Protector: The Flawed Series Book Three Read online

  Ethan gritted his teeth and ignored the question. “No one’s in it?”

  “I’ll check.” Nicodemus’s steps faded then returned. “Nope. And it’s locked.”

  A thought struck Ethan. They’d had the rental car since Kansas. It would be safer to get a local vehicle anyway. “Maybe we can use it,” he said. “You know how to hot-wire a car?”

  “Of course,” Nicodemus said.

  Ethan nodded. He liked that idea, but they needed to find out whose it was first. They didn’t need any complications tonight.

  “Want me to break in? I never leave home without my slim jim.”

  Before Ethan could answer, another voice interrupted.

  “Hey, what are you doing back here?”

  “What are you doing back here?” Nicodemus countered, using a voice that was a pathetic attempt at authoritative.

  Ethan cringed and edged a few steps closer to his partner. “Nicodemus…” he said carefully from the corner of his mouth.

  “I’m on it,” Nicodemus responded under his breath.

  The man spoke, more concern in his voice than impudence. “They let me park my truck here when I visit Maddie—security said as long as it’s back here where it isn’t blocking the parking lo—” His words cut off abruptly.

  “That’s better,” Nicodemus said.

  Ethan drew in a breath of relief, knowing Nicodemus’s power had activated.

  “What should I make him do?”

  “Just hold him there. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  “Stay put,” Nicodemus said. “And don’t make a sound.”

  Ethan came forward, listening to the man’s even breathing to guide his steps. His cane tapped the toe of the man’s shoe lightly, and he stopped just to the man’s side but facing him. “We’ll need his keys. Might as well get them first so I don’t have to dig around in his pockets afterward.”

  “Right,” Nicodemus said. “Toss your keys here.”

  Ethan heard a soft jingle as the man reached into his pocket and procured the key. Then, a gentle swoosh ending in a hard clink.

  “Got ’em,” Nicodemus said.

  “Perfect.” With his thumb Ethan pressed a release on his cane and drew the long poker out of its protective covering.

  “Nice,” Nicodemus said, and Ethan heard the smirk in his voice.

  Though Ethan couldn’t see, he imagined the sharp tip’s reflective surface. He placed his left hand on the man’s chest and felt the even rhythm of his heartbeat.

  Fully conscious, the man had no fear, suspected nothing. This was the beauty of Nicodemus’s power, and even Ethan had to appreciate it. This was why he’d teamed up with a loser, why they could work well together when they had to.

  Ethan drew his right arm wide, stake in hand. He flexed, gathering strength. With one swift motion, he drove the instrument into the man’s back, just aside the spine, through flesh and muscle and tissue. He didn’t stop until he’d heard the sound of it ripping through the front of the man’s shirt.

  The man gasped, but even dying he obeyed Nicodemus’s command for silence.

  Ethan’s aim was sure, which was why he hadn’t moved his hand from over the man’s heart. He felt the man’s pulse stutter, grow erratic, then stop.

  For the first time in months, satisfaction rose in Ethan. He knew that he’d chosen the right accomplice for his task.

  After meeting with the Gershwins, Kelsey headed to her office. Bill waited there, and his furrowed brow told her he had more bad news.

  “The band is saying—just now—that they only play heavy metal.” He nudged up his glasses, and beneath, his eyes were wary.

  “That won’t work.”

  “That’s what I told them.”

  “And what did they say?”

  “That they don’t play oldies.”

  Kelsey let out a breath. “Okay. It doesn’t have to be oldies. Have them do some Rat Pack tunes or something else classy. But we absolutely can’t have hard rock pumping at the auction. We’re going to have a room full of art connoisseurs—do you know what demographic we’re talking about here?”

  “Uh…”

  “Elderly men in thirty-year-old blazers. Bow ties galore. Maybe a fedora or two. You think those types generally enjoy heavy metal?”

  Bill’s eyes widened.

