going to act like I do until Masey tells me otherwise, so I lean in and kiss her. “Thanks, honey.”
Then I dash to the shower, clean up, grab a protein bar, take the travel cup of coffee she thrusts into my hand, then hop into her car—she insisted—and leave her the keys to my mom’s SUV in case she wants to go anywhere with my son.
“I won’t be any longer than I have to,” I assure as I pull out of my parking spot.
“No worries. Ranger and I will be happy.”
I leave to the sight of her smiling and looking gorgeous in the pre-dawn light. Thankfully, traffic is nonexistent. On my way, I dial Tanner Kirk. I don’t expect him to pick up before five a.m. on a Sunday, but since I know he likes to fish early, I’m not totally surprised when he answers. “Hey, Trace. Good to hear from you. Looking for a fishing buddy this morning?”
“I wish. I have a prospective client who wants to meet you, like now.”
I hear a scuffle on his end. There’s a pause. Then he’s totally dialed in. “Fishing gear away. What’s up?”
“I’m calling on behalf of a family friend,” I say for simplicity’s sake. “Amanda is twenty-six. Single mother to a boy about to turn one. The father of her baby is…notorious.”
“Sounds like you’re putting it nicely. Is she worried he’s coming back for her?”
“No, thank God he’s not violent, just dead. But all his enemies are after her, and they want blood.”
He hesitates. “I’m happy to do what I can, but I have to be honest. I haven’t done any bodyguarding in a while.”
“And I know you’re just getting settled on the island. I wouldn’t ask…but they’re also threatening her kid’s life. Could you protect her, just for a bit?”
“Fine. A few days. While I’m finding her someone more competent, I’ll teach her how to defend herself.”
In the long run, that would probably be best for her. “Perfect. Thanks, man. I owe you.”
“No problem.”
I give him Nia and Evan’s address, then drive into the morning with the sun slanting through my side window. I reach their awesome beachside place in record time. Outside, Nia stands, hands on her hips, talking to a pair of cops. Her white silken robe accentuates her pregnant belly and makes her umber skin gleam. She’s a beautiful woman, and on paper, she and Evan shouldn’t work since they’re total opposites. But somehow, they’re perfect together.
Beside her stands a waif with a long, pale braid that swings as she shakes her head stoically at the officer questioning her and stares with haunted blue eyes. She cradles her sleeping son against her chest—and looks ready to rip the head off of anyone who dares to touch him.
I haven’t met her before, but she must be Amanda.
I hop out of Masey’s car. The police turn, ready to spring into action.
Nia calls them down. “He’s family. He’s fine.”
I raise a hand. “Hi. Trace Weston. I’m Noah’s brother.”
I hate dropping my famous sibling’s pro-quarterback name on the island, but it’s a quick shortcut to goodwill.
The officers shake my hand, all smiles, then turn their attention back to Barclay’s final mistress.
Nia gives me a once-over and whispers, “Looks like a rough night. Or, based on the love bites decorating your neck, a really good one.”
The best. “You called me here for something other than gossip.”
“Yeah.” She sobers. “Did you get ahold of Tanner?”
I nod. “He’s on his way.”
“Great. His arrival will be a relief.”
“What happened?”
Before Nia can answer, the officers nod, hand Amanda a card, then depart. As they pull away from the curb, Evan’s wife leads us into the house. “A shit show. There were about a dozen assholes. I’ve got a broken window.” She gestures where someone clearly tossed a rock into her living room. “And some cleaning up to do. The police got here before it really got out of control, but one guy…he was super unhinged. He was heavily armed, and if he was acquainted with sanity, it was only in passing.”
“That’s not good.” I turn to Amanda, who looks drawn into herself, like her defenses are made of steel. But I’d bet anything it’s a facade. “Hi, Amanda. I’m Trace.”
She exhales, letting her guard down the tiniest bit. “Thank you for coming.”
“No problem. You okay?”
“This isn’t the first time something like this has happened. I hoped when I left California, where most of Barclay’s clients lived, that it would be the last. But some of these