Broken Hero Read online

  “Well then,” he said. “Let’s hear it. I want to know what we can nail this prick to the wall for.”

  Natalie took a long, slow sip of her wine, cleared her throat, and started.

  Over the course of the next hour, she went through it all. The drugs, the gunrunning, the extortion, and the murders—she covered it all. If there was a crime, Joey had pulled it off. And what’s more, she had the access Joey had given her amounted to hard evidence of his shady business dealings.

  When she was done, Simon sat back in his seat, put his hand on the edge of the table, and shook his head.

  “I knew the bastard was bad news, but I didn’t know the extent of it.”

  “And now you do,” said Natalie. “So the only question is, how are we going to get him off the streets?”

  We weren’t—not if I had anything to say about it.

  And that’s what scared me the most.

  Chapter Seventeen

  NATALIE

  It’d been days after my meeting with Walker and Simon, and things had been quiet. Simon had told me that he’d create a small team to put together a case with my help.

  But until Simon was ready to move forward, there wasn’t anything to be done. I had to keep going on like nothing was out of the ordinary. It was the same old, same old, except with a gorgeous, hulking bodyguard living in my home and the constant threat of death looming over me.

  Just typical stuff, really.

  “You think this is weird?” I asked Garrett as we both sat in the living room, some junk TV playing above the fireplace.

  “Do I think what’s weird?” he asked.

  “That it’s been so quiet,” I said. “I mean, we both nearly got killed not too long ago, and now it’s like there’s nothing going on at all.”

  Garrett, his eyes fixed on the iPad in his hands, spoke.

  “I won’t patronize you by asking if you know what they say about gift horses and their mouths.”

  I smirked. “You know, by putting it like that you might as well have said it.”

  He matched my grin. “Fair point.”

  “But seriously,” I asked. “Joey has to know what I’m up to, or at least have some idea. But it’s all quiet on the Midtown front, you know?”

  “Well,” said Garrett, setting down his tablet. “This isn’t some third-world city we’re living in. Pulling a stunt like he did the other night isn’t the easiest thing to do without attracting attention. Not like he can send endless waves of goons after you without bringing down some heat on himself.”

  “I suppose that makes some kind of sense.”

  “And you are paying for some top-tier protection,” he went on. “I sent those goons scampering home like whipped pups. Between your protection and my crew keeping an eye out, you’re in a pretty good position.”

  I thought back to the night Garrett saved me from the thugs. As I did, a tingle exploded down below and spread out through my pussy. I couldn’t believe it, but the idea of him ripping into those pricks was still having some kind of primal, sexual effect on me. Was the fact that I knew there was a killer lurking beneath that calm exterior actually turning me on?

  “If that’s the case,” I said, trying to take my mind off the subject, “then maybe we should take advantage of it.”

  Garrett raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Let’s go out. Maybe get something to eat, grab a couple of drinks.”

  “Like a date?”

  “No,” I said, swatting down the word with my tone as hard as I could. “Not like a date. Just two friends going out for a nice evening. I’ll even treat.”

  “You’re paying?” he asked. “Then it’s an exceptionally progressive date.”

  I grabbed a nearby pillow and whipped it at him playfully. With effortless skill he snatched it out of the air and set it down next to him in a swift, fluid motion. The expression on his face didn’t change even a single bit.

  “Nice catch,” I said.

  He flashed me a small smirk. “Just good training,” he said.

  “How about this,” I said. “First round’s on me.”

  He appeared to give it a moment of thought.

  “OK,” he said. “I think I can handle that. And I want to stay near the apartment. If anything goes down, I want to be in familiar territory.”

  “Works for me,” I said.

  I nodded toward the front door, and we were soon off. As we took the elevator down, I caught myself stealing glances at him out of the corner of my eye.

  Why was I doing this? I asked myself. Not the stealing glances—the fact that he was gorgeous beyond belief was the reason for that.

  But why was I asking him out for drinks? Was it really a matter of getting to know him? I barely went out with guys like this—my relationship with Joey had been a major exception to the rule.

  I tried to shake it all out of my head as the elevator descended. Did there need to be an unconscious motivation for asking a colleague—or something like it—out for an evening? Drinks with friends were supposed to be fun, after all, and a little fun sounded pretty damn good to me.

  We stood outside my building in the middle of Midtown. The sky was in the process of darkening above us, and a chill wind curled down the wide boulevards. Part of me wanted to step close to Garrett and lean into him to take in a bit of his warmth.

  God, get a freaking grip, I thought. Are you really not able to be around a handsome guy without thinking about him naked?

  Then I realized I hadn’t been thinking about him naked. So, of course, the mental of image of him nude appeared in my mind.

  “You OK?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Huh?” I said. “Yeah, fine. Why?”

  “You looked a million miles away for a second,” he said as he pulled up the zipper of his leather racing jacket.

  “Just…thinking about where to go for drinks,” I said, coming up with a save.

  I looked up and down the block, the sidewalks packed with the usual crowd of Midtown tourists, most of them moving in loose throngs as they gawked up at the skyscrapers that loomed above us.

