Page 10 of Velvet and Valor (Platinum Security: Shadows of LA #4)

AXEL

Ican’t blame June for being anxious. Her whole life has been turned upside down with a snap of a finger.

Shit, I’d probably be freaking out more than her under these circumstances. I’m used to people trying to kill me, but in the Army I had the support of the US Arsenal of Democracy, not to mention my squad mates.

Who’s she got? Me. Just little old me. I’m going to have to be enough because this is one awesome woman, and I’m not about to let her down.

All night I’ve been fighting the urge to pull her into my arms; her energy is electric.

I want her so damn bad I can taste it but that would be unprofessional as fuck.

For once in my life, I can’t make this about me.

If Moorcrock is half as dangerous as Stone made him out to be, AND the triad is involved, we’re in a heap of trouble. The problem is people like Moorcrock excel at what they do, and one of the things they do a lot is track down people who don’t want to be found.

People like my girl here.

“Listen,” I say. “From now on, until I tell you different, you’re not to use any of your bank cards.”

“Um, okay,” she says. “And why not?”

“Someone might be able to track us by following the trail of your transactional history,” I say. “I’ll cover whatever you need for the time being. Jax will reimburse me.”

“Fair enough,” she says. “How long do you think this is going to take?”

“Oh, not long. It’s less than an hour’s drive.”

“No,” she says with a groan. “I mean, how long do you think it’s going to be until we find out what is going on, find Moorcrock, and I can go back to my normal life?”

“Eh, give me a couple days and I’ll have his ass in a sling,” I say with a wink. “You see, as scary as Moorcrock is, I’m a hell of a lot scarier. I shit bigger than him. What’s that guy weigh, a gram?”

She can’t help but laugh at my antics. I’m trying to cheer her up and it’s working.

“I mean, that guy needs to eat a Snickers bar and a sandwich. He could probably walk through a harp.”

“Stop,” she says, putting a hand on my chest. “Just stop, I can’t breathe…”

Eventually she gets some control of herself.

“Um, thanks. I really needed a good laugh.”

“I know.” The smile fades from my face. “I promise I’ll get you back to your life as quick as I can, June. I might be new at this, but we’ve done pretty good so far, haven’t we?”

“We’re alive, that’s about as much as I’ll give you until I see this place of yours. I swear to God if I see a cockroach, I’m sleeping outside. I don’t care if Moorcrock straps me down and force-feeds me a stick of dynamite. I'm not sleeping anywhere a roach might touch me.”

“You got a problem with bugs, huh?”

“Yeah. You could say that.”

I resist the urge to tease her about it. June stands with her shoulders hunched, arms clutching her middle. I’ve seen that exact same stance on guys I served with. Guys who’d had a close encounter with an IED or worse.

“Hey, it’s all right. Everybody’s got their thing, you know what I mean?”

She glances my way, eyes narrowed with scrutiny. I think she expected me to be a dick about her fear of insects. Maybe I gave her good reason. For a moment I wonder if I should drop my usual ‘the Hell I care’ shtick and try to be friends with June. Maybe even good friends.

But I manage to shake it off, for the most part.

“Superman has his kryptonite, I don’t like closed in spaces all that much. It’s all good. And besides, bugs won’t be a problem. I guarantee it.”

“How do you know?”

“Bugs like food, and there hasn’t been any food at that place in…man, when did I deploy?” I scratch my head. “Anyway, there’s nothing there for them to eat. We’ll have to get something from the cabana down the beach.”

“Beach?” she says in alarm. “This is a tent, isn’t it? You’re going to make me sleep in a tent on the beach.”

“It’s not a tent. I wouldn't do that to you, June.”

Her dubious expression says it all. My place is a far cry from a palace, but it’s not a condemned building, either.

June stares at the vine-covered sign marking my turn.

“Crest Cove? I thought this place got shut down.”

“Not shut down, just closed to new development. My place predates that ruling.”

“That makes me feel a lot better, thanks.” Her sarcasm is so thick you could cut it with a knife.

I pull the car to a stop outside the faded green facade of my one-story beach house. The bushes have kind of grown up enough to partially swallow the porch on either side, but there’s a path a human being can walk through. I hope.

At least the kid I paid to keep the place tidy has been cutting the grass. Guess he figures I didn’t tell him specifically to trim the hedges so he’s not going to do it. Little punk, let’s just see what happens when I stop the Venmo payments.

