Page 4 of Duty Unbound (Citadel Solutions #1)

Ethan

I scanned the perimeter of Nova Rivers’s estate as Ty and I walked up the winding driveway. The mansion sprawled across several manicured acres, Spanish-inspired architecture gleaming white in the Dallas morning sun.

Impressive to look at. Concerning to protect.

“Remember, we’re an hour early for a reason,” I told Ty without breaking stride. “I want to gather some information before meeting with the client.”

“Got it, boss.” Ty’s eyes were wide as he took in the fountain centerpiece and the grand entrance ahead. The kid was practically vibrating with excitement.

“Take a breath. It’s just another job.”

“Right, just another job protecting one of the biggest pop stars on the planet.” He whistled low. “Her new single is crushing it right now. My sister plays that shit on repeat. Says it’s the anthem of her summer.”

I stopped at the edge of the circular driveway and turned to face him. Twenty-six years old and still green enough to get starstruck. That enthusiasm made him good at his job, but it could also make him sloppy.

“Focus. Give me a rundown of what we know.”

Ty straightened immediately, slipping into professional mode. “Nova Rivers, rising pop sensation set to begin her national tour in two weeks. According to her sister and manager, Melanie Rivers, Nova has received numerous threatening messages through various channels—texts, emails, and physical mail—all demanding she cancel the tour.”

He paused, checking points off on his fingers. “She also receives the standard obsessive fan messages. I’m in love with you , We’re meant to be together , that kind of thing. The biggest concern is from five days ago, when someone breached the property and left flowers with threatening notes in the kitchen.”

I studied the property line while he spoke. The decorative iron fencing wouldn’t stop a determined teenager, let alone someone with actual skills.

“The timing of the break-in coincided with Nova announcing three additional tour dates,” Ty continued. “Which suggests the perpetrator is monitoring her public appearances and social media closely.”

I nodded, genuinely impressed. Maybe Logan was right about giving the kid more responsibility. “Good. What security issues have you identified since we arrived?”

Ty glanced back at the gate we’d passed through. “Front entrance security is a joke. Guard barely looked at our IDs, didn’t call ahead to verify our appointment, and didn’t check the vehicle. I’ve spotted only three surveillance cameras, all positioned ineffectively. The east side of the property backs up to a wooded area with no visible monitoring. And there’s a service entrance that was completely unstaffed when we drove past.”

“Assessment?”

“This place is a security disaster waiting to happen. ”

“Exactly.” I resumed walking toward the house, gravel crunching beneath our boots. “Which means we have our work cut out for us, if we decide to take the job.”

Celebrities could be a pain in the ass because they were often resistant to the changes a security team would need to implement. They wanted the protection without the inconvenience. This three-day site survey—on the client’s dime—was a part of every personal security job Citadel Solutions took on.

We meticulously identified their security vulnerabilities, outlined a comprehensive remediation strategy, and presented our unique value proposition as their potential security partner. Many prospective clients ultimately chose to go another way or with another firm because our approach exceeded their comfort level. That could very easily happen here too.

The grand entrance loomed ahead—double doors of carved mahogany beneath an arched portico. Decorative planters flanked the steps, providing perfect cover for someone approaching unseen. They would definitely be removed if we took this job, should be removed even if we didn’t.

“Hey, boss?” Ty fell into step beside me. “You ever seen that movie? The one with the bodyguard and the singer?”

I suppressed a groan. “Yes, I’ve seen it.” I shot him a sideways glance. “My mom’s favorite movie. She mentions it every time we take a case like this. She’s convinced I’ll fall madly in love with some client one day.”

“Will you?”

“Not happening.”

Ty grinned, but he wisely dropped the subject. But I knew Logan had been right about what he’d said on that plane out of Colombia a couple days ago—I needed to stop volunteering exclusively for the rough, dangerous missions. The reasons behind my choices weren’t something I was ready to examine too closely and especially wasn’t going to talk to Ty about.

The breeze shifted, carrying the scent of jasmine from a nearby hedge. I took in every detail, mapping potential vulnerabilities in my mind. Two ground-floor windows with insufficient locks. A balcony accessible from the garden trellis. An unmonitored side door half hidden by ornamental shrubs.

