Blind Side

  Table of Contents

  What This Book is About...

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  BLIND SIDE

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Epilogue

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  VIP Offer

  About the Author

  Also by Josh Lanyon

  Copyright

  It’s a good problem to have: more business than they can comfortably handle on their own.

  But with resources already overstretched, the last thing former DSS agents and newbie security consultants Will Brandt and Taylor MacAllister need is another client—and the last thing Will needs is for that client to turn out to be an old boyfriend of Taylor’s.

  Sure, Will has always known Taylor had a wild past, but he was kind of hoping he’d never have to sit down and have a beer with it. But golden boy Ashe Dekker believes someone is trying to kill him, and Taylor is determined to help, no matter the cost.

  It’s a bit of a jolt to have Taylor for once totally disregard his feelings, but Will is equally determined that “the cost” won’t be their relationship—or Taylor’s life.

  To Marilyn, because of course.

  “What is that feeling when you’re driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? It’s the too-huge world vaulting us, and it’s goodbye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.”

  Jack Kerouac, On the Road

  BLIND SIDE

  Dangerous Ground 6

  Josh Lanyon

  Prologue

  Two Christmases ago.

  The walkie-talkie crackled, and Taylor said, “Romeo to Base.”

  Romeo? Will, who had been blowing on his hands to warm them, spluttered a laugh and picked up his walkie-talkie. “Base.”

  “Refresh my memory. Whose idea was this again? Over.”

  Will grimaced, looked up at the stars burning bright and cold in the black night sky of the Mojave Desert. Not another light for miles out here. Nothing but Joshua trees and sand and the sharp cutout ridge of distant mountains. “Not sure now.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Yours.”

  “Thanks for not saying I told you so.”

  Taylor’s wicked laugh rustled across the six chilly miles of empty airwaves and Will’s lips twitched in instinctive response. “That is one nasty laugh, buddy boy. I could get a search warrant based on that laugh.”

  “Base, standby.” Taylor was suddenly all business.

  Will waited, his eyes scanning the darkness. Nothing moved in the sky or on the ground. He caught motion out of the corner of his eye. A shooting star. He smiled faintly. Taylor was not much for the great outdoors.

  At the same time Taylor, sounding relaxed again, said, “Go ahead, Base.”

  “You were saying?” Will replied. It was only the two of them out here, after all.

  “I was saying, this is one hell of a way to spend our last Christmas Eve.”

  Will was terse because he wasn’t enjoying freezing his ass off any more than Taylor was—and because this was a sensitive subject. “It’s not our last Christmas Eve.”

  The following silence stretched long enough to start sweat prickling on Will’s hairline. He had accepted the posting in Paris despite knowing Taylor’s feelings—and the strain it would put on their relationship. After a couple of months of delays, on January 1st, he’d finally be shipping out for a two-year tour of duty in the City of Lights.

  And what happened at the end of that two years was anybody’s guess.

  “If I do take the assignment in Paris, it doesn’t mean we’re not still together.”

  “Other than the six thousand miles between us.”

  “Five thousand six hundred and sixty-one miles.”

  “But who’s counting.”

  Will knew what he wanted to happen at the end of that two years. And he was confident it was what Taylor wanted too.

  But two years was a long time.

  And Taylor was a guy with little patience and a lot of options.

  “Copy that,” Taylor said at last. “Doesn’t change the fact that we’re currently one step up from snipers.”

  Will started breathing again. “Not if we don’t shoot anybody.”

  Taylor said darkly, “That depends on how much longer we’re stuck out here.”

  Will peered at the luminous dial of his watch. “I make it half an hour.”

  He could feel Taylor’s sigh, though the walkie-talkie remained silent. Taylor hated this op for a dozen reasons, starting with the fact that it was their last not-last Christmas Eve for the foreseeable future and ending with the fact that any half-awake civilian with a radio and a pair of binoculars could have handled this. They were simply providing backup for the backup.

