Trevor Reese: His Protective Love Page 3

  “But another meeting, Carly?” Shay asked. “Damn girl. Do you ever get a break?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Like when?” Melissa asked.

  “Like now,” Carly responded with a smile, and they all laughed. But Carly was still curious. “Are you going to introduce me, Shay?” she asked her friend.

  “Do I have to?” Shay asked.

  Jason shook his head. “What a kind, loving sister I have,” he said.

  “Carly, this is my baby brother,” Shay said. “His name is Jason, he’s in town from Jersey, and he’s been dying to meet my friends. He’s looking for a good woman. Or, should I say, a good-looking woman. She doesn’t have to be good. But she must be good looking. Which should tell you all you need to know about my kid brother.”

  Carly and Melissa laughed. “Nice to meet you, Jason,” Carly said.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Reese. Or may I call you Carly?”

  “Are you kidding? Carly, please!”

  “Thank you. You have given me the first bit of real hospitality I’ve received since I landed on these shores.”

  “What landed?” Melissa asked. “What shores? All you had to do was drive from Jersey.”

  “And a treacherous drive it was,” Jason said, and they all laughed.

  The waiter returned with Carly’s glass of water and the conversation shifted away from Jason and toward the three friends and their lives. Jason was bored to tears, until one topic came up. A dinner party with the elites of the city.

  “You’re going?” Melissa asked Carly.

  “Have to,” Carly responded. “They’re in Trevor’s circle of friends and it’s being given in our honor. We can’t exactly tell them no thanks. Trevor will probably get there later, he has to meet with one of his Priority One clients in New York first, but we’ll be there.”

  “Has he taken you around his friends before?” Shay asked.

  “A few of them, yes,” Carly said. “But not this group.”

  That sounded odd to Melissa. “And why not?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. He said something about them being brutal, but his other friends weren’t exactly walks in the park either. None of them think I’m a good enough cub to have won the heart of a full-grown lion like Trevor.”

  “Not good enough,” Shay said, “or not white enough?”

  “Here we go again!” Melissa said and looked at Shay. “Why is it always about race with you, Shay? Carly and I have white husbands. We don’t appreciate your references. You need to cut that shit out.”

  “It’s my opinion,” Shay said, “based on my life experience, thank you very much, and I’m not cutting anything out. I meant what I said.”

  “In any event,” Jason said, getting back to what he saw as the point, “are these partygoers wealthy individuals?”

  “Don’t answer that, Car,” Shay interjected. “Because if you say they’re wealthy he’ll crash the party and try to charm the panties off of some rich old lady there.”

  “But I thought you said my vice was looks, not money,” Jason said. “Which is it, Sis?”

  “Both,” Shay said.

  “You keep moving the goalpost. Not fair,” Jason said to laughter, and then excused himself to the men’s room.

  But he didn’t go in that restroom on some casual whim to relieve himself. He went in for a very specific purpose.

  He checked the stalls. When he saw that he was alone in the room, he pulled out his cell phone, leaned against the sink, and made his call.

  “He’ll be there,” he said to the person on the other end of the phone call. “He may be late, she said, but he’ll be there.”

  “Good. That’s all I needed to hear.”

  “My sister is a very close friend of hers. She has no idea I used my connection with her to get you that information. I don’t want her ever finding out.”

  “Why would she find out, fool? Unless you tell her, which I know you aren’t going to do that.”

  “No. Course not. But may I ask why you would pay me such a generous sum to find out something that simple?”

  “No, you may not ask. Who do you think you’re talking to? Your fee will be placed in your miserable bank account because you kept your end of the bargain, and that’s that. Thanks and goodbye!”

  And the call ended. Just like that.

  But Jason smiled. He truly didn’t give a shit why she needed the information. He was just being his regular noisy self. The fact that he was getting paid for a job that easy was all that mattered to him. Because she was right: his bank account was in disrepair.

