Protect Read online

  Protect

  Blue Line Brotherhood Book 4

  Reagan Phillips

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Free Book

  Keep In touch

  Also by Reagan Phillips

  1

  "Did you see my text? Jacob is getting his game face ready for something big."

  Claire Wilson gripped her cell between her shoulder and ear and balanced an armload of coffees with one hand and her computer bag with the other. Darting down the busy sidewalk, she maneuvered through the morning crowd. "I hadn't checked my messages this morning."

  Adjusting the phone caused her to tip the cups just enough for the one near the edge to leak onto her arm. "Ouch," she muttered after her foot came free from her sandal, and her next step had her standing shoeless on the sidewalk. "Tate, I'm going to have to call you back, my damn shoe just broke."

  "Oh, crap. I'll see if I can stall him."

  Claire finagled her bag and the coffees to the ground to inspect her shoe. "Thanks. See you in a few."

  Today of all days, her hairdryer had finally given up and burned out, the door to her apartment wouldn't lock, again. As if that wasn't enough, she was already running late for the weekly staff meeting. The same day she planned to finally ask for the raise offered when she started with the paper six months ago.

  She examined the sandals. The leather across the top had torn from its stitches, and she couldn't walk in the stupid shoes without the strap. "Crap." Even if she did have the time to stop off for another pair, the limited cash in her bank account had to cover food and rent.

  Thinking quickly, she pulled a pack of gum from her bag and chewed it just enough to get it sticky. Then she tucked a small glob between the strap and the inner edge of her shoe. She could stop at the dollar store on her lunch break and buy a cheap pair of flip flops for the rest of the day if it could hold just long enough for her to make it to the meeting.

  Gathering her belongings, she jog-walked the last block to the office, minding how much she bent her foot along the way. Maybe Jacob had a killer story waiting for her. One that would land her on the front page and a bonus in her bank account.

  At the paper's downtown building, she pushed the heavy glass front doors open and hurried to the elevators. If Jacob had a story like that, she'd be the last reporter on his list. Six months employed by the paper, she was the last hired, the youngest, and the only woman on staff.

  The elevator dinged, and she jumped in, spilling more coffee from the stupid loose cup. That one would have to be hers since she'd left a good third of it trailed along downtown.

  "He's waiting for you inside," Tate called from her desk across from Jacob's office door before Claire could clear the elevator.

  Claire scurried to her desk to drop off her bag and ran for the conference room, still minding her broken shoe.

  Once inside, she stopped short at the empty room, with only Jacob standing at the head of the conference table. His tie was missing, and his collar unbuttoned at the top with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

  Perplexed, she glanced at the clock above Jacob's head. Five minutes late, but they couldn't hold the whole weekly meeting in that short amount of time. Her stomach did a small flip, and she held her breath for a second until the unease passed.

  "Jacob," she greeted, putting the cups on the table except for the one she extended to him. "I know I'm running late. My apartment door is stuck again and I--"

  "Save the excuses, Claire," he interrupted and took his coffee and motioned for her to sit. "I asked the others to hold off on our meeting until I could speak with you alone. I needed to speak to you privately. And I need this to stay between us for now."

  "Oh." She didn't like how his voice smoothed over privately or the way he pulled out the chair beside him for her to sit down. Of all the men at the Rebel Rapids News and Courier, Jacob was the tamest, but even he got that wild hair at times. The other male reporters called her sweetheart when they asked her to run their errands or fetch them coffee. Neither being part of her job.

  But not Jacob. Her sex hasn't been an issue when he hired her, and, until this moment, he'd treated as one of the guys.

  To hide her shaking fingers, Claire slid her coffee from the cup holder and took the chair he offered.

  "There has been a lot of talk about the mayoral election next month. Lots of speculations about an out-of-towner running for mayor. Henry Forge has the backing of the business owners in town and a projected million dollar campaign fund from private donors."

  "I've also heard he ran for city government in West Virginia a few years ago and lost the election," Claire added.

  Jacob nodded. "Georgia as well. I think he's hunting for a position in the political arena and doesn't seem picky about where."

  Claire lowered her cup to the table and reached for her notepad in her bag. She'd heard the rumors around town surrounding Henry Forge's sudden appearance in Rebel Rapids eighteen months ago. And then his entry into the campaign to end all political campaigns by Rebel's small-town standards. The town hadn't elected a new mayor in ten years, and the only reason the election wasn't one-sided this year was the mayor died of a heart attack before he could finish out his last term year.

  "You want me to cover the election?"

  "No." Jacob's face tightened. Claire couldn't put her finger on why, but his jaw protruded at a sharp angle, and his eyes darkened. "The election isn't the story. Henry Forge is. I've had two guys on him for weeks, and they haven't been able to get close enough to ask any questions. Forge hates reporters and only sends out press releases or videos his team compiles. We need to know what this man is up to before we make him our mayor."