June’s lovely face remains impassive, but I can tell she’s judging me silently with her eyes. I hurry to get up the short flight of steps and unlock the front door. The alarm whines and shrieks until I get the door open and put in my deactivation code.

My nose wrinkles at the musty smell. Hastily, I bounce around and open windows to let in some air. The sound of the ocean rolling in mingles with June’s footsteps as she enters my house.

“Sorry, it’s been sitting empty for a while,” I say while lighting a few candles.

“It’s fine,” she says. “I mean, it’s better than fine. It’s right on the beach, cozy…I’ve seen worse Airbnb rentals.”

I'm glad she likes my digs. Spartan would be an understatement. The beach house is surfer friendly, which means all scored, waterproofed concrete floors and minimal upholstery.

There’s a combination living room/kitchenette, and a short hallway leading to exactly two other rooms: The bedroom and the bathroom.

I don’t have a lot more furnishings in the bedroom than I do the rest of the house. Inside the fridge, I find a half-empty case of Corona and a shriveled, blackened lime. Not one scrap of food, which is probably just as well considering what happened to the lime.

But there is one part of my house which is fully and generously stocked: The mini bar.

“Can I get you something to drink?” I ask.

“I thought you’d never ask,” she replies. I dust off one of the stools and offer it to her. She seats herself and gives me an inscrutable stare. “You know, I’m surprised you don’t have an official safe house.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Like a place already set up for your agency to take clients to.”

“Oh,” I say. “Yeah, Jax the bossman is working on something like that. Knowing him and the people he employs, it’s going to be heavily fortified. This place is all right, though. I mean, it’s no mansion, but it has a great view.”

“It really does.” She spins the padded stool seat, facing the ocean. The waves crawl toward shore, low and slow. But it’s clear that the ocean seems a little closer than it should be. In another ten years my house might not be here.

But for now, it’s a great place to hide out until we figure our next move.

I turn my attention from the ocean to where it belongs, on June. Man, she’s gorgeous. And I’m not just thinking that because I just got out of the army. Gorgeous women are never far from any military base, anywhere in the world.

No, June’s got that something extra. Something only a few people on this planet possess. I can’t define it, but I know it when I see it.

“I can’t believe you work behind the camera instead of in front of it,” I murmur as I pour her a few fingers of twelve-year-old scotch. I give myself a little club soda in the same kind of glass. I’m on the clock. Can’t let myself get hazy with booze.

“What?” her gaze snaps over to me and I cringe on the inside. I hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Her eyes narrow slightly. “Oh, I see. Because I’m a woman, I’m not competent enough to be a studio exec?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head gently. “That’s not what I meant at all. I mean, you’re stunning. I’d think you’d have no shortage of cameras pointed at you.”

A flush of color comes to her cheeks, and she quickly looks away. Her hand comes up as of its own accord and teases a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Oh. Well, I’m not much of an actor,” she says, looking out at the ocean. “Besides, I like my job. I get a chance to discover and elevate artists, and what else is someone with my job title supposed to do?”

I almost say ‘make money’ but I stop myself. No, she’s quite serious. I admire that. June’s job isn’t just a job. It’s a calling.

I felt the same way in the army, but now what do I do? I don’t have a calling, and I’m not sure I want one. I wanted to make the world a better place, but then the world showed me its ugliness. Now I’m not sure it’s worth the effort.

June, though, gives me hope for humanity. Like, there are still people out there who fight tooth and nail for beauty, and music, and art. We need people like that, to counter the monsters who only defile and destroy.

It’s not my duty to kill the bad men who defile and destroy any longer. That part of my life is over. But I can protect June and keep her safe, so she can keep on doing what she does best: making the world more beautiful, one movie at a time.

“You said you’re not much of an actor.” I see that both our glasses are mysteriously empty, and I go about correcting that. “I take it that means you’ve tried to act?”

She sighs. “Yes, I’ve tried.” Her nose wrinkles. “After I hit puberty, everyone told me I should be an actress or a model. I tried both because I felt like I was supposed to.”

Her eyes darken.

“I got out of modeling right away. There are some seriously creepy photographers out there, let me just say that. And as far as acting went…my heart just wasn’t in it. I picked up some gigs here and there, but I gravitated toward the production side of things early on.”

She looks up at me, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“So, I studied business administration and film as literature. Double major. I saw that the producers were the ones who had the real power, the ones who decided what films got made.”