  He headed back into the dining hall with pep in his step.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The SUV pulled up on time. Trevor looked at his watch and then set the timer. He had to be in and out within thirty-eight seconds. That was the window of opportunity, the advance team had informed him. That was the amount of time that the target was alone at the stands while his guards got themselves some lunch from the hot dog man. It was their weekly ritual. And there was never variation.

  Trevor continued to check out the fruit and vegetables that lined the stands. He was dressed to blend in: a pair of jeans, a short-sleeve polo shirt with a pack of cigarettes flipped beneath one of the sleeves, and dark shades. And because he was in Little Rock, he also wore an Arkansas Razorbacks baseball cap. A number of working class guys were walking around the market dressed just like him. He did not stand out in the least.

  Except that he had a Magnum on his person and a bloodthirst in his heart. His government decided that the man who had just gotten out of the Dodge Durango along with his two bodyguards, was an enemy of the state (a Russian spy masquerading as a History Professor), who needed to be snuffed out. They ordered Trevor to snuff him out.

  According to his advance team, the routine never altered in the full five months that they had the spy under surveillance. He’d go up to the fruit stand first. Check, Trevor thought, as he casually glanced over at the professor.

  According to the advance team, he never purchased anything from the fruit stand, but he always browsed it anyway.

  Another check. He was browsing. But not purchasing.

  Then after he proceeded to the vegetable stand, his bodyguards, as expected, made their way over to the hot dog stand, which was the next stand over. They remained within a few feet of their boss, so it didn’t seem careless at all. But it was the window of opportunity Trevor needed. It was that little separation he needed to do his thing.

  Trevor wasn’t on the same side of the market as the professor was. That was by design. He had to have the space to get out after he did his deed. And the clock was ticking. The professor, according to his advance team, never stayed longer than those thirty-eight seconds.

  Trevor began walking to the backside of the peanut stand where he pretended to be browsing too. Should he get the boiled or the roasted or the Cajun or the spit-fire nuts, he pretended to ponder, as if he gave a fuck. He didn’t, as evidenced because as soon as he walked around to the backside of that stand, his plan was to turn quickly, pulling out his gun, and then to aim and fire. He would take the spy out and then get out himself. He’d run behind the farmer’s market, into his waiting car, and speed his ass to the train station, changing cars twice on his way there, and changing clothes once.

  That was the plan.

  But his plan was thwarted as soon as he made his way to the backside of that peanut stand and was turning and pulling out his revolver. His movements were swift, as required for success, but Trevor stumbled slightly as he was turning and that tiny hiccup alone almost cost him his life. Because his stumble got the attention of one of the bodyguards and as soon as his revolver could be seen, and before Trevor had completely made his turn, the guard pulled out his own weapon and was firing at Trevor before Trevor could get off his first shot.

  Trevor dived to the ground, eating dirt, and the twenty-or-so people that were at the market, too, started screaming and running for their lives.


  But Trevor immediately got back up just as the bodyguards were rushing the professor back to the Durango to get that Dodge out of Dodge.

  But Trevor knew he couldn’t let the professor get away. If he got away, the government’s months-long surveillance would be wiped out. The professor-spy could manage to get out of the country, and the Russians would have an asset in their ranks. That wasn’t going to happen on Trevor’s watch.

  He jumped over table after table, knocking aside those gawkers who thought the trouble was over, as he ran after that Durango. As it pulled off, with one of the guards pressing down the window and firing shots without even attempting to aim, Trevor was running toward the vehicle and firing back. But unlike that guard, Trevor was aiming for his target. He was aiming to tear apart that Russian’s head.

  He ran and he ran, getting further and further away from his own escape vehicle as he fired on the Durango. But the Durango hit the gas, and was gone, within seconds, out of his range.

  But Trevor had already surveyed the landscape before he even entered the marketplace. He knew the layout. He knew there was one way into that market, and one way out.