  "If he doesn't like reporters…"

  Jacob grinned. "You're the most likable journalist on staff. If you play it right, he wouldn't even need to know what you do for a living until after you get a story from him."

  "Oh," she muttered, though there were far more colorful words bouncing around in her head. "You want the girl to go in and take advantage because girls can get away with that kind of thing? Is that what I hear you saying?"

  Jacob leaned forward. "If you've got it, flaunt it. Don't you think it's time you moved up in the paper?"

  Claire uncrossed her legs and bumped her foot on the bottom of the table. Her sandal strap slid free from the side, and her shoe dropped to the floor.

  Shit. Claire needed the money from a good story, but being sent in because she was a woman stung. Growing up in foster care, she'd learned the difference between self-preservation and grabbing at scraps. She could convince herself that taking the Henry Forge exclusive, even if Jacob offered it because she had a vagina, fell into the self-preservation category.

  "Where do I start?"

  Jacob pulled a card from his shirt pocket with an address scribbled on the back. "One of the local business owners is throwing a private fundraising dinner for him at their estate tonight."

  "Do you have an invitation?"

  "Not exactly. But, I'm sure you'll find a way in the door. Just make sure he doesn't know you're a reporter. You can be resourceful, can't you, Claire?"

  Claire paused for a moment. Life had made her plenty resourceful enough to crash a party for some bigwig politicians, but moving to Rebel and taking this job had been a step in putting that necessary discomfort behind her. She'd come to work this morning hoping for the opportunity to ask for a raise, not feel pimped-out by her senior editor for an exclusive.

  "You want me to crash t
he dinner to get the story?"

  Jacob stood and pushed in his chair before taking up the rest of the coffees and heading to the door. "I want you to do what you came to this paper to accomplish. Report on important news. Prove you can handle getting a little dirty for a headlining story, and you'll earn your spot on the front page."

  Since the front page often came with a sizable bonus, she took a deep breath before answering. "If I pull this off, I want the raise you promised at my interview. Ten percent and full health benefits."

  Jacob nodded in response. "I'll make sure the guys get their coffee. And, Claire," he paused, holding the door partly open. "I don't have to tell you the financial trouble the paper is in right now. If things go to shit and we can't bring in new readers, it's going to be last hired, first fired around here. We all need you to pull this off."

  Her skin prickled at the intent in his voice before the door closed behind him. Finding work in Rebel had taken months after interviewing at dozens of local papers in the southeast and coming up empty.

  She couldn't afford to be offended at using her sexuality to get a byline. She collected her things and headed to Tate's desk.

  "How'd it go? Did you ask for the raise?" Tate leaned over her desk, her fingers still clicking on her keyboard as she spoke.

  "He wants me to do a cover story."

  Tate stopped typing. Her mouth opened wide, and her eyes almost popped clean from their sockets. "That's fantastic. You've wanted a breakthrough story one for months now."

  Claire forced a smile. If she left out the part about her qualifications for the job began and ended with being a female, she could pretend to be as happy as Tate. "It's a step in the right direction." She shifted her computer bag on her shoulder. "And, I have a favor to ask. Do you have anything dressy enough to wear to a fundraising dinner? Bonus points if it's super sexy and comes with shoes."

  If fitting a size ten body into a size eight dress were an Olympic sport, Tate earned her gold medal for sure. Claire had enough spandex on to make an elephant thin, but as she approached the stately mansion and the two guards at the front door, it still didn't seem to be enough to hide her insecurity.

  She'd parked her car a little way down the side road leading to the estate and hoofed it up the long driveway in heels. Lucky for her, she managed to arrive at the same time as a well-dressed couple, and she fell into step behind them.

  The beefy security guard gave her a complete body scan as she entered behind the couple, while the guard to her left checked the guests coming after them. Tate had been right. Little black dresses had nothing on short and tight red numbers with a low cut back, and v neck front that dipped dead center into her cleavage. Thankfully she'd allowed Tate to talk her into the seductive dress.

  Claire's skin heated at the way guard number one's gaze lingered on her chest, but he allowed her in with the couple without any questions.

  Inside, she found a waiter circulating with flutes of champagne and grabbed one. She'd taken a shot of vodka in the car for the courage to make it into the party, but now, with the crowd descending on her like quarantined cows, she needed something to keep the buzz going.

  Searching the rooms in the lower part of the house, she noted most of the guests weren't faces she recognized from Rebel. Nashville maybe. There were a few familiar faces among the tuxes and evening gowns, but those were few and far between. Mostly local politicians and business owners. No one she'd pass on the streets on her regular daily walk into work.

  Turning a corner into a large sitting room, she spotted Henry Forge in the center of a group near the back. He'd noticed her as well by the way his gaze followed her, and his lips turned up when his eyes met hers.

  Pig, she thought. Jacob had been right to send her in for the job. Henry's roving eye would land her in exclusive territory without Henry even fathoming she was a journalist. Serves the man right.

  As a waiter passed, she left her empty champagne glass on the silver tray and took a fresh one before making her way across the room.