  “Unfortunately,” he said, “this isn’t really the best neighborhood to go to if you want a quiet place for a couple of cocktails.”

  “No kissing,” I said.

  “Huh?” asked Garrett.

  “Kidding,” I said. “That’s what I meant.”

  Garrett let the ridiculous Freudian slip pass, thankfully.

  “Wait,” said Garrett. “I know a place. Come on.”

  He started off down the road and I followed at his side.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “I did bodywork for this girl a while back, some trust-fund hipster whose rich dad got in bad with some South American investors. She knew all the cool spots in the city, and she liked to drink.”

  Made sense, but all I could think about was the tinge of jealousy that ran through me at the idea of him with some other girl. What kind of “bodywork” did he do with her, exactly?

  I couldn’t believe how I was acting. But as I looked at Garrett, taking in the sight of his towering, powerful physique, I knew that I’d be lying to myself if I pretended that I wasn’t painfully attracted to the guy.

  We continued down the street, eventually coming to a nondescript place with dark windows and a dark door.

  “Looks sketchy,” I said.

  “It’s the good kind of sketchy,” he said. “The kind where there aren’t going to be many people inside, and all the entrances and exits are visible from one place.”

  He opened the door for me, and I stepped inside. The bar was a low-lit place that looked like a combination of a hip cocktail bar and a dive. Posters for old horror movies were hung on the walls, and attractive bartenders with sleeve tattoos and tight jeans prepared fancy-looking cocktails in crystal mixing glasses. Lo-fi rock played on the speakers, and a smattering of painfully hip college-aged kids made up the clientele.

  �
��Yep,” I said, taking in the scene. “Definitely looks like the kind of place that a trust-fund girl would be into.”

  Garrett let out a snort of a laugh. “It’s a little much, yeah, but the drinks were damn good, and they’ve got a killer whiskey selection.”

  I flashed him an intrigued glance as we slid into the chairs of a high-top table near the back. “Does that mean you’re going to be getting a little drunk?”

  “Maybe just a drink or two,” he said, taking the menu out from between the salt and pepper shakers on the table. “Feels like that kind of night.”

  I wasn’t quite sure what to make of that statement. But I was down with the idea of the two of us throwing back a few drinks and, well, seeing where the night took us.

  No sex, I thought to myself. You already had your fun, and you laid down the terms for him. Be professional, dammit.

  The server, a redhead with clear-rimmed glasses and enough cleavage on display to make me nearly gasp, approached the table. I watched Garrett as he ordered, wondering if he was going to ogle the girl in the way she, judging by her body language, clearly wanted him to. But he simply ordered his drink as though he was speaking to a drive-thru speaker.

  The girl turned her attention to me, a quick, competitive expression flashing on her pretty features.

  “I’ll take the lavender and gin thing here,” I said, placing my finger on the menu.

  She nodded and headed off, Garrett’s eyes staying fixed ahead and not on the round, coed ass swaying away from us.

  “You do bodywork for a lot of younger clients?” I asked, not able to resist my curiosity.

  “Sometimes,” he said, taking a quick pass over the food menu before putting it back in its place.

  “Tell me about it,” I asked.

  “Why the curiosity about my other clients?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I suppose because it’s your past, and I want to know a little more about you.”

  “Fair enough,” he said. “It looks like we’re going to be with each other for the foreseeable future.”

  “Right,” I said. “Just because we have a professional relationship doesn’t mean we can’t get to know one another. And besides, you already know about my past relationship issues.”

  “Oh,” he said, surprised. “Now you want to know about my relationship history?”

  I did, but I didn’t mean for the subject to come up so quickly like that. Now that it was out in the open, however…

  “Just interested in getting to know more about you, like I said. Doesn’t necessarily have to be about your exes.”

  At that moment the waitress returned and set a pair of drinks on the table. We both took our sips and set them back down at the same time.

  “How is it?” he asked.

  “Not bad,” I said. “Complicated, but tasty.”

  “That’s why I like my whiskey,” he said, raising the glass of the amber liquid. “Nice and simple, and gets you good and drunk.”

  “You know,” I said. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious what you’re like when you’re drunk.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Damn, you’re all about getting to know me,” he said. “You’re not secretly working for someone else, squeezing information out of me, are you?” He grinned, letting me know he wasn’t being serious.

  “Just simple curiosity,” I said.

  “OK,” he said, taking one more sip of his drink. “Let’s start with the first thing, about my clients.”

  “Go for it.”

  “Don’t get too excited,” he said. “Plenty of my jobs have been more like babysitting than anything else. Like the one in question—that was some girl whose dad had some bad deals with shady types. No reason to think she was in any danger, but some parents don’t like to take any chances. Especially when they’ve got the money to pay for the best protection.”

  “What about the other jobs you’ve done that you mentioned?” I asked. “The ones with the senators and the foreign businessmen and all that?”

  “Those… Those can be dicey,” he said.

  “But exciting, I bet. More exciting than going over legal briefs.”