  That was why he took off across the field, squeezing his muscular frame between two porta-potties, and made it onto the street that led out of the market just as the Durango was burning rubber around the corner and heading for that exit too. Trevor was virtually out of breath as he ran into the street, aiming his weapon but not firing it. He ran until he was directly in front of the SUV, shocking the driver and the second bodyguard who thought he was dust in their mirror. But Trevor was no dust. He was alive and well, and he fired his weapon with a volley of rapid shots. He took out both guards, because they had the power to take him out, and then he aimed and took out the professor too.

  But he had no time to relish his takedowns. He had to dive for his life as the SUV barreled its way toward him even though the driver was dead. He dived, within a hair’s breadth of annihilation.

  The SUV kept speeding in forward progress until it slammed into one of the steel poles on either side of the exit gate and then bounced back like a rubber car from the impact of the slam.

  But Trevor knew he wasn’t out of the woods yet. Not by a long shot. He had to get back to his own getaway car, and it was all the way on the backside of the market stands. Another problem: he was out of juice.

  But he had to find the energy to make it back anyway. Sirens were getting closer and closer. Too many people could ID the man in the baseball cap. He ran. He felt like shit, but he ran. One stumble almost cost him his life? He felt like a pile of worthless shit as he ran.

  But he couldn’t dwell on his anger. He had a life to save, and that life was his own. He had a loving wife to get back to, and a son he wasn’t about to leave again. He had to get out of there and he had to get out of there alive!

  That was why, when he made it to his getaway car, a Honda Accord, he jumped in and sped away. But just as it was for the Durango, it was for him: one way in, and one way out. His new problem: the cops were heading in.

  But he had to floor it anyway. And he did. He hit the gas and sped around that same corner the Durango had sped around, and found himself facing two police cars heading straight toward him. As if they just knew he was going to stop.

  But he couldn’t stop. He wasn’t putting his life in the hands of some Arkansas hicks, he didn’t care what he had to do. His life was a life of split-second decisions, and he made one in that moment.

  He zigged his car toward the patrol car on the left, causing the car on the left to, as if by reflex, veer further left to avoid a certain collision. And that was the opening Trevor needed. He slammed on his gas and blew through the two cars as if they were standing still. He also blew past the now wrecked Durango with three dead bodies inside. Dead bodies he were responsible for. Two of which were only doing their jobs.

  He made it in the streets, but knew he couldn’t let up. The cops were turning around and proceeding to follow him. And their sirens were blaring.

  He had to place the kind of distance between his car and those cop cars that would give him time to get to his second vehicle and ditch the one he was driving. But first he had to drive like a maniac. And he did, swerving and curving and avoiding near-collision after near-collision as he drove for his life.

  He lost the cops easily and made it to his second location, and that second vehicle. When he got there, his advance team was already waiting. Trevor quickly threw his cap onto the seat, removed his shirt, and put on a different one. And then he jumped out of the car.

  As Trevor got out of that car and got into the second vehicle, the team doused the first car with gasoline. Trevor took off in the opposite direction of the cops, swerving back onto the road, and then driving a normal speed to his next destination.

  Then the advance team lit a torch and tossed it into the trail of gas that now surrounded the first vehicle, creating a line fire. Then they got back into their own vehicle and took off, too, not away from the cops the way Trevor had done, but in the direction of the cops. Both cars drove the speed limit. Both cars showed no signs of being involved in any crimes whatsoever.

  And just as the advance team drove toward the advancing patrol cars, the line fire ignited with the Honda Accord on that side street further down, and the Honda exploded. The cops, who had been suspicious of the advance team’s car that was driving toward them, had to forget about their suspicions when they heard that massive explosion. They sped toward the sound.

  When they made it to that side street, the Honda Accord that Trevor had used for his getaway, and then ditched, the only car the cops knew to be involved in the marketplace murders, was on fire. They got out of their cars and called for a fire truck. It had been their most eventful day in years.