  “And the families of the patients,” she continued. “Again, wrong demographic.” She put her hand on one of his shoulders. “You’ve got to work this out with them.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “I don’t know. Compromise. Offer them your firstborn. Whatever it takes. We can’t get another band. The gala starts in three hours.”

  Bill swallowed. “Right. I’ll call them immediately.”

  Kelsey checked the clock. “They’re supposed to be setting up within the next hour—make sure they know that. We can’t have them hauling in drums and amps during the auction.”

  “Okay. Got it.” Bill looked as if he were making a mental checklist. He handed her a stack of papers. “Here’s the final list from the caterer for you to look over. Food arrives in…” he checked his watch, “two and a half hours.”

  She scanned the papers, frowning. “This says chocolate peanut butter pie for dessert.”

  He frowned. “Yeah. What’s wrong? You don’t like peanut butter?”

  “What I like doesn’t matter. Peanut allergies are prevalent here. Too risky for the kids—if someone accidentally got a hold of the wrong food, it could be really bad.”

  “Are the kids coming to the fundraiser, too?”

  “Not many. Maybe a few whose parents attend and who are in a condition to handle leaving the ward. But allergies often run in families.” She shook her head. “We can’t take the risk. Which is why I specifically requested tiramisu.”

  “Right.” He nodded and pushed up his glasses again. “When I asked the caterer, the woman said they were out of tiramisu.”

  Kelsey threw up her hands. “But I ordered it two months ago!”

  “Something about ladyfingers being out of stock.”

  “Great.” She groaned. “Okay. Call her—see what else they can do. Nothing with nuts.”

  “Gotcha.”

  She handed him back the papers then sighed and eased down into her desk chair. She surveyed the pile of paperwork she had to finish before the event tonight. The auctioneer had to have the names of all the artists and pieces donated to the auction, and she had been too busy to work on it before now.

  She glanced up at the doorway, realizing Bill was still standing there with pink cheeks, a sheepish look on his face.

  “Is there something else?”

  “Uh, yeah.” He cleared his throat and bounced on his toes as if hesitant to pile one more thing on her.

  “Well? Spit it out.”

  “I think there might be a problem with some of the art they’re hanging.”

  “What kind of problem?” A flash of panic hit her. Food and music issues were a pain, but if something had happened to one of the pieces of art, she wouldn’t forgive herself. She imagined the things she’d have to deal with if they’d released the wrong painting or—heaven forbid—if they’d damaged one of them. She forced her breathing to stay calm but raised her brows expectantly at Bill.

  “I’m not sure, but some of the paintings look like they might be hanging upside down.”

  Kelsey sighed. “Okay. I’ll head down there and check it out.”

  Bill gave an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I know you’re busy…”

  She pushed out of her chair. “It’s okay. Just take care of the other issues. I’ve got this one. Here, use my phone.” She ushered him toward her desk.

  He nodded.

  Kelsey hurried out of her office, weaving between various residents and their families in the hallway.

  She was so distracted that she nearly tripped when she careened around the corner of the waiting room. A cane scattered across the linoleum, and she sputtered an apology to an e
lderly man who didn’t seem fazed by the incident. He was poring over a travel magazine and didn’t look at her. She was about to bend down to pick it up when a slight, younger man with bright red hair beat her to it.

  It was the man who’d told Gwendolyn to be quiet.

  He set the cane against the old man’s chair and met her eyes for a brief moment. His blue-gray irises caught her attention, but she didn’t have time to analyze why or think about which child he might be here to see. Her feet kept moving, propelling her toward the conference room.

  She exited the patient wing and turned off to the general administrative area that housed the billing department and CEO’s office along with two brand new conference rooms.

  Kelsey passed through the two adjoining conference rooms that were normally kept closed and entered a third room, a large, empty office space that would allow for expansion of the office staff once the renovation was complete. A door on the far side of the room led to one of the central corridors.

  Tonight, this room was where art was displayed from her clients who would not be participating in the auction, but still wanted to share their work.

