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1
Logan
I pour another shot of whiskey because why the fuck not? I finally have a Saturday evening all to myself with no one and nothing to bother me. Just the way I like it.
I left the excitement behind me when I got out of the Marines. Six tours overseas were more than enough action for one lifetime. Now I get my kicks running my own security company with my two best friends, Colton and Slater.
Watchdog Protection, Inc. is a small operation with just the three of us as full-time employees. We’re all ex-Marines and served together at one point or another. I was the first to get out, followed by Colton, the burly cowboy with an easy smile and enough charm to fill his home state of Texas. The cocky son-of-a-bitch knows it, too, but he’s still one of the best men I know.
When Slater was honorably discharged after landing on a roadside bomb and fucking up his leg and shoulder, he was in bad shape, and not just physically. I’m not sure what all went down while he was overseas on that last tour, but the nearly seven-foot giant was in a lot of pain and darkness for a long time.
Colton and I stuck by him, even moved in briefly when Slater was released from the hospital, despite his many protests. He’s still haunted by his demons, though having Watchdog has helped all of us settle and adjust to life as civilians.
It was my idea to use our training and skills to open up our own security firm. Colton was like an excited dog with a bone when I brought it up to him, while Slater objected and tried convincing me he was no good for stuff like that anymore.
Yeah, Colton and I didn’t let him get away with that shit. Fast forward several years, and here we are, successful business owners and bachelors to boot. We want for nothing and we rely on no one but ourselves.
Propping my feet up on my coffee table, I lean back on my couch, tipping my head up and taking a deep breath.
Solitude.
Silence.
It might not be much to some people, but to me, it’s everything. My life has been nothing but chaos from the moment I was born. Took me damn near forty years to find a little peace, and I plan to enjoy every fucking minute.
I’m about to throw back the second shot of whiskey when my phone rings.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter, setting the glass down.
Staring at the screen, I debate whether I want to answer it or not. I don't recognize the number, but that doesn't mean much. The only numbers saved on my phone are Colton’s, Slater’s, and the landline for Watchdog. Oh, and the pizza joint down the road.
As much as I want to let the call go to voicemail, I know I need to answer it. Being in the protection business means I'm on call twenty-four seven. Colton just got back from an assignment early this morning and Slater is going to start a job at the library of all places tomorrow, so I’m up if we get a new client. So much for a night off.
Sighing heavily, I wipe a hand down my face, tugging at my scruffy beard.
“Watchdog Protection,” I answer the phone, my voice more than a little gruff.
“Logan? Is that you?”
It takes me a second to place the voice. “Marcus? Shit, what’s it been? Ten years?”
“Closer to twenty, old friend,” he chuckles.
“Marcus Collins,” I say more to myself than to him.
We did basic training together; I was just eighteen and he was twenty-one at the time. We struggled through the brutal training required of all soldiers and were put in the same unit until he was reassigned.
I went off on my first tour with Colton and Slater and we lost touch, but the bond we formed during those first few years was solid, apparently even to this day.
“Logan Bennett,” he says, jarring me out of my memories. “I wish I had time to catch up, and I really wish this call were under better circumstances,” Marcus starts.
“What’s going on? How can I help?” You better believe I’d still lay my life down for any of the men and women I served with, no matter how brief the time.
“Well, I heard you were running a security company these days. Protection for hire and whatnot. Is that true?”
“I think if you were able to find my cell phone number, you also had access to my work history,” I reply, a smirk on my face.
“Guilty as charged,” he admits, though there’s no remorse in his voice. “But I needed someone I can trust with my daughter.”
I stand up from my couch and go to the kitchen, rummaging around in the drawers until I find a notepad and pen. I always think better if I have a list of actionable items in front of me.
Tossing the paper and pen on the kitchen counter, I begin pacing back and forth, waiting for my old friend to tell me more.
“She has a stalker and the police—"
“Can’t do anything until there’s proof,” I finish for him.
“Well, yes, that, but also…this is a rather sensitive case,” Marcus hedges.
“Start at the beginning,” I tell him as I grab the pen and remove the cap, poised to write everything down.
Marcus tells me that he and his daughter live in San Francisco, then goes on to relay what little he knows about the stalker. I ask him more about his daughter, making a note that she’s twenty, her name is Spencer, she doesn’t have many friends, and she still lives at home.
“Is Spencer’s mother in the picture?”
There’s silence on the other end of the line, then a quiet, “She’s no longer with us.”
I make note of that as well, though I don’t press the issue. I know nothing about relationships and even less about marriage. I couldn’t possibly begin to understand what it means to love someone, let alone what it would feel like to lose them.
“How long will you need my services?” I continue. I don’t know how to deal with messy emotions, but I can plan, organize, and execute missions to perfection, so that’s what I’m focusing on.
“I’m actually leaving the country tomorrow for two weeks. I have a business deal in Paris I need to close.”
I’m a little shocked that he’s leaving the country if he feels his daughter is in danger, but what do I know about having a family?
“Sounds important,” I say, instead of questioning his decision. “What is it you do nowadays? You already know my job.”
“Mergers and acquisitions.”
“Sounds thrilling,” I say dryly.
Marcus laughs. “It keeps me busy and it pays the bills.”
I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. I make another note about Marcus’s vague job description and his need to leave the country. I also put an asterisk next to the words sensitive case. I know what he means without him having to say it. No police involvement.
That would normally put me on edge, but this is Marcus. I trust him. Still, all of these details help. It could be someone from his place of work or a client he screwed over. All avenues I’ll need to research as soon as I end this call.