Sins, Lies & Naughty Games: A Blackwell-Lyon Security Collection Read online

  I just nod, even though he can’t see me. Because the truth is, even after only knowing Gracie for a few hours, I feel exactly the same way.

  Chapter Five

  “That wraps up old business,” I say, looking around the conference table at my partners, Connor and Pierce, and then at Kerrie. She may be our office manager, but I run our Friday morning meetings since I do most of our business development.

  Security is a strange bird in the corporate world. Most businesses wouldn’t want a guy with an eye patch as the face of their organization. But as Kerrie says, it makes me look like a badass. Gives me that edgy air. Makes people feel like I understand the world. The dangers. And that I—and therefore, my people—are willing to do whatever it takes to get the job done.

  That’s me, a walking advertisement for Blackwell-Lyon Security, a top-notch, high-end security firm that Connor, Pierce and I started less than two years ago. And we’ve worked our collective tails off twenty-four/seven to build a solid reputation as a full-service resource. Everything from setting up alarm and monitoring systems to on-site protection for politicians, movie stars, executives. Basically anyone who fears for their safety. Or who wants to make a show of looking like they fear for their safety.

  Not that I’m cynical, but I’ve seen more than one politician’s street cred climb when they do a couple of town meetings with very visible security. Ditto up-and-coming rappers and wanna-be teen idols.

  Lately, we’ve started working only half-days on Saturday and taking Sundays off, except when we’re on assignment. And now that Pierce has gone and tied the knot, he tends to cut out by six to get home to Jez unless we’re on an active detail.

  His wife, Jezebel, is one of a kind, and I’m genuinely happy for them. No worries at all that he’ll walk in and find her connected to some other man someday. But I confess I was a little bit leery at first. Both for Pierce’s personal life, and for the future of our business. But she understands how much the company means to him—to all of us. He works at home when he needs to and, honestly, I think he’s getting more done now during the day so that he can head home guilt free at night. Makes for less time shooting the shit in the break room, but I can’t fault a guy for that.

  I get up and refill my mug with what has turned out to be a never-ending flow of coffee this morning. It’s dulled the hangover down to a mild thud that throbs in time with my heartbeat. I tell myself to count my blessings. My head might be pounding, but at least I know I’m alive.

  “New business,” I say, eyeing Pierce.

  “Just finalized the job we talked about last week. The concert in the park. Two weeks from now, Thursday through Saturday.”

  “Team?” We have a group of vetted freelancers, most of whom the three of us know from our days in the military.

  “The usual suspects,” Pierce says, running his fingers through his dark blond hair. “I’m getting everyone together for a dry run next Wednesday. We’re good.”

  “And they’ve already paid the retainer,” Kerrie says. “Our bank account is feeling very happy.”

  “Gotta love celebrities,” Connor adds. “And politicians.”

  “Something to report?” I ask my brother, and he launches in with the news about a Texas senator looking to change her security detail. “That incident in Temple,” he says. “Jenson Security really dropped the ball. I’m working on a proposal. I think we have a shot at landing the gig. Her team’s coming in next week for a meeting.”

  “Good work,” I say as Kerrie squeals, then leans over as if to give him a hug. She stops herself and backs away, staring down at her hands, her face turning bright red.

  I clear my throat. “Kerrie, how about the ad? Any more responses?”

  We started running two ads recently. The first in a trade magazine. That one’s intended both as a business draw—we’re hoping high level managers will see the ad and think about us when they’re looking for security for their corporate, political, and celebrity clients—and as a way to simply get our name out there to the industry players.

  The second ad is in a local Austin weekly. Its purpose is to advertise our lower-end services such as security installation, short-term protection during contentious custody disputes, that kind of thing.

  And, according to Kerrie, both ads have generated calls. She takes us over the details, and when she wraps, I check the clock. “Okay, folks. I think that’s enough for today. Kerrie, can I borrow you for—”

  “Um, not quite,” she says innocently. “Don’t you have new business?”