“Remember why we’re here,” I said as we approached the entrance. “Stay professional, focused, and leave the fan club shit at the door.” I gave him a pointed look. “And don’t even think about asking Ms. Rivers if she has an OnlyFans account.”

Ty laughed, raising his hands in surrender. “Come on, boss. Give me some credit.”

“I’ve heard your jokes, Hughes. I know exactly how much credit to give you.”

I rang the doorbell, noting the lack of security cameras at the entrance. Another critical weakness in the current setup. The door swung open almost immediately.

A young woman with streaked pink hair and a dance outfit looked us up and down, relief washing over her face. “Oh thank God, you’re finally here.” She grabbed Ty’s arm and pulled him into the foyer. “Dexter’s been screaming his head off all morning because you guys are late.”

I stepped in behind them, instantly on alert. The expansive foyer opened to a grand staircase and multiple hallways, all bustling with activity. Music pounded from somewhere deeper in the house, the bass rattling a collection of awards displayed in a glass case. A group of young women in matching outfits huddled in the living room, harmonizing over the din. In the kitchen, a production team was filming something while people grabbed food from an elaborate spread.

The security nightmare continued inside. Too many people. Too many access points. Too little control.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” I started to say, but the pink-haired woman was already dragging Ty farther into the house.

“Misunderstanding? Yeah, showing up three hours late is definitely that. Dexter is going to eat you alive.” She looked me up and down, taking in my jeans and tactical boots. “Though I’ve never seen backup dancers dress like you guys before. The whole rugged thing is…different. Don’t get me wrong, it works. Dexter’s always been known as a choreography visionary.”

Ty caught my eye, barely containing his amusement. “Good, because I’ve been working on my dance moves. Wanna see?”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or fire him. “I’d rather gouge my eyes out.”

“Your loss.” He turned to our enthusiastic guide. “So, what exactly does Dexter have planned for today? I want to make sure I’m…prepared.”

As the pink-haired woman launched into an explanation of choreography changes and costume fittings, I continued assessing the interior. No visible security system. No controlled access points between areas of the house. Too many people moving freely throughout the space. At least four different exit points visible from where I stood, all unmonitored.

A young man with a camera rushed past, nearly colliding with me. “Sorry, dude!” he called without looking back.

This wasn’t just unprofessional—it was dangerous. Anyone could walk in here claiming to be part of the production crew, the dance team, or the catering staff. Hell, they could probably waltz in claiming to be a long-lost cousin. How would anyone know the difference?

“Everyone, places! Now!” A clear, authoritative voice cut through the mayhem.

The pink-haired woman flinched. “Oh shit, it’s Mel.”

I turned to see a woman making her way through the crowd, tablet in hand. She wore navy dress trousers, a cream blouse, and heels, her dark hair pulled back in a neat bun. Unlike the frenetic energy around her, she moved with purpose and calm.

Melanie Rivers. I’d memorized her file along with her sister’s, but the photo hadn’t captured the quiet intensity in her green eyes. Despite myself, I felt a pull of attraction.

Then I noticed the corporate attire, the way she directed people with practiced efficiency. My interest cooled. I’d had my fill of career-obsessed women after Samantha. My former fiancée had cured me of that particular weakness.

But as Mel approached, I caught something unexpected—the gentle way she squeezed a nervous-looking dancer’s shoulder, the quick smile she offered to someone who handed her a message. Not the cold power moves I’d expected.

Definitely not anything Samantha ever would’ve done.

“You two.” She approached us, glancing between her tablet and our faces. “You’re the dancers Dexter’s been waiting for?”

Before I could correct her, a young man rushed up with a stack of papers. “Mel, the venue in Phoenix just called. They’re saying they don’t have the rider requirements.”

“Tell them to check their email again. I sent the updated list yesterday.” Her voice was firm but not unkind. “And make sure they understand this isn’t optional.”

The young man nodded and hurried away. Mel turned back to us, a flash of exhaustion crossing her features before she composed herself.

“Follow me. And for future reference, call time is not a suggestion.” She turned and gestured for us to follow, navigating through the crowded space with practiced ease.

I caught Ty’s eye. He raised his eyebrows in silent question. I gave a slight nod. Let her assume what she wanted. It would give us a chance to observe the operation without the usual filters clients put up when security arrived.