  “I’ll make it up to you, Romeo,” Will said suddenly, surprising himself. “Next Christmas will be different.”

  “Roger so far.” There was a smile in Taylor’s voice. “Should we switch to a secure channel?”

  In one short week, phone calls would be all Will had to keep him warm at night.

  Not for the first time he wondered if he was mistaking stubbornness for smart choices. Because if this promotion ended up costing him Taylor—

  But no. It wouldn’t. Taylor understood. Taylor had ambitions too. It would be okay. They would be okay. And he would make it up to Taylor. He really would. Starting now.

  “Affirmative,” he said gruffly. Why the hell not? It was just them and the coyotes, and any smart coyote was safely curled in his den, dreaming of rabbits and the spring.

  “Yeah?” Taylor sounded alert and interested.

  Will realized with blinding clarity that there was no going wrong with this; anything he said would, at the least, make Taylor laugh. But Taylor wouldn’t laugh. Will knew that too. Realized that however awkward he was at verbalizing…stuff, the very attempt would mean something to Taylor. Taylor, who spent more than his fair share of time putting it all on the line. Phone lines included.

  “Yeah,” Will said boldly. “That’s right, Romeo. They don’t call me Roger Wilco for nothing.”

  Three hours later

  “Roger Wilco?” Taylor started to laugh.

  “I don’t recall hearing any objections,” Will said mildly. “Then or now.”

  “No, and you won’t.” Taylor stretched luxuriously against the tumbled stack of pillows and grinned at him. In the soft lamplight he looked young and happy. No shadows in his eyes tonight.

  Will leaned across to the bedstand, picked up the bottle of bourbon Taylor had given him for Christmas, and topped up the two tumblers. He handed one glass to Taylor.

  Taylor held it up thoughtfully, watching the light catch and flash in the two fingers of red-brown liquid. “You trying to get me drunk, William?”

  “I shorely am,” Will drawled. Not drunk enough to ruin Christmas morning for either of them, just drunk enough to keep Taylor in that agreeably pliable and affectionate mood his rare boozing triggered.

  Taylor laughed again and clinked it against Will’s. “Merry Christmas.” He sucked in a soft breath, said steadily, “And here’s to Paris.”

  “Merry Christmas,” Will said. He took a swallow, set his glass aside and leaned down to kiss Taylor. He whispered, “And here’s to us.”

  Chapter One

  The razor-sharp edge between Before and After. That’s what haunted Will.

  That split second between the moment when all options were still on the table, when there were still infinite possibilities as to
how it could all play out, and the moment when the choice was made and consequences rolled out with the inevitability of high tide.

  He hadn’t seen it coming. That was part of it. He’d been blindsided.

  And the thing was, it had started out as a perfectly ordinary evening. No indication of what lay ahead. In fact, the ordinariness of it was what made it perfect.

  “Why don’t we celebrate?” he’d said.

  Not quite five o’clock, it was nearly dark as they crossed the wooden bridge. The damp twilight smelled of car exhaust, Mexican food, and maybe, distantly, the ocean. Colorful lights blinked and twinkled in the ragged black silhouettes of the surrounding trees. In the manmade hollow beside the Spanish-style strip mall, the miniature golf course was decorated for the holidays with fake snow and leafy garland. It looked like Santa’s Village. Quaint, cute, commercialized.

  Will didn’t mind. He sort of liked the holidays, even if they typically worked straight through them. People tended to be in a better mood around the holidays, and people in better moods were a good thing in their line of work. Less bullets. More bonuses.

  Taylor answered, “Sure. What did you have in mind?”

  “A couple of steaks. A couple of drinks. An early night.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

  Taylor’s “Okay” was said absently. He probably couldn’t have read Will’s expression in the dusk anyway, but he was no longer looking at Will. He was staring ahead at their office, the last space in the mall, where a blond man in a leather jacket was exiting through a glass door that read American Eagle.

