “Objectively, they can’t afford us,” Ken replied immediately. He didn’t blink when Michael shot him a glare. “This isn’t objective for you, and there’s no point in pretending otherwise.”

  “Honest assessment,” Easton cut in, before Michael had a chance to reply. Always the take-charge type, Easton had a knack for cutting to the heart of a situation. “It’s not a great time for us to be taking on another assignment. We don’t have the resources or the man power. We’d need three separate safe houses, prepped and ready, not to mention 24-hour, round the clock personal protection for these women. I’m about to go on vacation, and even I canceled that, the rest of our employees are already on assignments. If you’re serious about this—”

  “Oh, he is,” Ken remarked. “That’s his serious face.”

  “—then I will once again recommend we bring on someone else. Another hire means at the very least you won’t have to work with your ex-girlfriend.”

  Michael knew where Easton was going with this. “No.”

  Easton continued, undaunted. “Jed Maloney—”

  “I said no.”

  “Maloney is a good guy. I trust him.”

  “So do I,” Ken said.

  “I don’t,” Michael said. As far as he was concerned, Jed Maloney had had his chance to prove he could be relied on. He’d failed that test. Another member of Michael’s SEAL team overseas, Maloney had retired a year before them after a mission went bad, and he got caught too close to a blast in a firefight, permanently damaging the hearing in one of his ears. They’d been tracking down a black-market weapons dealer. Michael had been convinced they had the element of surprise, right until the bullets started flying and everything went to hell. Maloney survived. Three other men in their team hadn’t been so lucky.

  What Michael hadn’t known until afterwards was the reason everything went south. Their CO had been selling secrets to the very same weapons dealer, lining his pockets while making it possible for men like that to stay just out of the military’s reach. And Maloney had known about it. Had refused to say anything until he had what he considered to be enough evidence to file a report. His testimony had eventually resulted in their CO’s court martial and conviction, but it was too little too late in Michael’s opinion. If Maloney had come forward sooner with what he knew, those men would still be alive.

  Ken exchanged a look with Easton. They’d been down this road before. “He did the right thing. He followed procedure—that’s what we’re supposed to do. He’s the reason Ralston is rotting in a prison right now. If he’d rushed things, the end result might have been even worse.”

  “Tell that to the families of the men who died. Jed Maloney had his chance,” Michael went on, before they could argue. “He doesn’t get another.” No second chances. It was the one rule Michael lived by. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to go back on it now, not when Nicole’s life was on the line. He was not going to put her safety in the hands of a man he couldn’t trust. He could see that Ken and Easton didn’t like it, but they nodded. They’d agreed from the start that they were equal partners, which meant all decisions, including hires, had to be unanimous. “We don’t need to bring anyone else on. We can handle this ourselves. I know we’re stretched thin, and it’s not ideal, but these women are scared for their lives. And from what I can tell, they have reason to be. Are we really going to turn our backs on them?”

  “No, of course not,” Ken said.

  Michael looked to Easton, who nodded his agreement.

  “Okay.” Michael tried to ignore the wave of relief he felt. He wouldn’t have been able to walk away from this one, no matter what his partners decided. But he also knew he wouldn’t have been able to protect all three of the women—plus a kid, not by himself. “You’re right about safe houses,” he told Easton. “Considering the time frame we’re working on, and to keep costs down, I propose we use the safe spaces we already have access to. East, since you’re already headed out of town on that fancy vacation, you’ll take along your new bride, Charlotte Burnside.” Michael slid a file across the conference table to Easton.