Page 4

PART I

Eagle Rock, Montana

Echo Valley Ranch

Looking around the room, Mark Goddard let his gaze lightly touch each of the other men milling about the room.

He was sure without asking that they all had military training. Mostly American. One man was either from the United Kingdom or one of its outlying lands.

Two of the men had snuck looks at their wristwatches or the wall clock.

The wait didn't bother Mark at all. He had nowhere else to be. Nothing else to do.

He'd arrived at the training camp the day before and gone for a long run in the twilight, putting his body through a long cross-country journey.

He wasn't someone who liked to work out. He never had. He did because the physical activity helped him clear his mind. And his mind was always working.

Always.

There was usually one person it was centered on.

Heather Vincent.

And he hadn't seen her for half of his life.

Through the years, he'd wondered where she was, and his overworked mind had created thousands and thousands of scenarios.

Some of them were desperately happy, because that's what he wanted.

He wanted her to be happy.

Hoped she was.

Needed her to be.

"Gentlemen."

Mark’s brow lifted on one side as he turned toward the voice. Two men entered the room. One remained just inside the arched entry by the door.

The only doorway into the room.

The man was lean and elegant. His silvered hair and the way he carried himself, gave him the air of a gentleman. He might look like he was born to wear a suit, and a fancy one at that, but there was something about the way he held himself and the look in his eyes that said he also knew how to take care of himself.

And others.

The man standing at the center of the entryway scanned the room and then ended the look with a nod. "Thank you for attending this meeting."

"You made it hard to say no, Mister Patterson."

The man who Mark had pegged as a Brit had been the one who spoke. And his voice was crystal clear. He spoke like a Londoner, but there was a bit of something else in his tone.

A few more words and Mark would be able to figure it out, but it wasn't all that pressing at the moment.

What he wanted to know was if the man addressing them was who he thought he was.

The man spoke again.

“That’s right. I’m Hank Patterson. You might have heard about my company, Brotherhood Protectors.”

No one said a word, but the tension in the room ramped up to excitement. They’d all heard about Hank Patterson and his business. There was a lot of information out there and it was all good.

"I've done my research, which won’t be a surprise once you get to know me. To know each other. I’ve also brought along a friend.” He gestured to the man just in front of the door. “This is Alex Marchand."

The name was familiar, even if the face was not.

The man had made a name for himself in the security community. He'd built a solid resume for himself.

He’d never had a single failure.

Ever.

And that said something.

Okay.

Now Mark was really paying attention.

"You five gentleman have been invited here to become the first five members of what I'm calling Big Sky Bodyguards. You would all work under Alex and your headquarters will be here in Montana, but your assignments will likely be in other locations."

Alex stepped forward and stood beside Hank. On their own, each man was a force of nature, together they presented a formidable front.

"We'd go where the work is."

Mark turned to look at the Brit, pretty sure the man was from Wales.

"We'd go where the need is." Mark added and saw the others look at him with approval in their eyes.

"It looks like I've got a solid group of men here." Alex gestured to the seats and the men all found one for themselves.

With a nod, Hank turned over the meeting to Alex.

He didn’t waste a moment and turned toward Mark first. "Mark Goddard." He gave him a nod. "I’m glad that you came.”

Mark smiled. "The invitation was interesting to say the least." Alex Marchand struck him as a man who was in control of everything, including the curious invitation that arrived at his door.

Alex turned to the next man in the circle of couches. "William Winchester."

Mark noticed that all of them had dark hair except for the man at the end of the group who was a blond. Dark gold, really.

Alex continued around the group. "Evander Sharpe."

Mark took note of the name. It fit the Brit well.

"Julian Tate."

And then the man at the end. "Mason Upton."

Alex added a little comment at the end. “Mason has a brother, Hanson, who will be joining us as soon as he comes back from his current… assignment.”

The men exchanged looks in the way that men size each other up when they meet. Especially when they were brought together for their collection of skills. It was natural to want to stand out.

He was sure that Alex could almost hear the thoughts in his head.

"You’ve all been assigned a cabin here at the training camp. Starting tomorrow we’ll be training as a group."

Julian spoke up. "A group, sir?"

Alex hesitated for a moment. "Will that be a problem?"

The silence in the room lasted for a split second. Everyone answered him at once.

"No."

Alex's expression eased. "Good."

