Page 33 of My Masked Savior
“Jesus Christ, D.” Ethan runs a hand through his hair. “You’re asking us to recommend someone blind?”
“I’m asking you to recommend someone good. Someone who won’t ask too many questions.”
Killian counts off on his fingers. “Marcus is in Dubai. Chen’s on that tech CEO for another six months. Rodriguez just took that job in Washington.”
“What about Bishop?” Ethan suggests.
I shake my head. “Too aggressive. This needs someone with a lighter touch.”
“Lighter touch,” Killian snorts. “For a stalking case. Right.”
“The friend doesn’t want to make waves. Whoever takes this needs to be a ghost.”
Ethan drums his fingers on the table, thinking. “Thompson’s available.”
“Too handsy.”
“Picky bastard, aren’t you?”
“This is for Morgan’s friend.” The words come out harder than I intend. “It has to be right.”
Killian and Ethan exchange a look that makes me want to punch them both.
“What about Caleb?” Killian finally says.
I pause, considering. Caleb Ward. Former Delta, dishonorably discharged after taking the fall for a mission gone sideways. He’s been doing private security for the past few years, keeping his head down, staying off radar.
“Caleb works alone,” Ethan points out. “Doesn’t take many clients. Selective as hell.”
“He’s also the best we’ve got,” Killian adds. “If the friend needs discreet, he’s your guy. Man’s a ghost when he wants to be.”
“He owes you, doesn’t he?” I ask Ethan.
“Yeah.” Ethan takes another sip of whiskey. “I’ll make the call.” He slides out of the booth, phone already in hand. “Give me five.”
I watch him weave through the after-work crowd toward the back exit, then turn to find Killian studying me with that irritating knowing expression he gets.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He takes a long pull from his beer. “Just trying to figure out when you got so domestic.”
“Fuck off.”
“You are arranging bodyguards for the girlfriend’s friends. That’s serious territory, man.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
Killian nearly chokes on his beer. “Right. What is she then? Your stalking hobby?”
I flip him off.
“Come on, D. You’re following her to Connecticut, watching her sleep, now you’re calling in favors. If it walks like a duck?—”
“How’s Emily?” I interrupt.
The shift in his expression is immediate. Softens around the edges in a way that would’ve made me mock him a few months ago.
“Good,” he finally says. “She’s good.”
