Still Waters: Garza Security, #1

1

One: The Favor and a Compromise

They’re here.

Of course they were. They weren’t the kind of men to break a promise. The Garza brothers wove through Sammies & Spuds Deli, ignoring the stares of appreciative women. She wiped her palms on her slacks, pressing down on her bouncing thigh. She shouldn’t be nervous; she’d asked them to come.

Because she needed a favor.

And it was illegal.

And they were the kind of guys that could do it.

The ice rattled in her drink, her leg’s mindless motion unsettling the table. The men defined bad-ass. Dark, brooding, Latino, although Joaquin reminded her of an Aztec god, while AJ could be part Samoan. Both could kick her butt, and had every Tuesday and Thursday night for the last year at Brick Banning Athletics.

They owned a security company and were rumored to work for unsavory characters, as her third grade teacher would phrase it. Not that they bragged about it. AJ rarely spoke, and Joaquin never spoke about work. But she couldn’t ignore the gang tattoo on Joaquin’s chest, although a religious icon covered the majority of it. Doubt wended its way to the logical part of her brain where she pushed it aside and reminded herself that she knew enough.

They were bad-ass.

And she needed bad-ass right now.

Sara. Joaquin’s voice slid across the crowded deli, low, distinct, and every woman turned and hoped he was talking to her. He lifted his chin and winked at a woman who was emptying a sugar packet onto her laptop instead of into her cup. The woman followed Joaquin’s path and Sara fingered her Celtic cross, hoping to offset the curse being sent her way when Joaquin descended into the chair next to hers. His large frame engulfed the wooden seat, too much man for one space. He leaned forward, mesmerizing Sara with the colorful tattoo on his broad forearm, a Hindu god dancing with a giant axe.

Is that new? she asked, fascinated by the reds and blues and how precise the lines were drawn, outlining the god’s splayed toes as he kicked at his skirts. And why Hindu?

Yeah.

She wished he’d say more, but instead his gaze flicked around the room before settling on his brother at the counter waiting.

AJ was intensely silent, discouraging conversation, but gracious enough to lend a hand after tossing her onto the mat during practice, and twice now he’d even smiled when she’d kicked him upside the head. Because she was counting the number of times she’d managed to score points on them. Sixteen points in one year. It was enough to make her show up twice a week, like a gambling addict eager for the next win.

They both were dangerous. AJ more like a Rottweiler, and Joaquin a fast-striking scorpion. AJ was physically larger, but Joaquin’s strength was tightly packed, barely leashed, imposing. It could be his tattoos, or the fact that he could smile while his eyes were giving you a cold-hard glare. She’d practiced that look in the mirror, disappointed when the effect left her with a headache and facial tic.

Joaquin returned his attention to her. Heat struck her face, like the sun pushing past a cloud warming her. He edged closer and she caught herself from mirroring the motion.

Thank you for meeting me, she said.

He met her words with warm brown eyes and sweet, smooth voice, like melting chocolate on your tongue. I like the food. You still working for the NSA?

Yes. I’m freelancing now, I mean, it’s not a salaried . . . She shook her head to stop babbling.

You like it? His voice pitched low and soothing, as if sensing she was skittish.

Most days, yes. Somedays I think I’d rather be, you know…

One eyebrow cocked and he smiled. No, I don’t know.

Amusement lit his eyes, and his angular features softened, and something softened inside her, too. The built up pressure in her chest fizzled, and she returned the smile.

He waited for her, giving her the opportunity to regroup. Not like when they sparred, and he was always there, and in her face, and crowding her so she couldn’t kick.

It’s fine. It’s just I’m not good with incompetence, she admitted. And I tend to, um, be impatient. Her voice lilted on the last couple of words, making it into a question.

He lifted a shoulder; the shrug acknowledged her statement but didn’t pass judgement.

Do you think you’ll quit?

She peered at him and huffed. Every day. She rolled her eyes, straightened her shoulders, and added, And then I remember I have a mortgage.

There are other jobs for someone with your skills. His gaze pressed on her. The last remnants of air in her lungs weighed heavy like cement.

He looked away and she deflated, wondering if it was some kind of mental trick.

AJ stalked over, tray in one hand and pulling the chair out with the other. He settled himself in one smooth motion.

AJ’s expression was open and relaxed, like in class when he was waiting for her to attack.

Joaquin chuffed. So why are we here?

Sara licked her lips, her mouth dry. I need an unusual favor. Her voice trembled, the feeling of ants crawling up her legs and settling in her chest, prickling her skin, which grew hot and tight in her clothes.

Joaquin’s eyes followed the path of the ants, while AJ’s attention was directed on his sandwich.

For you? Joaquin asked.

For a friend, she said.

Why? Joaquin picked up his sandwich and began eating it.

Sara reached into her purse, pulling out an envelope. AJ’s brows knit closer; she assumed this was functional mute for please continue. He blinked again. It was probably meant to be intimidating, and it worked.