William looked around the group, talking as he did. "I believe that we’re all from the military. Different branches? And at least a couple of countries?” Evander nodded. “So we've all trained in groups in our military careers. I doubt you’d bring us together if we didn’t fit what you were looking for."

Alex nodded, acknowledging his words. "That's why I picked all of you. Still, we'll need to see if there are any holes in your tactical memories.”

Mark felt everyone bristle at the suggestion.

"I don't think that will be a problem." Mason answered this time, sitting straighter in his chair. "But maybe I shouldn't speak for the Brit." He flashed a look of challenge at Evander. "How do we know he's up to our standards?"

Mark spoke up. "I've trained with UK Forces a number of times. They may sound more cultured than you, Mason, but they fight hard. Don't underestimate our friend from across the pond."

Evander didn't reply, but the look he sent Mark was good enough. They had made a connection and Mark was sure that Evander was worth his salt.

"All right." Alex turned his head to meet the eyes of everyone in the group. "I've got dinner set up in the other room and while we eat, I'll give you more details about the training and the types of jobs that I expect we'll see."

Alex turned to leave and then stopped just short of the hallway. When he turned around, everyone was standing.

He did another once over around the group and smiled at Hank before addressing them all again. "I know you gentlemen are good at soldiering. I'm glad you clean up just as well. I picked all of you for your talents as soldiers as well as your ability to fit into society."

Mark held back an instinctual grimace.

Some people thought that society meant something classy. Even upscale.

While people who had money certainly liked to show it off and pretend to have class as well. He'd been to villages that didn't even have clean water or access to medical care that had better people than he'd grown up with in 'High Society.'

Cotillion didn't mean shit when someone's life was on the line. He'd seen both sides of the world and was more than prepared to face the evil that came from having the world at someone's fingertips.

Entitlement bred evil faster than those who were grateful to wake up every morning.

For a moment, Mark wondered if he'd be able to protect someone he didn't like.

He’d left that kind of life behind him. His mother had retired from life as a property manager and lived a quiet life on the outskirts of the Hamptons. He hadn’t been back since the summer that he’d lost Heather.

One minute, everything was beautiful, and his life had every kind of promise he’d hoped for and the next moment, the one person he’d felt the closest to was gone.

So here he was, putting himself in the arena of high-class protection services.

He had the skills to work around these people. He just didn’t know if he had the heart.

Well, he told himself, we'll just have to find that out. Won't we?

Blackwood Enterprises

New York City

When he went to meet with Bartholomew Blackwood, Mark showed up early. A little more than a half an hour early.

The lobby of Blackwood Enterprises was on the floor just under the penthouse in the Blackwood building. A moderately sized skyscraper by world standards, it was impressive in its neck of the woods, the island of New York City.

The interior was lit by the sun outside, the tinted glass brought the world inside and probably did wonders with the electricity bill.

Good for Mister Blackwood.

There was precious little information in the portfolio that Mark had been given. Starting date, of course.

Not to mention the amount that he'd be paid as well as how much money Big Sky Bodyguards stood to earn.

Impressive.

Stupidly impressive.

When he was still sitting on the leather couch an hour past his appointment time, he didn’t flinch. People with money came in two categories. They were either grateful for it or they didn’t give a shit for anyone. Hank Patterson was in the first category. So was his wife, Sadie. She was a beautiful and talented woman and yet the ridiculous amounts of money that she was worth hadn’t turned her into a cold-hearted person. It only made her more of herself. Kind and caring.

Hank was her perfect match, treating others as if they were his equal. So had his first protectee, Kimberly Drummond. He was wondering if this man would be another good person or if he would fall on the other side of the coin.

Either way, Mark would wait and see.

He kept his gaze moving easily around the room, finding that waiting in the air-conditioned comfort of the finely appointed office space was so much easier than some of the hellish places that he'd served in.

And given the discreet movement of the cameras he was able to see, he was being watched.

Evaluated.

He'd been through worse before.

He was being paid to be patient and observant and-

"Mr. Goddard?"

Ready for anything.

He was on his feet before the receptionist finished her question.

Her eyes were wider than they'd been when she stepped into the lobby. "Mister Blackwood will see you now."

Mark eased his casual expression into a hint of a smile as he crossed to her side, taking hold of the door as she opened it.

He saw the confusion on her face as she stood beside him, unsure of what she should do.