  “He changed his mind,” Will commented, following Taylor’s gaze. “He doesn’t want to know she’s cheating.”

  Taylor made a dismissive sound. They didn’t do cheating spouses. They weren’t PIs. They were security consultants, and as of this afternoon’s successful landing of the Webster Fidelity account, they were moving into the big leagues just like they’d been talking about since they’d left the Diplomatic Security Service to strike out on their own three months earlier.

  The man in the leather jacket hesitated for a moment, aimlessly jingling the keys in his pockets, and then started toward the bridge. Technically, there was parking in the mall, but the hair salon at the opposite end guaranteed that there was rarely any available space. Will and Taylor always parked on the street.

  Anyway, it was just as well this guy was bailing. Securing the Webster account solidified the fact that they were understaffed. Not as understaffed as they had been two weeks earlier when Will had persuaded Euphonia Jones to quit her job at the DMV and come work for them. But for the first time ever, they did not need another client.

  As though reading his mind, Taylor said, “Maybe he’s dropping off his résumé.”

  Probably not. Nothing about that slender, slightly aimless figure gave off a law-enforcement vibe.

  “So. Outback? Black Angus?” Will returned to more important matters. “Aloha Steakhouse?”

  “Aloha,” Taylor said. No surprise there. He did not like chain restaurants. Well, and after Paris, neither did Will.

  The blond man had reached the head of the bridge and was starting toward them. His aftershave, a distinctive and disagreeable blend of musk and patchouli—what was that? Obsession?—reached them first. Taylor checked mid-stride.

  The man also seemed to lose step and waver, peering forward as though trying to see through the gloom. He said doubtfully, “Taylor?”

  And in a voice Will had never heard out of him before, Taylor said, “Ashe?”

  He sounded—well, the cliché would be he sounded like he’d seen a ghost. But actually, he sounded like he was a ghost. The ghost of his former younger self. Taylor’s husky voice sounded lighter and uncertain, and there was just the suggestion of a boyish crack. It startled Will.

  Taylor and Ashe strode toward each other, and hugged—or rather, half hugged, half collided—before stepping back to have a look at each other. Or at least as good a look as they could get in the wavering shadows of the Christmas lights.

  “Taylor. It is you,” Ashe said. “I was thinking it couldn’t be. That it had to be some other Taylor MacAllister.”

  “Jesus. How long has it been? What are you doing here?” Taylor was already turning to Will, making the introductions. “Will, this is Ashe Dekker. Ashe is an old friend of mine.”

  Will shook Dekker’s hand. “Nice to meet you.” There wasn’t much he could add to that because until that moment, he’d never heard of Ashe Dekker.

  Taylor was still talking. “Ashe, meet Will Brandt. Will’s my partner. We worked together at DS.”

  “Sure,” Dekker said. “How’re you doing, Will?” His grip was firm, though his hand was ice cold.

  “Great.” Will studied Dekker curiously—and felt his interest returned.

  Dekker was a good-looking guy. Average height, slim, with carefully groomed stubble and the kind of shaggy haircut that actually costs a fortune. His clothes were casual and expensive: designer jeans, leather jacket, alligator skin Western boots. Will didn’t think much of guys who wore cowboy boots as a fashion statement, but he was willing to make an exception for a pal of Taylor’s.

  “Taylor and I were at UCLA together,” Dekker said.

  “Right,” Will said. So this was a very old friend, predating any of Taylor’s other old friends—not that Will had met so many of them, and not that Taylor had so many of them. “What brings you to our neck of the woods?”

  Dekker gave a self-conscious laugh. “To be honest, I was hoping to hire you. Hire American Eagle, that is.”

  Taylor said, “You need security consulting services?”

  “I’m not exactly sure what I need,” Dekker said. “But I think someone’s trying to kill me.”

  Euphonia was locking the front door when they arrived at the office, Ashe Dekker in tow.