She pushed the envelope containing four pictures of her friend Abigail. She needs a new . . . everything. To disappear… Her ex keeps finding her. Sara pushed her fingers through her hair, twisting it up into a messy bun and closed her eyes, the image of Abigail’s brutally beaten face still fresh in her memory.

She looked back down at the table; the envelope had disappeared.

AJ cut his eyes to Joaquin. Curiosity lurked in his expression, eyebrows raised, and she swore he might even offer a sympathetic smile. Joaquin picked up his sandwich, took a bite and chewed. Sara did the same, but the bread was dry, the lettuce had no crunch, and the cheese stuck to her teeth.

Joaquin asked, What’s it worth to you, Sara? She’d considered this question already, a number in mind that wasn’t quite affordable but respectable, then Joaquin said, Eight weeks consulting.

Eight weeks? Sara squeaked and swallowed. When am I supposed to have time to do that?

AJ put his sandwich down. His low voice strained through rusted windpipes. Paid consulting, for us.

Joaquin said, You do that now.

Yes, but I’m on a project and I can’t just— she said.

AJ interrupted. When’s the project done?

Sara’s eyes pinched shut. Working for them? Was that safe? Her current project was done-ish, maybe a day or two of tweaking the integration of her program with the other parts. She hadn’t signed on for the next project, yet.

Sara, AJ said.

Eight weeks? She fumbled with her cup, pulling the straw toward her and almost tipping the drink. Joaquin’s hand swooped over to steady it. She tripped over her words. I could maybe take some time off. I mean I don’t get vacation, but I could maybe swing four weeks. Starting in like, four days or so?

AJ looked at Joaquin, his head tilted to the side, reminding Sara of a dog offering submission. The moment passed. He picked up his sandwich and resumed eating.

She swiveled to Joaquin. What would I be doing anyway?

Assisting with security for some local businesses. Networking issues. Stopping hackers, that kind of thing. Your kind of thing.

She hid her surprise. A whisper of guilt niggled at her. She’d assumed they were bodyguards, using their hulking forms as tools, not a professional company handling all aspects of security.

AJ stood. I gotta go. No less than six weeks. His attention lasered on Sara. We’ll have this ready in three days. Your friend will be okay until then?

Yes, thank you. She sagged against the chair. Three days and Abigail would be free. Lightness settled in her chest, her body singing with relief, gratitude following in its wake.

Joaquin murmured, She staying with you?

Sara froze, unwilling to part with any information, not now, not until Abigail was safe. He seemed to understand, his posture relaxed and he changed the subject.

Six weeks of consulting, deal? His hand thrust forward, expectant to receive hers.

Deal. Her hand slid into his, a perfect fit for two mismatched hands. She pushed back at the doubt; she could do this for Abigail. Her first friend in DC, she’d helped her acclimate to the all-male, politically charged environment. Abigail shared her love of kick-boxing, iced-molasses cookies, and all things Tom Hardy. In all that time, Abigail never mentioned her past, or her stalker ex-husband. All that kickboxing practice hadn’t worked—the bastard tased Abigail first, and once immobilized, he crushed her face, leaving her for dead. He still hadn’t been found, his tracking software superior to the police’s. Abigail was still recovering, hidden in a hospital, but soon she’d be free.

What’s the NSA’s benefit package? Joaquin asked, moving closer. His shoulder, hard and hot, pushed against hers, taut and cold.

It had to be for privacy. Right?

He finished up the last of his sandwich.

She snorted. Benefits?

His face pinched. Why are you still working for them?

She wrinkled her nose. It was part of my five year plan after college.

The corner of his mouth tipped up and he stretched his arm, resting it on her chair back. Go on.

His arm warmed the back of her neck, and she scooted away. It doesn’t matter. I never considered working for private security before. She smiled, her lips in the practiced-polite-professional arch. It could be interesting.

He knocked on the table. Good. Six weeks. Paid. Full benefits. Come by Monday to fill out the paperwork. Who knows, you might like it and stay.

This time she was careful not to snort. Joaquin stood and she reached for him, her fingers brushing against his forearm. The colored tattoo was smooth. His muscles bunched underneath, and she pulled her wandering fingers back.

Joaquin, thank you for, you know. She added, embarrassed to admit, I don’t know where you work.

That warm smile that softened his eyes and caused her to melt a little grew on his face. His hand dove into his back pocket and returned, an ivory card perched between two fingers. She moved to take it, but instead his other hand captured hers. Long fingers, strong, tanned against her pale hand cradled in his palm. He placed the card wrapping her fingers around it, like he was protecting a treasure.

Call first; make sure I’m there. His voice was warm, perhaps even seductive.

His lips quirked, in that impish way like she’d caught him stealing cookies. She pulled her hand back.

Okay, she said, proud she’d found her voice. After five okay?

Sure. Call me sooner if you need help. You got it? He stared, an I’m-serious-and-don’t-argue kind of glare, but he had nothing on the nuns from her school days.

