Before you begin reading, be aware that there is more build up and tension than sex.
A special thank you to my beta readers. Your input was very much appreciated.
As usual, comments are welcome so I can see what works and where I can improve in my writing (bearing in mind that I'm a British writer so there may naturally be anomalies). Thank you in advance and I hope you enjoy the ride.
~*~*~
The estate lay silent. Darkness shrouded the Manor House, save for a soft glow of a table lamp in the first-floor hallway. Beside the lamp sat a chair, in which Logan Hunt took guard.
Several people currently occupied the house, though only two on this floor, in this wing, including Logan himself. All except one were part of Logan's security team. Most would likely be asleep at this hour. Only the faint old-house creaking kept him company.
Night shifts were difficult for most. He knew it was common for the Watcher to be lulled into napping but that wasn't his style. He'd been doing this job long enough to know better. His team shared this shift. This would be the last of his for a few days and he'd be back to daytime hours. One more night, he sighed inwardly as he refocused on the book in his hand.
A brief, sharp noise sliced through Logan's ease. Instincts kicked in. His breath held and spine stiffened. His feet pushed into the wool carpet as his fingers strangled the book. Dropping his eyes, he focussed on listening. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, ready to kick him into action.
The cold, scraping noise repeated. His gaze darted to the silhouette of a tree waving at him at the end of the hallway, tapping at the glass windowpane. The wind was picking up.
Taking a deep breath, he steadied, soothing himself at the false alarm. His fingers loosened the crumpled pages. He hated to admit that this job was beginning to wear him down. He and his team had been here, hiding in the English countryside, for nearly six weeks now, and not one hint of danger had presented itself. And whilst that was good news for his client, it created a bigger challenge for his team to keep focussed all the time.
Logan recalled the initial interview for this job. He'd known back then that this would be difficult. Mr Forde, a hedge fund manager from London, had received a threat of the kidnapping of his grown children. He'd decided it was best to split his son and daughter and chose two separate services. Logan had been assigned the youngest of the siblings, the daughter, Rebecca. He had no information about the son or his whereabouts and expected the vice versa.
Mr Forde had been evasive about any of the details of the threat, but his urgency had been true. That had been clear by the obscene amount of money he'd offered, which raised a curiosity to what Mr Forde had done to instigate the threats.
Logan had quickly dismissed those wonderings. It wasn't any of his business and those kinds of details just muddied his waters. His focus was to locate Miss Forde, transport her to a designated safe house, and protect her for an initial eight-week period, or until the matter was resolved.
Locating Miss Forde had been ridiculously easy through a simple search of social media. Getting her to come to this place, though, had been a little more difficult. At age 26, she hadn't wanted to disappear. She didn't want to be cut off from her friends, her life. But neither was she the entitled brat that she'd been painted to be by her father. After a calm, reasoned discussion, Rebecca had nodded quietly and joined him in the helicopter, where she surrendered her phone and smartwatch.
And now they'd all been living Groundhog Day with no indication that it would change soon.
The branch tapped harder. Logan made a mental note to get the foliage trimmed away from the house. Giving a sigh, he tried to return to his book. Before he could read the first word, Rebecca cried out from behind her door.
Dropping the book, he moved fast. Heart thundering, he entered the bedroom, hand on his gun in its holster. Scanning the room, all looked fine except for Rebecca, who sat upright, looking lost in the middle of the ornate bed. Gasping, her hand held her chest as her wide eyes darted, unsettled.
"Miss Forde?"
"L...Logan, I don't know what...I think something hit the window, I don't know, I was asleep."
Logan strode to the window and pushed the heavy curtain to peek out. No foliage grew nearby. His hand shifted from his gun to his radio, and he pressed the red button for five seconds then twice short; the agreed code to react immediately. His night team would be scrambling now to their allocated posts to investigate.
From this position, he saw nothing of concern outside. The expanse of lawn exposed no-one. Though there were always places to hide, not least in the shrubs that framed the large, manicured patch of grass. He trusted the perimeter alarms they'd set, but he knew nothing was infallible.
"My team are on it, it's ok, Miss Forde, you can go back to sleep."
"Logan."
Rebecca's voice shook, and it stopped him in his tracks. It always did. She was his one and only priority.
"Yes?"
He tried not to look at her. When he'd first entered, his sub-conscious had registered the fact that she was wearing a thin t-shirt that clung to her breasts. Now the threat wasn't imminent, he couldn't stop his brain from trying to bring up this image.
"Nothing," she whispered.
Logan paused at the strained response. The urge to look at her tore at him. Instead, he managed to nod and step out.
As the door closed, he let out the breath he'd held. As usual, guilt quickly kicked in. He was a professional through and through. He always had been. He'd never, ever had a problem with being distracted by any charge. Until now. Until Rebecca.
Refusing to think about it, Logan seized his radio and checked in with his staff. All was clear. Maybe it had just been a bad dream. As a fail-safe, he ordered a skeleton team to stand guard for the rest of the night across the mansion until they could check everything in daylight.
Returning to his chair, he picked up the book he'd thrown down. He listened to the faint sound of Rebecca using her ensuite and moving around her room until it fell silent again. The words on the page refused to be understood as he read and re-read the same passage until he gave up.
Frustration bit at him. The need to move began to feel almost claustrophobic. He ached for a long, hard run outside in the cold air. Setting his book down, he quietly walked to the window. Dawn was breaking behind the trees. Less than three more hours and he'd be free to let off steam.
Behind him, a door clicked. Logan spun to see Rebecca standing in her doorway. A silky wrap covered her from neck to knee. Her long, curly hair had been tamed from the previous startled tousle.
"I couldn't sleep again. I'm going to the kitchen for a drink."
Rebecca spoke quietly, as though there were others sleeping on this floor. Logan nodded and followed, keeping his eyes on her bare feet. Not her smooth calves. Not the roundness of her backside underneath the silk. He wasn't a foot man at all, and he refused to acknowledge that this was another thing that Rebecca could somehow change.