  A couple of maintenance guys were hanging paintings when she entered. One hammered nails into the wall and the other held a canvas, giving it a perplexed look. With arms folded, Kelsey surveyed the works they’d already hung. She straightened an abstract portrait that hung askew. Glancing down the wall, she noticed that over half of the others were also crooked. She stifled a groan and strode up to the man holding the hammer.

  “Jenkins, this piece is upside down.” She pulled the painting off its hook and handed it to him.

  “Can’t tell one way from another,” he mumbled.

  She sighed. “Where’s the list Bill gave you?”

  “What list?”

  The man with the other painting looked up at her as if clueless.

  “The master list of all the art,” she said. “It tells you the placement and the orientation of each piece.”

  When both men gave her only blank-faced expressions, she walked to the rolling cart that held the rest of the art waiting to be hung. She cursed under her breath and picked up the paintings, laying them upright against the nearest wall. “These shouldn’t be stacked. Some of them aren’t fully cured.”

  When she got to the bottom of the pile, she found a crumpled piece of paper wedged between the last painting and the corner of the cart. She pulled it out and smoothed it over her leg with her palm. Then she strode back to Jenkins and held it in front of his face. “Here.”

  Jenkins set down the hammer and took the sheet.

  “See, that one’s Freefall by Justin Huchinson.” She tapped the paper then pointed at a canvas across the room. “Check the thumbnail image for orientation. It goes this direction.” She crossed, removed the painting from the wall, and rotated it ninety degrees.

  She glanced at Jenkins to make sure he was getting it, then pointed at a couple of others. “That one, and over there. Both those are wrong. Might as well double check all of them while you’re at it.”

  He nodded.

  “And don’t lose the list.”

  She jabbed her chin at the painting in the other man’s hand. “That one’s part of a series. The other two are over there, so you’ll need to re-hang them. The set needs to stay together.” He stared at the painting, then gave her a nervous nod and mumbled, “Okay.”

  Kelsey sighed, wishing she had time to hang them herself. She turned back to Jenkins. “You think you got it?”

  “Check the thumbnails. Got it.”

  “Great.” She forced a tight smile. “Call Bill if you need anything. You got his cell, right?”

  Jenkins frowned.

  Kelsey tapped his paper again. “It’s right here on this sheet. See?”

  “Oh, right.”

  She started for the door when her cell rang. She checked the number, and it was Bill.

  “Hey, can you come to the office?”

  “On my way.” She glanced at Jenkins, who had removed several of the improperly placed paintings and was studying the schematic.

  “You good?”

  He nodded.

  “Oh, one more thing. Find a level—check the maintenance closets. Use it to make sure all the paintings are straight when you’re done.” She gave the room one final glance and hurried back to her office.

  ~

  Rage thundered inside Ethan. He squeezed his hands into shaking fists. “You what?”

  After stashing the man’s body inside the empty moving truck, they’d gone shopping. They sat in the rental car outside a tuxedo shop about to get dressed and ready for the fundraiser that evening, but Nicodemus had managed to do something stupid.

  “Settle down, man,” Nicodemus said. “Now we got cash.”

  “We already had cash,” Ethan seethed through his teeth.

  “More can’t hurt.”

  “Snatching a woman’s wallet was not smart. It’s going to raise a red flag when she notices—if she hasn’t already. Why in the world did you think this was a good idea?”

  “She had three rings on her right hand…” Nicodemus muttered.

  “I’ve had it to here with your obsession with threes. You’re insane.”

  “I don’t care what you think.”

  Worse, he didn’t care that he might ruin Ethan’s plan. Ethan’s fingers tensed into claws. “You’ve got to put it back.”

  “What? You’re crazy.”

  Ethan kept his voice level. “After we’re done here, we’re going back up to the children’s ward, and you’re giving it back.”

  Ethan couldn’t believe the stupidity of his partner. Once he got Kelsey to his cozy little haven in Denver, he could be done with Nicodemus.