We followed Mel through the house, past a sunlit living area where someone was arranging flowers, through a corridor lined with framed platinum records. Every fifteen seconds or so, she glanced at her phone. I gritted my teeth. It was another personal irritant—people so fucking wrapped up in their screens they couldn’t give real life the attention it deserved.

“You would have made my day considerably easier by showing up on time,” she said over her shoulder, pausing to let a group of technicians pass with equipment. She offered them a quick “thank you” before continuing. “The schedule is tight enough without having to accommodate tardiness.”

I took mental notes of each security flaw we passed. Unlocked doors to exterior spaces. Windows without sensors. Areas where the security cameras were clearly visible—and, more importantly, easily avoided.

“Nova has a full day of rehearsals, followed by an interview at four,” Mel continued, stopping to help someone who’d dropped an armful of wardrobe items. Once the crisis was averted, she resumed our path toward what sounded like the rehearsal space, based on the increasing volume of music. “Dexter needs to finalize the choreography today. That’s why he’s especially… intense .”

The way she handled each mini-crisis we passed—promptly but with clear concern for the people involved—didn’t match my initial impression. She wasn’t cold. She was overworked.

Mel finally stopped in front of a set of double doors. Music thumped from the other side, bass heavy enough to vibrate the floor. She turned to face us, and for the first time, I caught a glimpse of vulnerability beneath the proficient facade.

She took a deep breath, shoulders dropping slightly. “Look, I apologize for being short with you. It’s been a challenging morning, but that’s not your fault.” Her voice softened, the corporate tone giving way to something more genuine. “I’ll try to put in a good word with Dexter. Just…do your best in there.”

Something about the unexpected apology caught me off guard. It wasn’t what I’d expected from the high-heels, girl-boss first impression .

“Ms. Rivers,” I said, deciding it was time to clear up the misunderstanding, “we’re not dancers.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I’m Ethan Cross with Citadel Solutions. This is Tyler Hughes, one of my security specialists. We’re here for the security consult.”

The color drained from her face. “Oh my God.” For a moment, she just stared at me, mortification replacing exhaustion in her expression. “And I’ve been lecturing you about punctuality.”

“To be fair, punctuality is important in our line of work too.”

A small, embarrassed laugh escaped her. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Cross. This is… God, this is humiliating.”

“Please, call me Ethan. And don’t worry about it.” I found myself wanting to ease her discomfort, which wasn’t like me at all. “The mix-up actually gave us a chance to see some security issues we might not have noticed otherwise.”

“And please call me Mel.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear—the first imperfection in her otherwise controlled appearance. “It’s been like this for weeks. I’ve been trying to implement better security protocols, but with the tour preparations and Nova’s schedule…”

I nodded, still assessing. The apology seemed genuine, but so had Samantha’s in the early days. And the continuous glances at her phone—even now, she checked it quickly—reminded me too much of my ex-fiancée’s obsession with climbing the corporate ladder at any cost.

The security situation here was a shitshow. The client’s sister was already striking me as high-maintenance. And I wasn’t convinced the actual client—the pop star herself—would be any easier to work with.

This assignment probably wasn’t a good fit for Citadel Solutions. We would do the force protection assessment and point out the problems we saw, but then we’d let someone take over day-to-day security operations for the Rivers sisters. This sort of work wasn’t for me. I needed something with more action.

But then Logan’s words in Colombia echoed in my mind: “You can eliminate every threat that comes your way and still be haunted by the ghosts you’re running from.”

Was that what I was doing? Running toward dangerous missions in an attempt to keep my own demons at a distance?

When was I going to stop? When someone on my team got killed? I owed it to my guys to at least evaluate this assignment and consider it the way I would any other. Be fucking professional.

“Why don’t we start with the details about the break-in and proceed from there. We’ll see if we’re a good fit for each other.” Her green eyes shot to mine.

Fuck, that had come out more suggestive than I meant. Although my body had no problem dwelling on whether Mel Rivers and I would fit well together.

“See whether your situation is a good assignment for Citadel Solutions to take on,” I corrected, keeping my tone neutral.

Yes, professional and distant was key. Whatever my personal misgivings about Mel Rivers or this assignment, I had a job to do.

And I would do it.