Hold Firm (Biker Daddy Bodyguards #1) - Sue Brown
The phone call was an unwelcome start to Quinn’s day. He fumbled for his cell phone on the nightstand, knocking over an empty whiskey tumbler in the process, and clapped it to his ear.
The loud noise continued. He squinted at the phone and pressed connect.
Even half-asleep, he knew the voice was a stranger. “Yeah. Who are you?”
“My name is Liam Quick from QuickFire Securities in London. I have a job for you.”
British. Male. Hard edge to his tone. In the business.
Dammit, Quinn had to focus.
“Who gave you my number?”
Quinn sat up and ran his hand through his short hair, wincing as a strand got caught in a split nail. “Send me the details.”
“You need to be at CDR at ten this morning. They have the intel.”
Quinn pressed his lips together. “I don’t work for CDR.”
“You’re working for me, not them. I need a bodyguard with a certain skill set. Your name came up.”
Sure it had, and he knew exactly who from.
“If you’re based in London why do you need me?”
“My client is in Seattle. He’s used me before. He contacted me and asked for my help.”
“Why not use CDR’s usual security teams? I’m semi-retired.”
Burned out more like. But that wasn’t something he was going to discuss with a complete stranger.
“As I said, you have a skill set we need.”
Quinn was on the point of refusing when Quick played his trump card.
“Josh Cooper says hi.”
Quinn groaned and thumped back onto the pillows. “Tell him to fuck off.”
Quick laughed in his ear. “Ten o’clock. Don’t be late.”
He disconnected the call, leaving Quinn staring up at the ceiling with a mouth full of cotton from too much whiskey the night before and the realization he had to move or he’d be late.
Quinn managed a succinct, “Fuck!” At thirty-nine he was too old for this shit.
A chirrup in his ear made him turn his head to look into the remaining amber eye of his tabby cat, Mogs. She’d lost the right eye in a fight with a fox. Quinn had thought he’d lose her, but she’d recovered from the injuries, a lot scarred and minus one eye, but with more attitude than ever.
“What do you think, Mogs? Take the job or don’t take the job?”
Stupid question. Burned out or not, he needed to make rent this month. He’d have to take the job or he’d be a rent-a-mall-cop again.
“Fucking Josh Cooper.”
Quinn rumbled on his old Hog into the underground parking lot for CDR in downtown Seattle at one minute to ten. If they wanted him that badly they could wait a few minutes. He parked next to a new Harley Sportster, wondering who in CDR could afford a sweet ride like that. It was a shame he didn’t have time to give it the appreciation it deserved. He’d been drooling over the latest model in his bike magazines, but he hadn’t had a chance to see one up close and personal. He gave it a last regretful look before he headed for the elevators.
He didn’t recognize the woman at the reception desk who told him to take a seat on one of the leather couches. She wore a skin-tight dress and too much red lipstick, but her smile was nice and the coffee she brought him was strong enough to get even his brain firing on all cylinders. He scrolled through bikes for sale on his phone until a voice made him look up.
A voice that had haunted his nightmares for years.
“Dominic. Good to see you,” he lied. He rose and held out his hand to the red-haired man who ran CDR with an iron fist.
“You’re late,” Dominic Cook snapped.
“I am now,” Quinn retorted. They’d made him wait. He didn’t work for CDR. He didn’t have to be polite.
Dominic inclined his head as if Quinn had a point.
“Why am I here?” Quinn demanded.
“It’s complicated. Come with me.”
He led Quinn to a conference room. Quinn had spent a lot of time here. Huge windows stretched along two sides and if he bothered to gaze out he’d see a spectacular view of the Seattle business district skyline. Quinn didn’t bother.
Two men sat at the conference table, their backs to the window. One screamed attorney with his ten-thousand-dollar suit and five-hundred-dollar hairstyle. Quinn ignored him. He turned to look at the other.
Instantly Quinn knew who he was and why Quinn was the one who’d gotten the call. Cade Connolly, Seattle’s newest pop sensation, was twenty-five, tops, with hair the color of night and huge eyes a