  Shit.

  “Nothing we need to bother with.”

  Pierce and Connor exchange glances. “Give,” my brother says.

  “Cayden’s playing PI again,” Kerrie says with a sideways smirk toward me.

  “What? You’re tattling on me? Are we in junior high?”

  She stares down her nose at me.

  “Fine.” I hold my hands up in surrender. “It’s just the one case.”

  “Seriously, Cayden?” Pierce says. “We all agreed. Or did you forget that part?”

  “It’s just a quick investigation. A cheating fiancée.”

  “Oh, there’s a big surprise,” Connor says.

  I shoot him a hard glance. “I can’t leave the guy hanging. Plus, he contacted us because of the ad. What’s the point of advertising if you turn away customers?”

  When we’d first formed our company, we’d decided on the name Blackwell-Lyon Security—and not Blackwell-Lyon Security & Investigations—specifically because we’d decided to play to our strengths. And even though I have a dusty PI license that occasionally comes in handy on the security side of things, we developed symbiotic relationships with investigators in town, with whom we refer work back and forth.

  Early on, though, when money was tight, we took a few PI cases that fell across the line. But as things picked up, we made the specific decision to play to our strengths and focus on security.

  Fair enough. But while our name in the ad is correct, there’s a small mention of investigative work in the body of the text. It was meant to be in the context of security services—investigating who a shooter is, for example—but can I help it how that language is interpreted by the general reader?

  “The woman could be stringing him along,” I say. “He’s convinced she’s got a guy or two on the side. I’m doing some more poking around today, then meeting with him tomorrow. I’ve got the time, my caseload is clear right now. And this guy needs someone on his side who understands.”

  “Plus, if she is cheating, it justifies Cayden’s warped view of the world and relationships,” Kerrie says, her smile at odds with the dripping sarcasm in her voice.

  “I don’t have any illusions about the world,” I say. “The world I live in is the world I see. Not some Kumbaya singing, soft-focus view of reality.”

  “Fine,” Connor says with a glance toward Pierce. “Say yes before he gets off on a tirade and we lose a whole day of work.”

  “Fine,” Pierce echoes. “But this is the last.”

  “Done,” I say, then nod toward Kerrie. “Now I’m just going to need to borrow her for today…”

  Chapter Six

  “A model?” Kerrie says as we cruise down Springdale Road toward the agency. “You want me to pretend to be a model?”

  “Why not?” I brake at a red light, then turn and give her the once over. Thin and curvy. Pouty lips. Honey-blond hair. “I hate to break it to you, kid, but you’re a looker.”

  “You are a crazy person. I take terrible photos and the idea of people staring at me like that makes me nuts.”

  “Then it’s a good thing you’re only pretending to be a model. And a wanna-be. You don’t have to fake experience.”

  She opens her mouth, huffs a bit, then closes it as she leans back into her seat. “Just in case you were at all unclear on the point, I want to reiterate that you are entirely insane.”

  “Insane. Check. Got it.”

  She rolls her eyes and cros
ses her arms, and I drive on in peace until she says, “You know, if you’re so hyped up to go out with a girl, why not just ask one out?”

  I shoot her a sideways glance. “We should be pretending you’re a comedian, not a model.”

  “Just calling them like I see them. It’s been five years, you know. Five years, and you never date.”

  “Eighteen months of that was in the Middle East after I walked in on Viv and found—”

  “I know. Heard the story. Move along.”

  “Three months after I was still recovering and getting used to having absolutely no depth perception whatsoever.”

  “A fair point, but—”

  “Then slogging my way through a dead end job at SecureTech—and those were some crazy hours. Then putting Blackwell-Lyon together. And in case you hadn’t noticed, building a business is hard work.”

  “And yet Pierce managed to find time to get married.”

  I grimace. I knew she’d throw that back at me.

  “You don’t even date,” she adds, as if that’s an indictment on my character. And it isn’t true, anyway.