  Nicodemus gave a guttural protest but didn’t argue further. “Fine. Let’s just get what we need.”

  Ethan reached over the center console and grabbed a fistful of Nicodemus’s pant leg, gripping hard with his nails through the tender flesh of the man’s thigh.

  Nicodemus yelped a protest and lurched, but Ethan didn’t release his grip. “And no messing with the employees. Keep your eyes to yourself.”

  When Kelsey made it back to her office, Bill had more bad news. A release form they’d received from one of the kid’s parents was incorrect. It granted permission for one of their daughter’s works to be donated and sold in the auction—but not the correct one. Fortunately, the family was currently visiting the daughter in her room, so Kelsey was able to fix the matter.

  After that, she fell back into her desk chair and kneaded her forehead with a hand. She needed a break—no, a vacation. Maybe a week, and to someplace nice. After this was all over she would definitely talk to her boss about taking some of her saved time off. She released a pent-up breath and forced herself to tackle the stack of forms she had to compile for the auctioneer.

  An hour later, Kelsey hit the print button and pressed the buzzer on the intercom to Misty’s desk, ignoring the flashing light that displayed a voicemail message.

  “Yes?” answered the chipper voice of the receptionist.

  “Misty, is Bill in the office with you?”

  “He sure is.”

  “Send him this way, would you?”

  “Of course.”

  Kelsey was about to press the button when Misty’s voice piped up again.

  “And you have a visitor.”

  “Is it one of my client’s parents?”

  “No, I don’t believe so.”

  Kelsey frowned. Who else would be coming to see her? She didn’t get many guests aside from families of the residents. “Does it have anything to do with the gala?”

  “I don’t think so. It’s a…Jade Edwards?”

  “Don’t know the name. Tell her she needs to make an appointment. I don’t have time to chat right now.” She clicked the button off without waiting for a reply and grabbed the stack of warm papers from the printer.

  There was a brisk knock at her open door.

/>   “Bill. There you are.” She held out the papers. “Here’s the list of items for the auction. Make sure Mr. Murray gets it when he arrives.”

  “Got it.”

  “Everything else get taken care of? Dessert? Band?”

  “Dessert is chocolate layer cake. I hope that’s all right.”

  She nodded.

  “And I had to offer the band an extra two hundred…” He hesitated, waiting to see her reaction.

  She waved him on.

  “Uh, and they agreed not to play the hard stuff, but they refused to do oldies or big band. The compromise was classic rock.”

  Kelsey sighed. “All right. I guess it’ll have to work. Anything else I need to know?”

  Bill nodded down the hall. “Some woman is waiting to see you.”

  “She’s still out there? I told Misty to have her make an appointment.”

  “Looks like she’s not leaving.”

  Kelsey frowned. “I don’t have time for this right now.”

  “She seemed worried.” Something in Bill’s voice drew Kelsey’s full attention. He was bouncing on his toes, that anxious gesture of his.

  “Worried?”

  “Also, she said something about some guy named Ethan?”

  At the name, Kelsey’s blood iced over. She stared at Bill.

  It couldn’t be the same man. There were plenty of Ethans in the country—it was a popular name. There was no rational reason for her mind to snatch the image of the one Ethan she’d known in high school and cling to that memory. How would some random girl even know about him? Kelsey hadn’t shared her experience with anyone besides her family.

  She gave Bill a faint nod. “Send her in.”

  His eyes narrowed as if trying to figure out what had flicked the switch in her, but he left anyway.

  A few moments later a dark-haired, college-age woman entered. She had fair skin and bright green eyes that made Kelsey’s own seem a faded cat’s-eye color in comparison. She greeted Kelsey with a warm, somewhat relieved smile.

  “Kelsey Matthews?”

  Kelsey nodded and held out her hand.

  “I’m Jade.”

  “The receptionist told me.”

  “Do you have a minute?”