Yes, sir, she said. She watched him leave, noting appreciative stares from women also following his long legs and that ass. She’d never had a chance to appreciate it before. This could be the very first time the man had turned his back on her. She was glad she hadn’t left with him. Damn intimidating aura or whatever the hell it was messed with her head. And he wanted her to work with him for six weeks?

Maybe she could telecommute . . .

2

Two: Black Dress and Birthday Invite

Y ou want to hire her permanently? Joaquin asked AJ casually back at the office. Sara was brilliant and she’d be an excellent asset to their team. Besides that, she was beautiful. He’d met her almost three years ago, but she was dating a Fed named Thomas. Joaquin wasn’t the kind of guy to make a move on a woman in a relationship. But now, she was single and free for the taking.

Sure. I doubt she’ll agree to it, AJ said. He leaned forward in his chair and smirked. Doesn’t mean we can’t ask.

Joaquin grinned. Yeah, it’d be fun to watch her in the office.

AJ’s lips twitched. Carter started a pool for the next guy permanently injured by Sara. He pointed toward his door. Juju’s on the top of the list and he’s not happy about it.

Joaquin laughed. Carter was exceptionally gifted at reading situations and people. It was almost spooky how often he correctly predicted outcomes, but it made him the best tactician Joaquin had ever worked with. At first the guys thought Carter’s predictions were outrageous, but now they knew better.

Sara had trained in some kind of martial arts in college and now she was taking kickboxing. She was dangerous to those who underestimated her. She’d nearly crushed AJ’s windpipe a few years ago when they were sparring because AJ wouldn’t let up after she’d tapped out. Joaquin figured his little brother deserved it, and AJ hadn’t held a grudge. Neither did Juju, and she’d broken his nose. The security cameras at the gym had captured that moment when five-foot-six Sara’s foot struck six-foot-five Juju’s nose, and most of the guys used it as their screensaver. Juju never dropped his shoulder when sparring again.

The guys teased her that she was dangerous, but that didn’t stop them from sparring with her occasionally. Although, usually it was on a dare. Probably because of her size, or maybe because she was so damn beautiful it hurt to look at her, or maybe because she was so fucking smart; they figured she couldn’t be good at everything she did.

But she was. And she was nice too.

Joaquin sighed and regretted the show of emotion, because AJ looked at him like he had a kick me sign on his shirt. We should get her to help out at the Jimenez birthday party. She could track the girl.

The distraction worked. AJ bobbed his head. Yeah, that’d be great. The kid scares me. He stretched his neck. She’s a man-eater and jail bait.

Unlucky combination, Joaquin agreed. Call Sara, see if she’s available. And keep Juju away from her at the party. We don’t want him distracted.

AJ nodded and Joaquin pushed off the doorway. Sara Waters was single. She was trouble . . . the kind of trouble that started with flirting and ended with marriage. The thought didn’t frighten Joaquin as much as he’d expected. But if Thomas Smith was her kind of man, Joaquin wasn’t. Still, he mused, she was interesting, beautiful, and brilliant—and smart enough to not sleep with his brother.

She was probably too smart to sleep with him. He wanted to try, though. It would never go anywhere because she should have a guy always on the right of the law. She deserved more than a guy who skirted the law regularly.

Joaquin found the law inconvenient at times, and after spending his teen years in jail, he had a healthy respect for not getting caught. Still, if Sara was willing to break the law for her friend, maybe there was hope for them yet.

Sara answered her cell phone, assuming the restricted number was her ex—Thomas.

Tomorrow night, wear the black cocktail dress you got in the back of your closet. I’ll pick you up at seven. AJ’s voice surprised her.

Ignoring the unsettling fact that AJ might have inventoried her clothes at some point, Sara was wary. What for?

She heard him grunt. I need a date.

The Latino Adonis Junior needed a date? Inconceivable.

You don’t seem like the kind of guy . . . she teased.

He sighed. It’s a job.

I’m not that kind of girl.

It’s not that kind of date. We gotta job, security, for this kid. A girl. She could picture AJ wincing. A teenage girl, he choked out.

They can be very scary, she said sincerely.

So you understand why I need your help.

Not exactly.

I trust you with a teenaged girl and you can crush the balls of anyone who threatens her.

It was true. She had ruptured a man’s testicles in the past, in self-defense. That’s all?

It’s just security during a birthday party. Wear the dress. I’ll be there at seven.

AJ? The call ended before she could ask any more questions.

The following night, at seven, Sara rechecked that her teeth were lipstick-free and carefully placed the tube into her clutch. She took her house key off the ring and put it into the zippered pocket along with her ID, one credit card, and cash. She smoothed the skirt of her dress and opened her bedroom door only to jump back at the sight of a man in her kitchen. She took a breath as her brain identified the man as AJ.

Most people knock, she chided. She focused on slowing her heart rate.

AJ leaned against her kitchen counter, a pile of electronic surveillance equipment at