Under Pressure. Lori Foster

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СКАЧАТЬ get ahead of yourself.” To further explain, he said, “For this case, I’m more like a close protection officer. Sometimes, depending on the job and the risk to the client, we might have a close protection group, but until meeting Catalina, no one thought that was necessary.” Groups were generally used when a politician or ambassador suspected an assassination attempt, meaning different levels of surveillance would be needed.

      But for one petite schoolteacher?

      “With that one,” Justice said, nodding toward the backseat where Cat slept, “I’m thinking a battalion might get a workout trying to keep up with her.”

      Leese was beginning to think the same.

      “Know what, Leese?”

      “What?”

      “I’d consider it more fun if I got to do some hitting too.”

      With a lazy stretch and a purring groan, Cat came awake and sluggishly sat up. She rubbed her eyes while saying, “Then you’re in for a good time, stud, because if you stick with me, I predict there’ll be a lot of hitting in your future.”

      “Stud?” Leese asked, already guessing she’d been awake for a while.

      “That’s what he called himself, right?”

      Justice grimaced. “You were playing possum?”

      “More like caught between sleep and being awake. You’re funny, Justice, in an overblown, overconfident, somewhat misogynistic way.”

      Leese elbowed him. “She’s saying you don’t have a healthy respect for women.”

      “Not true!” Justice lifted his nose. “I love the ladies.”

      Huffing a laugh, Cat turned to Leese. “And you’re quick with the comebacks. You two should take your act on the road.”

      “Got our hands full keeping you safe, apparently.” Her eyes still looked slumberous, but little by little, the wariness crept back in. “We’ll be pulling into Body Armor in about five minutes.”

      “That’s the name of the agency?”

      “Yeah. Under new management.”

      “Oh?”

      “Sahara Silver.” Smiling, he spoke the truth. “And she’s going to love you.”

      “Why?”

      “Because she’s always looking for ways to make the agency’s rep sexier. And you definitely fit the bill.”

      * * *

      SAHARA SILVER STEPPED into the polished foyer of the agency she’d recently inherited. How she loved this place, the high-end decor, the modern lines...and the testosterone in the air.

      She breathed deeply, then shivered.

      Perfect, just perfect.

      As several people looked up, she smiled. She’d been at the helm for a year now and still earned that curious, uncertain reaction. Her brother, God bless him, had been more sedate and far more serious. A wonderful businessman and an even better brother. She missed Scott every minute of every day, but being here, in the midst of all he’d built, she felt closer to him.

      With her high heels clicking, she strode through, nodding to one and all on her way to the private elevator that’d take her to her office on one of the uppermost floors.

      Anita, her lobby receptionist, rushed to meet her. “Ms. Silver, Mr. Phelps and Mr. Wallington went up about five minutes ago. They had a guest with them.”

      Excitement rushed into her bloodstream. “That’s fine, Anita. Thank you.” Leese Phelps, always early, always ready. He was her favorite find for the agency. An MMA fighter turned bodyguard with an ability so incredible, he would rarely ever need to use a weapon beyond his fists.

      Leese had also brought Justice Wallington into the fold. Such a colorful character. Where Leese added suave, quiet power to the agency, Justice brought cocky, irreverent outrageousness.

      Justice was still being fine-tuned, but she had no doubt he’d be an amazing addition to the new, more modern segment of the business. She’d be launching him out on his own very soon.

      After greeting Troy, the armed guard who stood watch over the private elevator, Sahara waved off the attendant and stepped inside to ride up to her office. She could only hope that the surprise guest would be yet another fighter for her to hone into an asset.

      When she’d inherited the agency from Scott, it was like a lifeline, a way to remain attached to him even after he’d gone. Sixteen years older than her, Scott had practically raised her when their absentee parents chose to travel the world rather than be saddled with a “surprise” daughter. So many times Scott had brought her along to the office, let her observe and learn as she sat in on meetings both in preparation of assignments and in reporting outcomes.

      Even then, when she was a fidgety preteen know-it-all, he’d encouraged her to voice her ideas and she always did. She was never short on opinions.

      It wasn’t until she’d turned nineteen that she’d told him, in front of all the bodyguards during a big meeting, that he needed employees with more sex appeal.

      Her brother had choked on his drink, and the men—all of them middle-aged and less than impressive—had tried to melt her with heated glares.

      Too fast for her to further explain, Scott had ushered her from the room and, she assumed, spent the next hour smoothing ruffled feathers.

      Bodyguards, in her opinion, should not have feathers. They should be made of steel, and they should appeal to the masses.

      Regardless of the less than promising reaction from the staff at the time, she hadn’t been deterred. She’d thought about it more and more, a way to separate Body Armor from other agencies. Sex was in, the sexier the better.

      Why couldn’t her agents be top of the class in both skill and persona? Why couldn’t they seduce with amazing talent and capability, as well as smoldering good looks?

      The rich and elite, she knew, would pay a fortune for appearances mixed with talent. Under her guidance, Body Armor would offer it all.

      She kept the other employees and offered them at a reduced rate. They stayed busy, the revenue continued to pour in and already Leese Phelps was in high demand. Soon, with any luck, she’d find a few more new hires and round out the employee cache with something for everyone.

      Thinking ahead, always, she strode toward her personal receptionist, Enoch, who jumped to his feet to present her with her day’s agenda.

      “Guests inside, Sahara. Leese and Justice, and they brought with them a young lady—”

      She drew up short. “Not another fighter?”

      He smiled. “Sorry, no. Or at least I assume she’s not.” He leaned in closer. “She’s rather small.”

      Enoch knew her well enough to understand she preferred first names whenever possible, СКАЧАТЬ