Kill Me Twice - Roxanne St. Claire
Roxanne St. Claire - Bullet Catcher #1 - Kill Me Twice
Kill Me Twice (Bullet Catcher #1)
Roxanne St. Claire
romance/mystery/thriller
Prologue
“I nside this dossier is your penance.” Lucy Sharpe stood to her full six feet and handed the folder down to the man who looked far too big for the delicate chair he sat in. Height was never a disadvantage to a woman who knew how to use it. “She’s gorgeous, rich, smart, and built like a centerfold. Do you think you can manage to keep her alive and keep your hands off her?”
Alex Romero set the manila folder on the chair next to him, without opening it to verify gorgeous or centerfold. And to his credit, he didn’t attempt another defense of his behavior in Switzerland. Lucy gave him one point for patience and another for recognizing that she’d just placed his world-class backside on probation.
“Is she a new client?” he asked.
“Actually, she’s not the client who has retained the Bullet Catchers.” Lucy crossed her arms and settled her hip against a massive Victorian writing table that filled one corner of her library. “The client is her employer, Kimball Parrish.”
“The media mogul?”
Alex might look like he belonged in full leathers weaving through the Pyrenees on a Ducati, but he read The New York Times. And he had the memory of a supercomputer.
“Yes, he’s the owner of Adroit Broadcasting Group,” Lucy replied. “And as the master of sixty-five network-affiliate TV stations, a satellite radio network, a chain of theaters, a billboard company, and one of the most popular search engines, mogul definitely applies.”
“He’s the one who needs a bodyguard. The guy’s a one-man right-wing conspiracy who’s amassed as many enemies as dollars.”
“He was referred by a friend.” Though “friend” was too small a word for the person who dragged Lucy from the depths of hell and given her a reason to live again. Taking this unorthodox assignment was the least she could do in return. “Kimball Parrish is a Bullet Catcher client now. Our clients’ politics are not our business; their security and safety is.” Her gaze dropped to the dossier, giving him silent permission to open it. “He’s hired us to protect an anchorwoman at WMFL, a Miami television station Adroit recently acquired. She’s being stalked and threatened by a viewer, and he wants round-the-clock security. As you have proven repeatedly, there are few executive protection experts of your caliber in the world.”
Alex’s eyes burned as black as the Cuban coffee that fueled his Latin blood. “You’re sending me to Miami to babysit a newsreader with an amorous fan?”
She knew he’d hate this job. The Bullet Catchers weren’t overpriced bouncers hired to fend off the paparazzi, nor were they hourly-wage night-shift guards hired to impress friends of the wealthy. Her elite organization was comprised of first-rate security specialists, and she selected both her employees and her clients with tremendous care. Though she hadn’t exactly selected this one—but Alex didn’t need to know that.
She responded to his babysitting complaint with a silent, simple nod.
“No way. Huh uh. Get somebody else. I don’t do newscasters.”
“Nor will you do this one,” she volleyed back. “You’ve been given this assignment because no one else in this operation can handle it as well as you.” She had several covert surveillance professionals, an undercover master, two deadly marksmen, an explosives expert, a few hostage negotiators, and three counter-terrorism specialists on the Bullet Catcher payroll. But none could touch Alex for his ability to case a room, anticipate trouble, and get his principal out of harm’s way.
“Why don’t you send Max Roper? He could scare the nastiest stalker away.”
“He’s just back from Cannes.” Lucy smiled. “I should think you’d love an assignment in Miami. This is your chance to go home, eat some black beans, and bounce your nieces and nephews on Uncle Alejandro’s lap.”
His swarthy complexion darkened, telling her he was working to control his temper. “Look, I joined the Bullet Catchers because I don’t want jobs like this. If I did, I’d be a contract bodyguard for some white-bread security company. I work for you because I prefer to protect presidents, princes, and the head of Scotland Yard.”
“You work for me because I pay you a ridiculous amount of money, let you wear your hair like a rock star, and usually ignore it when women are willing to risk marriages to multibillionaires just to serve you strawberry scones off their breasts.”
The hint of a smile tipped his full mouth. “Raspberry.”
“Unfortunately, that multibillionaire was one of my best clients