  “I do. I’ve gone out half a dozen times in the last year.”

  “Drinks with some random woman you never call again doesn’t constitute a date. And if you’re counting the drink with Gracie last night it definitely doesn’t count.”

  “That—this—is work.”

  “Of course it is. Because work’s the only way you see women. The only safe way,” she adds with a disgusted little shake of her head.

  “Damn right,” I say. “I’ve seen what lies at the end of the path, remember?”

  “One woman, and you paint the world that way. It’s narrow-minded and stupid.”

  “Believe me, I’ve seen a lot more than one woman. Vivien was hardly a solitary example.”

  “That’s because you picked that profession. The world probably looks like it’s full of criminals if you’re a prison warden.”

  I just scowl.

  “It’s bullshit,” Kerrie continues. “I mean, honestly. You think that little of Jez?”

  “No, of course—”

  “Of me?”

  “You?” I shoot her a sideways glance. “Who are you in a relationship with?”

  She makes a face. “No one. But when I was … what? Were you going to warn Connor away? Tell him I was a cheating slut?”

  “Connor warned himself away,” I mutter. “And not because anyone thought you’d cheat. And for the record, my brother was an idiot for cutting you loose.”

  She lifts her brows. “Are you flirting with me?”

  “Most definitely, no. But Connor is an idiot.”

  She grins. “Not arguing. But are you seeing my point? Have I gotten through at all?”

  “I don’t need an intervention, Kerrie.”

  “I beg to differ. I mean, even your client—Peterman?—at least he’s trying to have a relationship. All you do is run away. No, scratch that. You don’t even start the race.”

  “I already ran that marathon.”

  “Bullshit. You entered a sprint, and you tripped over a shoelace.”

  I turn into the parking lot of the steel and wood building deep in East Austin that is the headquarters of the Moreno-Franklin Talent Agency. “That is probably the worst analogy ever.”

  “Well, I’m making this up as I go.” She groans as I slide into a parking space. “Honestly, Cay. You fought in freaking Afghanistan and survived. You lost an eye, and you survived. But can’t pull yourself up and actually have a relationship? I never realized you were such a pussy.”

  “You know the only reason I put up with you is that you’re Pierce’s little sister?”

  She tilts her head and looks down her nose at me. “At least you have a reason. I don’t have a clue why I put up with you.”

  I kill the engine, then turn in my seat. “We’re here.”

  “Yippee,” she says, in the same voice she might use when cleaning out a drain trap.

  “Truce?”

  “You really think she’s cheating on him?”

  It takes me a second to downshift back to Peterman and Gracie. I don’t know. Considering I like her, I hope not. But since he’s planning to marry her, I think he has a right to know, and he’s paying for me to help him find out.”

  She blows out a breath, then opens her door. “Okay. Let’s go undercover. At least it’s better than answering the phones.”

  As we head down the bamboo and succulent-lined sidewalk toward the entrance, Kerrie pauses, then asks, “You do know that the odds of seeing her are slim, right? If she’s here doing a photo shoot, she’s going to be busy.”

  “Trust me. I’ve got this.”

  “Well, now I’m nervous,” she says, then smirks as she pulls open the door and steps in ahead of me.

  The place is ultra-modern, with a Lucite reception desk that is probably some ridiculously expensive designer piece, but I think is just outright ugly. The girl behind it is pretty, though, as befits a modeling agency.

  “Cayden Lyon and Kerrie Blackwell. We have an appointment to see Cecilia Moreno.”

  “Of course. She’s in the studio. I’ll just let her know you’re here.”

  “Thanks,” I say, leading Kerrie to the waiting area.

  “We have an appointment with one of the owners?”

  “You want full access, you go to the top. And without full access, I wasn’t sure I’d get to see Gracie.”

  “But—”

  “Friend of a friend,” I say. “Those half-dozen women I had the singular drink with? I don’t just toss them aside. We’re still friends. And it’s all about connections, right?”