  “That’s okay, we’ll lock up,” Will told her.

  “The painters are coming at eight. I was going to run home, have dinner, and come back.” Euphonia—Nee to her friends—was a petite black woman with a mop of bronze-gold curls and wide brown eyes. For years she had been their go-to girl at the DMV, so it had been a surprise, when they finally met in person, to discover she really was a girl. She was only in her late twenties.

  Regardless, she was a paragon of efficiency and ingenuity, and within the first week they had promoted her from receptionist to office manager. Not that that meant a whole hell of a lot, given there were only the three of them employed at American Eagle.

  “They’ve got an access code,” Will said. “You don’t need to drive out here again.”

  Euphonia smiled the smile of a woman who was going to do exactly what she thought best. She glanced past Will, spotted Dekker, and said in surprise, “Oh, you changed your mind?”

  Dekker grimaced. “Yeah. Sorry for being so mysterious.” He said to Taylor, “I was here earlier. I, er, declined to fill out any paperwork.”

  “That’s okay. Let’s hear your story first,” Taylor said.

  “Thanks, Nee. Is your car on the street?” Will asked Euphonia.

  She sighed. “No, Agent Brandt. My vehicle is located in the lot as ordered.”

  “Good. And we’re not feds anymore.”

  “Uh-huh. You can take a boy out of the agency, but can you take agency out of a boy?”

  They were still trying to come up with an answer to that as Euphonia swept out into the damp night, the brisk click of her heels fading quickly.

  “She’s been waiting to use that line on us,” Taylor commented, resting his hip on the edge of Euphonia’s terrifyingly neat desk.

  “I know.” Will ripped the plastic off one of the waiting room’s two brand-new chairs, saying to Dekker, “Have a seat, Ashe.”

  “I’m sure I freaked her out,” Dekker confessed, taking the chair Will indicated. “I couldn’t stop pacing up and down.”

  “She used to work for the DMV. She’s freak-proof.” Taylor absently picked up a paperweight shap
ed like a crumpled 1040 application, raised his brows, and replaced it.

  Dekker watched him. In fact, Dekker seemed to have trouble taking his eyes off Taylor. Not that Will blamed him. With his black hair, burnished green eyes, and elegant bone structure Taylor was probably Will’s favorite thing to look at.

  Maybe Dekker was comparing the college kid with the man. Maybe he was wondering about that striking single strand of silver in Taylor’s hair—a souvenir of his shooting almost two years ago now. Maybe he was looking at the wedding ring on Taylor’s left hand and wondering exactly what “partner” meant.

  If it was the last, good, because Taylor was definitely off-limits to Ashe Dekker.

  Now that he could see Dekker in the light, Will reconsidered his original impression. The guy was attractive, true. He had that kind of bad-boy sexy vibe that Will found annoying, but that appealed to some people—Taylor maybe? His features were a little too sharp, his eyes a little too narrow, his mouth a little too thin. He looked quite a bit older than Taylor, but that could be because he was also—appeared to Will, anyway—a drinker. That slight puffiness around his pale blue eyes, the tiny broken capillaries on the tip of his otherwise perfect nose? Taylor’s dad was a drinker, so alcohol abuse was not a trait he found endearing. Although everybody had their exceptions to the rule.

  It was hard picturing this guy being close to Taylor. Close enough that a decade later he felt he could call on him when he was in trouble.

  Maybe that was more about Taylor than their friendship, because one thing about MacAllister: he was loyal. He was also not what you’d call a naturally gregarious guy. He had friends, of course, a few good men, as the saying went. And for the most part, those were relationships that stretched back years.

  Will tuned back in to hear Dekker saying, “I’ve been living in Europe a while now. Anyway, after my mother passed, I came back to sell the beach house and found a bunch of squatters had moved in.”

  “Squatters,” Will repeated, glancing automatically at Taylor.