"Please," she looked around, at what he didn't know, "step through here."

Mark held the door in his easy grip. "I'll follow you."

His tone was even and didn't offer room for any other options.

"Sure." He heard her swallow. It was a soft sound, almost hidden under the quiet hum of the top-of-the-line air conditioner that cooled the room, but he heard it and saw the pulse in her neck beat faster. "I'll take you to the office."

She stepped through the doorway with a little hop in her step and a moment later, there was a decent gap between them.

He didn't intend to make her nervous. It wasn't in his nature to menace a woman. Mark, like the others he trained with, didn't like having someone at their back whom they didn't trust with their lives.

An open back made a good target and didn't bode well for survival.

They walked down a long empty hallway, and he paid attention to the distance that they'd traveled. Likely the office she was taking him to took up the majority of the space on the floor.

It would be interesting to see what a man like Blackwood put in his private space.

When they stopped outside of the door at the end of the hallway, the receptionist turned to her side so her back was parallel to the wall, putting the strength of it at her back.

Smart woman .

She lifted her closest hand to the door and tapped her knuckles against the solid wood.

There wasn't a peephole in the door, nor could he see a camera in the hall, and he'd looked.

Still, a moment after she pulled her hand away from the door, the lock disengaged.

The receptionist's shoulders eased. "Mister Blackwood will see you now."

Mark stepped to the side and gave her space to walk past him.

She was more than ten feet away when he spoke to her again.

"Thank you, Veronica."

The receptionist turned around, her lips parted in shock. "Th-thank you, sir."

A moment later, she was gone from his sight and he put his hand on the door handle and tipped it down.

The room inside was an extension of the waiting area, but a step up. The furniture had the air of contemporary design, but it looked substantial. Made like it had come from a handcrafted studio. Top of the line. Pricey. But worth the cost.

The tint on the windows was also a slightly different shade. Mark bet that there was a remote somewhere that could do a few interesting things with light control and maybe even prevent anyone or anything outside to see in.

There were two people in the room.

The man behind the desk and the security officer behind him.

The security guard looked like he'd seen a few too many Expendables films.

All broad shoulders and purposeful scowls.

And given the bulky fit of the man's suit, he was carrying at least four weapons on him. Three pistols and a knife.

What he wouldn't give to pat the man down to check.

Mark stopped just short of the desk, his arms resting easily at his sides.

"Mister Blackwood."

The man tipped his chair back slightly, making the recessed lighting warm the top of his balding head. "Ares?"

Mark knew that his nickname from the service wasn’t in the packet of information that the Brotherhood Protectors put out.

If he'd been in a mood to acknowledge the other man's resourceful nature, he might have smiled or even offered him his hand to shake.

Instead, Mark dipped his chin just a hair. "Mark Goddard."

The billionaire tipped his head slightly to the side and raised a brow before he gestured at the lone seat in front of the desk.

Mark noticed that there were three other chairs just like his placed off to the sides. He expected to be the only one in the room, but apparently, Mr. Blackwood was ready to meet with groups of different sizes.

Smart really.

He'd always keep the visual appearance of being the head of the group.

Mister Blackwood wore power as well as he wore his bespoke suit.

Like he was born in it.

Before Mark was seated in the chair, Mister Blackwood started his questions.

"Age?"

"Thirty-four, sir."

"Where are your people from?"

With a touch of a smile at the corner of his mouth, Mark answered. "I don't have a profile at 23 and Me, but if you're talking about where I grew up. That would be Chicago as a child and the Hamptons when I was twelve, sir."

"Big City to a rich man’s playground. Not sure where the military interest came from. Did you feel out of place?"

Mark shook his head. "It was just another transition, sir."

Mister Blackwood let a long beat of time pass between them. "You're a quiet one."

Mark blinked and waited.

He knew from what Alex Marchand had told him during the briefing that other security companies had been invited to apply for the job.

Invited, sure, but Mark knew the job would be his.

He didn't need to defend himself or his personality to the billionaire.

Securing a protectee wasn't about being chatty or open with information.

It was the opposite.

Friends missed things.

Social interactions with the people you were guarding made things messy. Distractions got people killed.

Mark waited for the next question.

Mister Blackwood didn't disappoint.

"Marine?"

"Yes, sir."

The man's eyebrows raised in an almost comical way. "I was hoping that Marchand would have a SEAL or a Delta Force operator available for this."

