Page 1 of Second Chance Serenity

CHAPTER 1

Michael

The thrill of the chase is one of my favorite parts of this job.

Boots hammering against the pavement, I sprint through a back alley in downtown L.A. My body is coated in a thin layer of sweat thanks to the humidity clinging to the air, and my muscles are warm. I pay little attention to the trash littering the ground or the stench of dirty wet pavement as I run.

The guy I’m after, a would-be stalker who stole some photographs my client would rather not get out, glances over his shoulder. His beady eyes widen, and he pumps his arms harder, as though that’s going to speed him up. Truth is, I could have caught him nearly as soon as I started chasing him, but he deserves to worry awhile. And from the looks of it, that’s exactly what he’s doing.

His face is beet-red, his expression one of fear as he glances back again. Good. I grin. A man who would target a woman who’d just had a baby simply so he could make some spare change off “never-before-seen photographs” should be afraid of what’s going to happen when I catch him.

I may be a man of God, willing to let justice be served by appropriate channels, but he doesn’t have to know that.

The man trips, his foot catching on a piece of broken pavement, and he tumbles forward, face sliding against the concrete. He cries out in pain and tries to roll over, but I’m faster. I slide to his side, then slam my knee down into the middle of his back. With him pinned to the ground, I search his pockets, finding the phone he’d used within seconds.

“I’m sorry, man! I didn’t do anything,” he yells as I rip the cell free from his possession.

“I’m confused,” I reply. “Are you sorry or did you not do anything?” I ask as I quickly check his phone for the photographs. As soon as I’ve double-checked he didn’t delete them, I shove the phone into my pocket and withdraw zip ties from my back pocket.

His wrists bound, I haul him up so he’s sitting, then pull out my own phone. Jaxson, one of our newest partners, had given me an officer to contact.

“Diaz.” He sounds distracted, but answers on the third ring.

“It’s Michael Anderson. I’ve got some scum for you to pick up.”

Interest piqued, his tone changes. “Send your location. I’ll get uniforms over there.”

“Great. Thanks.” I end the call and share my location with the officer. As soon as that’s done, I take a deep breath and stretch, rolling my neck and enjoying every pop from the aches.

I survey the man sitting on the ground. He’s short, probably at least a foot below my six-foot-six inches, and his face is red and bloodied thanks to the pavement rash. All in all, dude looks rough. I pop a piece of gum into my mouth. Chewing gum has become a habit of mine ever since I got back from overseas. Being deployed in war zones, shot at, blown up, and nearly killed a time or two has left me with more than just physical scars. And for some reason, the monotony of simply chewing gum helps lower my anxiety.

Not that I’m having any right now. No, right now I’m dealing with the desire to scare this guy so badly he’ll never consider doing this ever again. “Long day?” I ask, leaning against the wall and firing off a text to my client, letting her know the images will soon be in the hands of the police.

He glares up at me. “They were just pics, man.”

“They were an invasion of privacy,” I tell him. “Surely you can understand someone’s desire for discretion after they just had a baby.”

“Someone’s going to get them, might as well be me. They won’t get me on anything.”

“Maybe not on the pictures,” I admit. “Those will likely be a slap on the wrist.” I snap my fingers, then push off the wall. “Except for the fact that my team got footage of you trying to rip the baby from her arms when she wouldn’t let you photograph him. That makes it attempted kidnapping.”

His eyes go so wide it’s nearly comical. “I was going to give him back! I just wanted a picture!”

“Take it up with your lawyers. But I can guarantee they’ll be no match for hers. Deep pockets and all.” Sirens echo down the street moments before red and blue lights bathe us in color. “Let’s go.” I haul him up to his feet then march him forward as two uniformed officers climb out of the squad car.

“Michael Anderson?” the one closest to me asks.

“That’s me.” I open my jacket so he can see the Knight Security badge strapped just inside my leather jacket. “The images on his cell phone are of a sensitive nature, so I’ll be delivering them myself. But I’d appreciate it if you could get this guy booked for attempted kidnapping.” I hand the target over to the police, then start back up the street to get my bike.

“You heading to the station?” one of the officers calls out.

I wave my hand in response, not looking back at them as I climb onto my rented bike, fire up the engine, and take off down the street.

“You’re sure the pictures are safe?” Sunny questions as she cradles her newborn son against her chest. As one of the most popular—and private—actresses in show business these days, having the birth of her son protected was enough to make the call to Lance and hire me.

It’s not the first time I’ve worked for her, and over the last year since she’d called and had me work a red-carpet premiere, I’ve grown close to both her and her producer husband Geoff. He stands behind her now, his hand on her shoulder. They’re nearly complete opposites. As her name would suggest, Sunny has a bright smile and platinum hair that glows beneath the rays of sunshine sneaking in through the windows.

Her husband is nearly as tall as I am, and his hair is almost black, his eyes a dark brown. He was a stunt man in his earlier years and ended up losing his right arm in the process.

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