Page 2 of Oath of Protection (Blood Oath Bargains #1)

TWO

THE HEADHUNTER

Coffee had gone cold an hour ago, but Cam kept drinking it anyway.

Black, bitter, and strong enough to wake the dead—exactly how he'd learned to take it during eighteen months of dodging IEDs in Kandahar.

Some habits died hard, even when you traded desert fatigues for tailored suits and mortar fire for boardroom politics.

The monthly client review spread across his desk like a victory lap.

Congressman Bradley—still breathing despite three credible death threats from environmental extremists.

Judge Morrison—alive and sentencing drug dealers while cartel hitmen cooled their heels in federal lockup.

And Dr. Sarah Chen, the pharmaceutical executive who'd survived two poisoning attempts and a car bomb because Cam had taught her to vary her routines and trust her instincts.

All still breathing. All still paying their bills on time.

Cam leaned back in his chair, studying the view from his office windows.

Downtown stretched out below him, glass and steel towers reaching toward gray October sky.

Rios Security occupied the entire thirty-second floor, which wasn't bad for a company that had started in his garage eight years ago with a laptop, a concealed carry permit, and a burning need to keep busy after the Army decided his services were no longer required.

His assistant knocked once before entering—military precision, just like he'd trained her. "Your ten o'clock is here."

"Send him in."

Cam expected another pharmaceutical executive or maybe a federal judge who'd pissed off the wrong people. He got Antonio Valente instead.

Tony Valente walked into Cam's office like he owned it, which was probably how he walked everywhere.

Expensive suit, confident stride, a smile that suggested he knew secrets about you that you'd forgotten yourself.

Two men flanked him—bodyguards trying to look like businessmen, but Cam had spent too many years studying how dangerous men moved to be fooled by designer jackets.

"Mr. Rios." Tony settled into the chair across from Cam's desk without being invited. "I appreciate you taking the time."

"Mr. Valente." Cam kept his voice neutral, professional. "What can I do for you?"

"I need to hire your services for a family member. Someone who's been having some security challenges."

Cam's fingers found his coffee mug, using the movement to study Tony's face. The man had controlled calm that came from years of making life-and-death decisions, but there was tension around his eyes. Whatever security challenges he was talking about, they were serious.

"I see. What kind of challenges?"

"The kind that involve bullets and people trying to kill him."

Direct. Cam could respect that, even if everything else about this meeting was setting off alarm bells.

He'd done his research on potential clients before they walked through his door, but Tony Valente hadn't made an appointment.

Hadn't gone through the usual channels. Had just shown up with two armed men and expected to be seen.

"Mr. Valente, I appreciate your situation, but I don't work for crime families."

Tony's smile didn't change, but something shifted behind his eyes. "Crime family is such an ugly term."

"It's also an accurate one."

"My family runs legitimate businesses. Import, export, real estate development. We employ hundreds of people and contribute millions to the local economy."

Cam took another sip of cold coffee, using the silence to think. The Valente name carried weight in this city—weight that came with federal investigations, grand juries, and obituaries that never quite explained how successful businessmen ended up dead in warehouse districts.

"I'm sure you do. But I've built my reputation protecting people who operate within the law. Judges, politicians, business executives. People who can call the police when someone tries to kill them."

"And if someone in my family called the police?"

"They'd probably want to ask a lot of questions about your family's business practices."

Tony laughed, a sound that held no humor. "You're direct. I like that."

One of the bodyguards shifted slightly, and Cam's peripheral vision caught the movement.

Military training kicked in—exits mapped, distances calculated, threat assessment running in the background of his consciousness.

The man was armed, probably carrying under his left arm based on how his jacket hung.

"Direct saves time," Cam said. "Mine and yours."

"Fair enough." Tony leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Let me be direct too. Someone's trying to kill my brother. Professional attempts, well-planned, well-funded. He's survived two attempts in six months through luck and paranoia, but luck runs out."

"Have you considered that your brother might be in the wrong line of work?"

"He's in the family business. That's not changing."

Cam studied Tony's face, looking for tells. The man was worried—genuinely worried—but there was something else there. Frustration, maybe. Or the particular kind of anger that came from feeling powerless.

"What makes you think I can help?"

"Your reputation. You've kept three congressmen alive despite serious threats. Judge Morrison credits you with saving her life twice. Dr. Chen's pharmaceutical company pays you a quarter million a year because you're the best at what you do."

The fact that Tony knew Dr. Chen's contract details was interesting. And concerning. That information wasn't public, which meant the Valente family had resources that extended into places they shouldn't.