  “Show off.”

  I laugh and am about to sit down when an absolutely stunning woman who looks to be in her early sixties glides into the room, exuding glamour and charm. “You must be Cayden,” she says. “And you’re the young woman who’s interested in modeling?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Kerrie says, standing.

  “Please, call me Cecilia. Why don’t you come with me to my office? I’m happy to answer any questions you might have.”

  “Um, sure,” Kerrie says.

  I take a step forward. “We heard you were doing a photo shoot of some sort. I thought that might be interesting for Kerrie to see.”

  Cecilia’s perfectly plucked brows rise. “Did you? Or did you just want to see the girls in lingerie and swim wear?”

  “Well, that too,” I say, and thankfully she laughs.

  “Of course. We’ll go, you’ll both look, and then you can stay and keep yourself entertained while Kerrie and I discuss the business.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I say, then fall in step behind them, congratulating myself on how smoothly this is going. She leads the way into a separate building behind the first which is set up as a large photo studio, with well-lit areas, changing stations, and lots and lots of beautiful girls in all shapes and sizes.

  I’m gawking—and trying to find Gracie—when I hear her familiar voice saying, “You?”

  I turn to find her gaping at me, a ratty blue terrycloth robe pulled tight around her. Even tighter since she’s holding the neck closed with such an intense grip her knuckles are white. “Gracie?” I say, trying to sound surprised.

  “What the hell are you doing here? Are you following me? Because I swear to God—”

  “Is there a problem?” Cecilia’s firm hand lands on my shoulder, and I watch as Gracie’s eyes go wide. “Gracie, dear, what’s the matter?”

  “Ms. Moreno. I’m sorry. I—I thought…” She shakes her head. “Never mind.”

  “Mmm.” Cecilia smiles pleasantly, then tells me that she’s going to show Kerrie around, and do I want to join them?

  I glance at Kerrie, see that she seems to be handling herself just fine, then shake my head. “No, no, I’m fine. You go ahead. I know you want to talk shop.”

  Cecilia looks between me and Gracie, apparently decides we won’t kill each other, and takes off wit
h Kerrie.

  “I am so sorry,” Gracie says, the second they’re out of earshot. “I saw you here, and I thought you were—”

  “Who?”

  She shakes her head, as if shaking away the thought. “Nothing. Never mind.”

  “No,” I say firmly. “When you said you to me, you obviously weren’t thinking, Oh, it’s you, that incredibly hot guy from The Driskill and The Fix.”

  She laughs. “No, that really doesn’t sound like me.”

  “Didn’t think so. Which is why I’ll ask again. What were you thinking? Or who were you thinking of?”

  Her fingers twist the sash on her robe. “What are you doing here?”

  “My, ah, niece is interested in modeling, and Cecilia is a friend of a friend. She heard about the shoot and wanted to get a behind the scenes look, so I arranged a drop-in.”

  “Oh. That was nice of you.” Her smile is quick but genuine. “But, we’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

  “I know. It’s really embarrassing the way you’re following me around.”

  She laughs. “I can be a huge pest.”

  “I’m guessing you’re a model. Either that or you’re part of the crew and forgot to get dressed today.”

  “Model,” she confirms.

  “What you said yesterday about being harassed on the internet…”

  “Oh. Yeah. I post pictures. On social media, I mean. No personal stuff—not ever. But part of the modeling gig is selling yourself. Most people are nice. But some are crude. And some are just plain creepy.”

  “So just now? You thought I was, what? One of the creepy ones?”

  “Actually, yeah.”

  I nod, taking that in. “That really must suck. Sorry to have freaked you out.”

  “No, I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions.”

  “Perfectly understandable.” I feel the sharp twinge of guilt, since the conclusions she jumped to weren’t all that far from the truth. I’m not harassing her on the internet, but I am following her. “Can I make it up to you?”

  “You seem like a reasonably intelligent man with at least some imagination. I’m going to go out on a limb and say yes.”