  She'd start with a little flirting. Then throw in a few questions about how much power mayors held outside the city, and if he took that bait, she'd play dumb for as long as he'd let her until she uncovered something of use for her feature.

  She passed the second to last group of guests between her and Henry when a hand reached for her elbow and fingers grabbed her hard enough to pull her off her feet. Strong arms kept her from falling and dragged her down a hallway to a door leading to the back lawn. The entire time she struggled to find her voice, but her body shook too hard to speak.

  Her last thought before being pulled outside was to scream. But if a room full of people hadn't noticed her dragged off of her heels, would they care about a random woman's scream in the night?

  Maybe she'd never know.

  Connor hated this part of the job. The dirty part. Roughing up people he could easily break with one hand tied behind his back didn't seem fair, especially when women were involved. But, he had his orders to keep the party free of crashers, and Little Miss Red had party crasher written all over her.

  He justified pulling her by her elbow by reminding himself he was doing her a favor. He didn't understand the attraction. He mused, taking Little Red out the back door and letting her loose on the lawn. Henry was short, overweight by fifty pounds, mostly bald, and had a jackass's personality. And that was an insult to the jackasses of the world. So, why did young women like Red throw themselves at his feet?

  Since taking over as Forge's bodyguard, he'd thrown half a dozen gold-digging women out of fundraisers and political gatherings.

  The part that sickened him was knowing throwing them out was more for their protection then Forge's. The man was a total slimeball. Just that afternoon, Connor had stood outside Forge's office door while he gave his assistant a quickie on his desk. He'd known by the fake whimpers of passion that, to the trained ear, sounded more like pleas for help.

  Three more weeks. Connor straightened his suit jacket. Three more weeks, and he could go back to his regular duty as a beat cop in the downtown district.

  "Get your fucking hands off me."

  Red's voice pierced his right ear after he released her onto the grass. "You're not hurt." He assured her. "But next time you crash a party, that might not be the case."

  She had a loud bark, but he'd bet her bite was painless.

  Threat averted, he turned to go back inside when something hard beat against his back. A red high heel laid at his feet when he faced her again. "You threw a fucking shoe at me?"

  She stepped forward, not an ounce of fear on her face. "You didn't have to shove me in there. A simple, please leave, would have done the trick."

  She squared her shoulders, making her full height just under his chin. Dark eyes sparkled in the dim light of the moon, and damn did her quick breath test the fabric holding in her breasts.

  He couldn't help but wonder if she always had steel balls, or if it was fear that made her bold. He bent for the shoe and handed it back to her, catching the slight tremble of her hand when his finger touched her skin.

  "I'm not going to hurt you if that's what you're thinking," he assured.

  She snatched the shoe and lifted her foot to slide it back on. "Who the hell are you anyway? A bouncer?"

  He grinned. Bouncer was a better title for his job than what he really did. A street cop working undercover as a bodyguard for a corrupt politician hoping to find enough evidence to bring his election campaign to a screeching halt before Rebel voted a criminal into the mayor's office. Bouncer encapsulated everything in one nicely rounded word.

  "Yeah, something like that," he answered. "Listen. You look like a nice girl. Don't waste your time hanging around men like Forge. It's only going to get you hurt."

  "Really," she smirked. "I can take care of myself, thank you."

  "I'm sure you can. Now do us both a favor and get missing before I call the cops."

  Her eyes narrowed. She had no fear of Connor, a tw
o-hundred and fifty-pound man in the best shape of his life, but when he mentioned the law, she backed down. God, did he miss that power? Being able to pull his badge from his pant's pocket and instantly having control of a situation.

  Three more weeks, Blake. You've got this.

  To his surprise, Little Red threw her evening bag over one shoulder and stormed off, her heels clicking along the paved sidewalk in her wake. Damn, why did all the good ones have to be money-grubbing wallet hounds? He'd take that girl for a ride she'd never forget, and the screams his neighbors would hear would be far from pleas for help.

  "Connor." Forge's voice broke off the thought. Connor stepped back in the doorway and closed it behind him.

  "Just another party crasher, sir. She knows she isn't wanted here anymore."

  "Good. Good." The way Forge held his hands in his pockets and jingled some loose change gave Connor the creeps. No man should ever walk around with his hands in his pockets as often as Forge did. "Did you get her name?"

  "She didn't give one. A local, I'm sure. She won't be any more trouble."

  Forge shook his pocket, making the money jingle louder. "Actually, I was hoping to see her again. Find out who she is for me, will you? Name and number. Say, on my desk by morning?"

  Connor nodded, though his chest tightened into a ball. There was no way in hell he was giving that creep any girl's number.

  That one especially.

  Henry Forge could take advantage of all the supporters he liked, but when it came to young women, Connor drew a hard line.

  Even if it meant risking his job with the department to keep Forge away from them.

  2

  Claire threw her heels into her back seat and slammed her car door.