"I appreciate the flattery, but the answer's still no."

Tony was quiet for a long moment, studying Cam with attention that made most people uncomfortable. His voice changed when he spoke again.

"Mr. Rios, you employ eighteen people. Your office lease runs another three years at forty-two thousand a month.

Your insurance premiums just went up because Judge Morrison's stalker got too close last month.

" Tony's smile returned, but it wasn't friendly anymore. "Business expenses add up quickly."

Cam set his coffee mug down carefully, keeping his movements slow and controlled. "Are you threatening me, Mr. Valente?"

"I'm offering you a job. Very well-paying job. My family values loyalty and competence above everything else, and we reward both generously."

"And if I'm not interested in your family's version of loyalty?"

"Then I hope your current clients continue to need your services for a very long time."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Cam had dealt with threats before—came with the territory when you spent your time protecting people others wanted dead. But most threats were direct, obvious. Tony was painting a picture instead, letting Cam fill in the details himself.

"How much?"

"Five hundred thousand. Six months minimum, probably longer. Plus expenses, plus a completion bonus if my brother survives the year."

Cam's coffee suddenly tasted like ash. Five hundred thousand would cover his overhead for eighteen months, pay his employees' salaries, and give him enough breathing room to be selective about future clients. It was also more money than anyone had ever offered him for a single job.

"What aren't you telling me?"

"My brother can be... difficult. He's used to being in control, doesn't like taking orders. He's survived this long through his own methods, and he's not going to appreciate being told to change them."

"Difficult clients aren't unusual in my line of work."

"Nico's different. He runs family operations that generate eight figures annually.

He's smart, paranoid, and completely convinced that accepting help is a sign of weakness.

" Tony's voice carried the particular exhaustion of someone who'd had this argument before.

"Oh, and someone put three bullets through his apartment windows last night. "

The room went quiet except for the distant hum of traffic thirty-two floors below. Three bullets through apartment windows meant professional work. Meant someone with resources, planning, and serious intent to kill.

"Is he hurt?"

"No. His bodyguard wasn't so lucky."

Cam felt something cold settle in his stomach. Bodyguards dying on the job was every protection specialist's nightmare—the reminder that no matter how good you were, how careful, how prepared, sometimes the best you could do was make sure it was you instead of the client.

"I'll need complete access to his security setup, his daily routines, his business operations. If someone's trying to kill him, I need to know everything about his life."

"That can be arranged."

"And I run security my way. No interference from family members who think they know better. No exceptions, no compromises, no negotiations."

Tony's smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "I'll let you explain that to Nico yourself."

Cam reached for his phone, fingers already moving across the screen. "I'll need his contact information."

"Already handled. He's expecting your call."

The fact that Tony had been so confident about the outcome of this meeting should have been another red flag.

Instead, Cam found himself thinking about Judge Morrison's stalker, about Dr. Chen's poisoning attempts, about all the people he'd kept breathing who might not stay that way if his business dried up.

Sometimes the right choice and the smart choice weren't the same thing.

"Mr. Valente," Cam said, looking up from his phone. "I hope your brother understands that staying alive requires following instructions."

"He'll learn." Tony stood, straightening his jacket. "Or he'll die. Either way, you'll have done your job."

The bodyguards moved with Tony toward the door, their choreographed movement suggesting years of practice. At the threshold, Tony paused.

"Mr. Rios? My brother doesn't know I'm hiring you. He thinks this was his father's idea."

"Why?"

"Because Nico never accepts help from me. But he might accept it from Pop." Tony's expression was unreadable. "Family dynamics are complicated."

After they left, Cam sat alone in his office, staring at the contract Tony had left behind. Five hundred thousand dollars to keep one man alive. More money than he'd ever been offered, from a family that dealt in violence and called it business.

Cam pulled up his laptop and started researching Nico Valente.

The search results made his jaw tighten.

Financial operations that generated massive revenue through methods the FBI couldn't quite prove were illegal.

Articles about a man known for intelligence, ruthlessness, and an almost pathological need for control.

Two assassination attempts in six months, both professional-grade work that had come close to succeeding.

And a photograph from a charity event six months ago—Nico Valente in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, looking like he could buy the building they were standing in without checking his bank balance.

Dark hair, green eyes, confident posture of a man who'd never met a problem he couldn't solve through money, intimidation, or careful application of violence.

He was also, Cam realized with something approaching professional dread, exactly the kind of man who would hate everything about accepting protection.

Cam reached for his phone and dialed the number Tony had left. Time to find out just how much trouble he'd gotten himself into.