EXTRACT FOR
Shadows of the Past
(Terri Pray)

Lily was home. He didn't have to turn on the monitor and bring up the cameras to know. The GPS attached to her vehicle had already confirmed her location, and he would indulge in the footage later when it was safer.

He glanced at his phone. If Lily followed her normal routine, she'd have something to eat, perhaps a glass of wine, and then she would settle down with a book as she ran her bath. Bubbles and a tempting scent, candles and low light, a fresh glass of wine prepared along with thick, warm towels and a matching robe. Everything in its place before she stripped and stepped into the welcome embrace of the warm water. His imagination eagerly filled in the details: the way the water and bubbles would caress her skin, cup her breasts, and slide between her thighs. She'd reach for a large soft sponge and build up the foam before she eased it over her body.

He bit back a groan and shifted in the chair. He didn't need to imagine the scene. Before the end of the night, he'd see it for himself. He'd taken care to cover each room and every possible angle in her home with tiny, well-hidden cameras. Not a single visitor or phone call occurred without him knowing about it.

Not even her decision to hire outside security would change it.

Security, bodyguards, and precautions. He snorted and shifted in his chair. Some overconfident firm who could never understand his Lily or her need to create would walk into Lily's life and disrupt it. With her creativity came a desire for space and time alone to get her work done. Her studio, the place she'd wandered into, was off limits to most people, and he doubted a stranger would be allowed within her art room.

Perhaps he would have to change a few things, but the cameras were carefully hidden. Lily hadn't found them, and the police hadn't even bothered to check. Not that they knew what to watch for. No, he'd been careful, picked out microphones and cameras that a simple search would fail to reveal. His ability to track her car and phone-those were things no small firm would consider, and who else could she have hired? It wasn't as if she knew much of anything about such people and their abilities. No, she'd have gone to the first firm that appeared halfway decent, or more likely, the one her manager recommended, and what did Daniel know about security?

At the end of the day, she would lose her temper with whoever was brought into the house, and the intruder would be gone, removed from his path.

Lily was his, and in time even she would come to accept it.

Chapter One

Harvey Brent gestured to the chair in the small office. "You're looking good."

Michael smiled at his boss and slipped into the chair, feeling the shift of wood and leather beneath his body. The office was a small one, but it suited the older man who ran the business.

"Thanks." Michael met Harvey's gaze before he caught sight of the papers spread out across Harvey's desk. Forms their clients filled in, a few bills-the usual assortment Michael had come to expect. "What's going on?"

"An assignment. New client."

There was always a new client. Security. It was always needed by someone, a business, an individual. Then there were the occasional retrieval jobs Harvey agreed to. Sometimes it would be a person as it had been when Kyle had been sent to collect Lyn from Las Vegas. Other times it would be an item that needed to find its way back to the rightful owner.

"It should be an easy job, Michael. Simple bodyguard work. The assignment is the quiet sort, no family in the area, no boyfriend, she focuses on her work, the deadlines, and-"

"Harvey, you don't have to sell me on something I've already agreed to do. I know under normal circumstances, you'd talk to Kyle about this job, but the guy needs quality alone time. New relationships and all that." Michael leaned back in the chair, his gaze fixed on the older man. Now there was a situation you didn't come across very often; send a man to bring back an unwilling heiress, only to have him fall head-over-heels in love with the woman. He didn't begrudge Kyle his time with Lyn, and the team had learned to cover for each other when personal matters demanded attention. "What's going on? Is there something about this job which could cause a problem?" No job was entirely simple, no matter how it appeared at first glance.

Harvey reached for his mug of coffee, his brow furrowed. The older man paused long enough to take a mouthful from the mug before he set it back down. "It would be easier to explain if you opened the file."

Michael Parker hesitated only a moment before he reached for the manila folder and tugged it off the desk. What in hell's name had gotten into the man? Harvey Brent, founder and owner of Brent's Security, didn't play games, wasn't the type of man to try to reach into the minds of the men and women who worked for him or to toss their brains in a blender and hit frapp?.

Harvey gestured to the file and waited for Michael to read through the documents.

Michael opened it and let his gaze move over the first page. A dozen details jumped out at him, from the location of the woman's house to the small studio she occasionally used, the coffee shop she visited daily and the handful of appearances she'd booked. His jaw clenched. Appearances? It was one thing to protect a client within their own home or on the occasional shopping trip, but public events added a new layer of complexity. "She's an artist, isn't she?"

"Yes." Harvey inclined his head. "Talented one, as I understand such things, with most of her income coming in from private commissions."

"Why's she doing the appearances then?" Galleries, perhaps? Yes, it would make sense. Small gatherings he would be able to cope with as long as he had the time to scope the locations out.

"Fan communities, furry conventions, science fiction and fantasy conventions. The usual type of thing," Harvey explained, his tone neutral. "A lot of her commissions are from fan communities, but her work also includes book covers, portraits, web graphics, that type of thing. Some of it's traditional art, though she does a lot of digital painting as well as photo manipulation work, especially for covers."

"Talented." Conventions. Michael closed his eyes. Crowds. Perhaps hundreds of people; God alone knew how many people attended these things. Multiple threats from far too many angles of approach. How the hell was one person supposed to deal with the possibilities? What was he expected to do, split himself into a dozen people to protect the woman? He shook himself and met Harvey's gaze. "How many of these conventions is she scheduled for in the coming month?"