  But it would not be a fruitful day for either one of those officers. Because even as that Honda was going up in smoke, everything inside of that car, including any evidence that Trevor Reese had ever touched it, went up in smoke too.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Who’s that hunka-hunka burning love?”

  “What are you talking about, Letisha?”

  “Over there,” Letisha said.

  Bridgette Collier, Carly’s executive assistant, was seated behind her desk trying to get her work done. Letisha Hester, one of the PR associates in Trevor’s firm, was just handing Bridge a request for ad funding when the elevator door opened and a tall, muscular, very handsome man stepped off. Bridgette looked where Letisha told her to look, but she didn’t see anything unusual. “Where?” she asked.

  “Are you blind? Over there, Bridge! That uber-attractive man.”

  “Oh, him! That’s just Big Daddy.”

  Letisha smiled. “Big, did you say?”

  “Not like that, you guttersnipe!”

  Letisha laughed. “But who is he?”

  “He’s Carly’s father.”

  Letisha gave her a sidelong look. “Carly Sinatra’s father? Or, excuse me, Carly Reese’s father? That Carly?”

  “That Carly, yes.”

  “That white man is Carly’s father?”

  Bridgette smiled. “She was adopted, but yes.”

  “Oh, okay,” Letisha said. “Tell me something! Now I’ll admit, there are some out there that surprises me when they say they’re black or white or whatever, but not with Carly. She’s a sister. There’s no doubt about that! But girl, girl, girl, that is one fine man. For a white man, that is.”

  “You are so racist,” said Bridgette, who herself was white.

  But Letisha gave Bridgette another sidelong look. “Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. And you aren’t racist? You called me a guttersnipe.”

  “I call it like I see it,” Bridgette said.

  “And so do I,” said Letisha as she kept her eyes on Big Daddy.

  Bridgette smiled as Charles “Big Daddy” Sinatra approached them. “Well, hello, Mr. Sinatra. Welcome back to Boston!”

  “Thank you, Bridgette. How
you doing?”

  “I’m doing good, sir, thank you for asking.”

  Letisha cleared her throat.

  “And this, sir,” Bridgette said, “is Miss Letisha Hester. She’s shocked you’re Carly’s father.”

  “Why?” Big Daddy asked with a charming smile on his handsome face. “She thinks I look too young to be her father?”

  The women laughed. “Something like that,” Letisha said, and then extended her hand. “Very nice to meet you, Mr. Sinatra.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Big Daddy said. “You work here also?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m new, but yes, I work here.”

  “Then welcome aboard.”

  “Thank you, sir. Thank you very much.”

  “Is she in?” Big Daddy asked Bridgette.

  “She’s in, yes.”

  Big Daddy smiled at Letisha. “Nice to meet you,” he said, and then made his way toward Carly’s office.

  Letisha smiled too. “He wants me,” she said.

  “Girl,” Bridgette said with a laugh, “you better get your life!”

  “I’m serious, Bridge! I’m serious. You saw how he looked me up and down.”

  “I saw no such thing.”

  “And when he smiled and said it was nice meeting me, he looked at my breasts. That gorgeous hunk was undressing me with his eyes!”

  “He’s married, Tish.”

  “He may be married, but that doesn’t mean he’s faithful. A man that good looking cannot possibly be faithful.”

  “Trevor Reese is good looking.”

  “Yes, he is. I will definitely give him that. We have a sexy boss.”

  “He’s faithful to Carly.”

  “We have a sexy boss,” Letisha said again.

  “Oh, go on!” Bridgette said, Letisha laughed, and then she headed back to her office.

  Inside Carly’s office, Carly was on the phone sitting behind her desk. Her legs were stretched out and resting on top of the desk, and her chair was reclined. But she was tired. She had one hand rubbing her forehead while her other hand held the office phone. Big Daddy had walked in, but she had not bothered to look up. He could tell his daughter was drained.