Page 4 of Target Me
“Depends,” I said, forcing a smirk onto my face.
I was developing a suspicion of who this might be, and if I was right, making his life hell was going to be my new favorite pastime.
In my father’s forty-year military career, he’d had many men work under him, but in the last five years, only one name had been brought up again and again. A man of “perfect repute,” who graduated basic training with honors and completed his bachelor a year ahead of schedule. He was the man my father thought of as a son.
“Logan Tanner,” he said, touching surprisingly well-manicured fingertips to his forehead in an approximation of a salute.
I hummed, pretending to think things through. “How do I know I’m not letting the fox into the henhouse? You could be anyone. I’d hate to make a mistake like that.”
“Stop playing games, little girl,” he growled, scooping up a khaki duffle from by his feet and stepping past me into the house.
Damn. He smelled like leather and bourbon, with a hint of fresh-cut wood, which made me wonder what he had been doing before he decided to invade my space.
“I don‘t need a babysitter.”
I trailed him from the entrance hall into the open plan living area, ignoring the way he looked around the space as though impressed by the surroundings. It was a façade. A nicely presented ruse designed to impress and intimidate while making the owner seem more influential than he was.Fake it until you make itwas more than my dad’s slogan; it was his goddamn way of life.
“Your father thinks otherwise, and until my orders change, you can consider me your shadow. You’re welcome, hen.” He still hadn’t removed his sunglasses, keeping his eyes hidden, but his teeth were perfectly straight and white as he flashed a nasty smile at me which was more wolf than fox.
Game on.
2
LOGAN
The call had come through around midnight.
“Tanner. I need a favor.”
I brushed wood shavings off the lathe I’d silenced to answer the call as General Walker explained the developing situation.
“She’s a high-value target and a complication I don’t need with the work I’m doing. I need someone I trust to keep her in line. I’ll pay well, of course. I’d consider you a private contractor.”
I’d agreed because… why the hell not? I owed so much to the man, and even though the idea of being someone’s private security guard still left me cold, I would do it. For him.
The call didn’t last much longer after I agreed. The General knew better than to give me time to reconsider, especially after the years I’d spent listening to him lament his difficult daughter. Other than what the General had told me, Avery Walker was an enigma to me. The few times I’d been invited to the General’s house, I’d declined. The idea of schmoozing politicians and high-ranking officials was about as appealing as… well… babysitting a grown woman who was spoiled and completely naïve about the world.
Shit.
Woodworking hadn’t seemed like enough of a distraction after the conversation I’d just had, so I took a moment to pack up my supplies and changed into a tank top and basketball shorts, then hit the road for a run.
There had always been something exhilarating about midnight running. While the world slept, I pounded out the miles along dirt roads and pavement. My shoes slapped a rhythm that worked me into a trance-like state, restoring my mind while, paradoxically, exhausting my body.
The routine was familiar, something I grabbed on to when the nightmares tore at my grip on reality. One foot in front of the other. One day at a time. The concept of breaking life into bite-sized pieces when it became overwhelming was something I had learned from an AA meeting I’d forced Adrien to attend.
We’d sat in the back, tepid coffee in hand, while Adrien watched the exit. We hadn’t even left the building before he suggested a trip to the liquor store on the way home. Needless to say, my efforts hadn’t helped him much, but they had helped me in a small way. Control what you can, leave the rest. The serenity prayer was a good idea… Shame I had no hope for it.
Peace was a foreign concept to soldiers.
Five miles out from the shithole I’d decided to move into before even starting renovations, I slowed to a stop outside the twenty-four-hour gym I frequented at all hours of the day or night. Scanning the entry fob, I waved at the camera that served as staff during night hours and took a moment to enjoy the whole lot of no one here that came with an insomniac’s workout schedule.
For two hours, I pushed my body through a grueling mix of upper body weights and functional training exercises, until my muscles screamed in protest, my heart thundering in my ears. I drank deeply from the water fountain, wiped down the equipment I’d used, then set out for the five-mile run home.
On the grass out the front of the ranch, I ran through the yoga exercises the physiotherapist had given me for a back injury that never should have happened before heading inside for a shower.
The warm water sluiced over my body, rinsing away the sweat and grime of my workout until it was as though it had never happened. There one minute, gone the next, and only what lay beneath the surface left behind to tell the tale. I shook my head hard, beads of water splashing against the cheap plastic curtain I’d bought to keep the bathroom from flooding, and turned my thoughts to my new assignment.
What I needed was a plan. Every successful mission in history came down to carefully laid and executed plans. Avery was the assignment. No, not Avery. Miss. Walker. I couldn’t get overly familiar with an assignment. Remaining objective would be mission critical. Protect the girl, find the threat, and eradicate it. Simple. Easy. I’d be back to reframing my new house in no time.