“You were sent my profile, sir. I doubt I’ll surprise you with an answer.”

Mark’s vision sharpened for a moment, looking at the man sitting before him. Even without the brief that he'd been given, it was easy to catalogue a few things about the man who would be hiring him.

Or rather, hiring Big Sky Bodyguards.

Either way, he was a man with money and a need he was going to spend it on.

He didn't like bullshit.

Men with that kind of money wanted to know that they would get a return on their investment.

And he would want things done. Clean or dirty didn't matter. Done was golden.

"Marine Raiders can take a SEAL or a Delta any day, but what you really want to know is whether I'll be able to protect you."

Mark stood up and saw the security man standing behind the desk take a step forward and put his hand inside his coat.

Without lifting his gaze to the other man, Mark felt a smile tug at his lips.

"I'm happy to give you a practical demonstration if your security guard doesn't take a step back and put his hand down at his side."

The corner of Bartholomew Blackwood’s mouth quirked up and settled almost immediately after. "Max? You should probably listen to the man."

To his credit, the security guard backed down immediately.

He took a step back and lowered his hand to his side. No bullshit.

Mark nodded. "Thank you."

The guard returned the gesture.

Blackwood spoke into the silence. "You should know that you're not guarding me."

Mark absorbed the news quickly. "All right."

"It's a bit of a unique situation actually. You'll be guarding a violin."

Dipping his chin down, Mark raised his brows as he spoke to the older gentleman. "A violin, sir?"

Blackwood grinned like a mad hatter. "Not interested?"

"I didn't say that, sir. It's just a unique situation for me."

"Oh," he stood from his chair and took in a deep lung-expanding breath, "there's more to it than that."

Mark nodded. "I'm listening."

"The violin," the older man smiled, "comes with the artist who is playing the instrument."

With a nod, the security guard walked around the desk, picking up a folder as he rounded the front corner.

He placed the folder in Mark’s hand and then returned to his place behind the desk.

Mark flipped open the folder and was treated to the view of the violin.

"It's the Margolis Stradivarius. It survived World War II hidden away in an attic when its owner was sent to the camps. Once the war was over and musicians began the search for Mary Margolis, they were only able to recover her violin hidden behind a loose plank of wood. The violin itself is a miracle. The cold and the damp had damaged the wood, but a young woodworker performed magic in saving the instrument.

"I bought the violin when the family had some hard financial times and I promised them that if I ever found a musician who I felt would give proper respect to the instrument, I would give them tickets to every performance and place a picture of Mary in the lobby and programs with information on her life and talent."

Mark saw the way the older man seemed to grow an inch or two as he explained the situation.

"Who have you found to play it?"

The older man's brows rose as he smiled. "An interesting story, is it not?"

Mark had no reason to lie. "It is."

"The artist is a woman who performs as Nix."

"Nix?" Mark found his mind fixated on the name. "The name means... nothing?"

Blackwood shrugged. "Yes. She keeps to herself. I only heard about her because my nephew has heard her play. When I invited her to play the instrument and see if it might be a good fit for her, she was only too happy to come and see me. It didn't take more than a few notes played on the instrument for me to know that they were a match."

"When will I get to meet her?"

"That's where you've had a bit of luck."

Luck?

Mister Blackwood opened a drawer at the top right of his desk and withdrew a card. He leaned against his desk and reached it out toward Mark.

It was just a second before Mark had the card in his hand. The card felt like silk under his skin.

"She's staying at a home on my property. Those are the directions and gate code to get you in. The time on there will let you know when she'll be rehearsing and when dinner will be served."

Mark balked a little. "I'm not expecting dinner, sir. If I'm there to guard Miss Nix and the violin, I'll be there as a guard."

Mister Blackwood shrugged. "To each their own, Ares."

Mark tensed a little at the use of his old Military name that his unit used to call him. Still, he had the feeling that Mister Blackwood didn't mean anything by it. He seemed to think it was fun.

Let him think that.

Mark would let it roll off his back since he wasn't in the military anymore.

Now it was more of a callback to a different time in his life when things were easier.

Mister Blackwood leaned against his desk and offered his hand. "I think you'll do nicely, sir."

"I get the job done, sir. The violin and Nix will be safe with me."

He grinned and moved back from his desk. "But will you be safe from Nix?"