  “I thought you loved your work?” he asked.

  “I do,” I said. “And it’s what I was born to do—no doubt about that. But the grass is always greener, you know? When you work in offices and courtrooms all day, you sometimes find yourself wondering what it’d be like to be some James Bond jetsetter.”

  He took a slow sip of his drink, and I could tell he was thinking over what I’d said.

  “You’re right about that,” he said. “The grass-is-always-greener thing, that is.”

  “Please don’t tell me you’re getting bored with the life of an international mercenary,” I said.

  “Definitely not bored,” he said. “You don’t get the chance for that. But, something.”

  “Something?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Sometimes when I’m between missions, and down in my apartment, I find myself wondering what it’d be like to have roots in a place. More than roots—a wife and kids and all that.”

  “Wow,” I said. “The tough guy wants a doting wife and adoring children.”

  He smirked. “She doesn’t have to be doting,” he said. “Not really interested in some fifties housewife. A wife who was just as ambitious as me—that’d be pretty nice. Nicer than the one I had, that is.”

  Now this was a surprise. An ex-wife?

  “Wait,” I said. “You were married?”

  He shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe he was about to get into it. “I was,” he said. “But only for a short time. We got married back when I left the service, back when I was just starting my business.”

  “Tell me about her,” I said, leaning forward toward him, my hand on the stem of my drink.

  “She was naïve. Then again, we both were. I thought I wasn’t, and that was the problem. I’d flown all around the world, had enough adventures to last me a lifetime. I was a damn good soldier, and like every dumb kid, I thought that just because I had one part of my life on lock that it applied to everything else.” He went on. “We met when I moved back to the States. I got a place in Omaha and—”

  “Omaha?” I asked.

  He grinned. “Yep,” he said. “I wanted to start fresh someplace quiet, and Omaha fit the bill.”

  I said nothing, letting him go on.

  “So, I got some place out in the ’burbs and figured I could do something a little more stable. Maybe become a cop or something like that. I met her around this time, and we hit it off. She was sweet, wholesome, and just what I thought I wanted. And she’d never left the state, so she’d hang on my every world when I’d tell her about my work.”

  “Then what?”

  “I mentioned marriage one day, and her eyes lit up. I thought that was as good of a sign as any. We went down to the courthouse the next day and got hitched.” He shook his head. “We’d known each other for five weeks. Can’t believe I was so stupid.”

  He killed his whiskey and ordered another. I did the same, the booze already making me feel pleasant and buzzed.

  “And how long did it take to fall apart?” I asked.

  He let out a dry chuckle. “A hell of a lot faster than five weeks,” he said. “As soon as the ring was on my finger I started to get antsy and distant. Before too long I realized that I’d hoped, by getting married, that I’d force something to happen that I just didn’t have in me, as much as I wanted it.” He continued. “So, when I found out she’d been cheating on me, seeing some guy at her work behind my back, I was hardly surprised. It was a sign as clear as fucking day that she was unhappy. When I asked her if she wanted to end it, she was more than willing.”

  “Damn,” I said.

  “Yep,” he said. “She moved out, and I sold the house. Right when it dawned on me that I had no idea what I was going to do next, I got an email from Stan. We’d been close in the service but went our separate wa
ys after. He told me that he was thinking of starting up a private security company in New York, and he couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather have running it with him than me. But between the two of us I was always more of the leader, so he was happy to take a second-in-command position.”

  “So you packed up and moved to the city.”

  “You got it,” he said. “He already had clients lined up, just needed the manpower. Before too long I was right back in it, living the life I thought I’d left behind forever. Funny how this shit works.”

  I glanced down to see that, to my surprise, I’d killed half my new drink. I’d gotten so wrapped up in Garrett’s words that I’d been tossing back the booze without even thinking about it.

  “Makes me wonder if all that crap I thought—still think—about settling down and all that is some silly fantasy that’ll never come true. Makes me wonder if it’s just not how I’m built.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” I said. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to not spend seventy hours a week working, what it’d be like to have something else to live for aside from winning my next case or finally buying the next status symbol I’ve had my eye on.”

  I sipped my drink, my eyes on the surface of the table. When I finally glanced up, I saw that Garrett’s stare was fixed on me. He was waiting eagerly for what I had to say next, and at that moment it felt like there was no one else in the world other than the two of us.

  “But what if I did what you did?” I asked. “Tried something else. What if it ended up the same way your attempt did? A failure—nothing more than a reminder of how stupid it is to try to change your nature.”

  “Then again,” he said, “maybe all the mistakes we make are for a reason. Maybe they all work to bring us to a place that makes sense.”

  It was a damn nice thought. But I wasn’t sure if, as much as I’d like it to be true, I could bring myself to agree.

  Chapter Eighteen

  GARRETT

  I couldn’t believe the words that had been coming out of my mouth. My marriage, my past, were subjects that I’d thought I’d closed the book on. They’d been mistakes. Mistakes I’d learned from, of course, but mistakes nonetheless.