"One. Details are three pages in. The client has five panels plus her booth, which will be open in the dealers' hall during normal hours. All a part of the contract she signed with the convention." Harvey leaned back in his chair. "I've already discussed the possibility of backing out, but she's not open to the idea. She doesn't like the idea of disappointing people. Though she pointed out that if she backed out, she might not be invited a second time. A valid concern when you work as a freelancer. I imagine reputation is everything, as it is in our line of work."

Not the same thing. Not like she's saving lives.

"Attendance information?" Michael flipped through the pages. Not invited back to a convention. Would it be such a bad thing? He could discuss the event with the woman when they met. What would she be giving up anyway? A couple of hundred people? Maybe a thousand? He let his gaze focus on the information in the file. "Never mind. Shit, this isn't a small thing. Five thousand attendees?" What the hell was Harvey thinking? Never mind Harvey. What was the woman thinking? Did she believe anyone working with her would be able to pull off the impossible? Any public appearance was a difficult thing to manage. The size of the crowd, multiple exits and entrance points, events where Michael would have to allow others close to his assignment. God, it would be worse than merely close. They'd want to touch her or hug her. Others might want to hand off items to be signed. It all suggested a situation far larger than a single person was capable of managing.

"The numbers are based on average attendance in the last five years, though it doesn't consider all ticket sales to date, and their numbers have increased in the last two years." Harvey gestured to the file. "Lots of costumes, more guests, low-level media guests, which also means other security will be present."

Security Michael hadn't worked with before. He didn't look up from the papers contained within the plain folder. "I'll need backup when it comes to the convention appearance and details about any other staff members working the con and which guests they've been assigned to."

"The convention has their guests listed, and we're waiting on responses from their people. As for the extra staff, it's a matter you'll have to persuade her about. Until now she's been adamant about this. One man or woman, no more. She doesn't want to make things uncomfortable for the others at the convention or be tripping over people at her house. Don't get me wrong. I agree with you. That particular event is a disaster waiting to happen if there aren't enough eyes on the situation and the threat is real."

Was there a chance the threat wasn't real? Of course, but a quick read-through of the file suggested she was correct. Something was going on. Likely a low-level stalking case. Still, Michael wasn't a fool, and he'd take more time to read through the information before he went to talk to the woman. Perhaps there was more here than an annoyance, and even a low-threat stalker could up the ante. It wouldn't be the first time a stalker had turned into a kidnapper or murderer.

Not this time.

"If she thinks attending this convention in safety can be done without backup, we'll have a problem." Michael scowled. It couldn't be done, not with the number of people that would be at the convention. It would be hard enough being the only member of security assigned to the woman when she was at home, but events? That was another matter entirely. How the hell was he supposed to manage things when she went to the restroom or when he needed a break? "Perhaps if I suggest we use Mags as a secondary." Yes, bringing in a woman might be better. "She'd blend in with this crowd, which might make her an easier sell to the client."

Mags. A flicker of a smile twitched his lips before he brought it back under control. A good woman, talented, experienced, with a geeky side he had teased her about time and again. She'd fit in with the convention crowd far more than he would. Perhaps he could slip Mags in? He'd know more once he'd met the client. Unlike some of the other guys in the team, Mags gave off a nonthreatening vibe that would be important both to the client and at the convention.

God alone knew how he was going to fit in at the event. Shit, would she expect him to dress up and wear a costume?

Michael bit back a snort. Like that was ever going to happen.

"It's up to you to discuss with the client, but I agree Mags would be your best bet there, and I believe it wouldn't be her first time at a convention."

Michael closed the folder and frowned. Lots of small details. Things that might have been moved, a few packages and cards here and there, and a footprint outside of one window. A print too large to be the client's, but it didn't rule out a yard worker or a neighbor checking in on the woman. "And is the threat a real one? Or is this nothing more than the fears of a high-strung artistic type?" He tapped the folder. Unlike his ex, this woman was dark-haired, taller than Olivia from the details in the file, and younger by at least a year. "I know what it says here and what I'm picking up from a brief read-through, but I want your thoughts." It's real, but how much of it remains to be seen. Some of this might be her imagination, or she's overplaying it, but there's something going on.

"And you have experience when it comes to, as you call them, artistic types?"

"Yes." More experience than he ever wanted to remember.

Olivia.

God, his Olivia. Had it already been eight years since the blonde, faelike, beautiful, and so very creative woman had walked into his life? How many nights had he sat and watched her work with her clay? Or scribble down poetry that tore at the soul when she later read it to him, though he'd had to push her to share her words? Flighty, elegant, intelligent, and high strung. There'd been fights, tears, screamed words and the occasional thrown mug, yet at the time he hadn't cared. It had been worth it.

Right up until the moment when she had pushed too far.

The last thing he needed was to deal with yet another creative type caught up in their daydreams and art, yet this was the job he'd signed up for.

"Well then, Michael, you shouldn't have an issue keeping the client in line. As for a real threat, yes, I think so. My gut says there's something here, and the client, if anything, has downplayed the situation." Harvey shifted his weight, the leather of the chair squeaking as he moved, the noise enough to draw Michael's attention back to the older man. "However, if you're uncomfortable and want to withdraw from this assignment, I'll understand."

Michael flinched at the words. This wasn't his Olivia. Shit, Olivia had never truly been his to begin with. She'd belonged to her art, and at the end of the day, he had walked away, unable to give her all the time and energy she'd demanded. "I've never pulled out of a job before. What makes you think I would do so this time?"