Page 2 of Her Delta Force Protector

Parker, a famous artist known as Park C, was standing in front of a canvas, giving it the stink eye.

“What’s wrong with it?” The painting—an oil of Parker’s young daughter and her cat staring out a window as it rained—looked great to him.

“The colors are all wrong.”

“If you say so. Listen, I have to head over to Myrtle Beach.”

Parker glanced at him. “You going to bike week?”

“Only for the day.” He didn’t bother explaining his reason for the trip. When Parker was painting, he tended not to retain anything said to him. Parker’s attention returned to the canvas, Kade’s presence already forgotten.

As he headed to his rooms to exchange his running shoes for biker boots, he called his older brother. Tristan was the Marsville police chief, while Parker, along with being a famous artist, was the town’s fire chief.

As a Delta Force operator for ten years, Kade’s life had been one of high-stress, life-and-death situations, and never knowing where he’d be tomorrow, or if he’d even live to see tomorrow. He was using his thirty days of leave time due him while he waited for his separation from the Army to become official.

His plan all along on getting out had been to chill for a month. Well, he’d had two weeks of chilling, and he was bored. Not that he’d choose for Harper to be afraid for her life, but he couldn’t deny that he was amped to be on a mission.

“Hey, I’ve got to go to Myrtle Beach,” he said when Tristan answered. “Wanted to give you a heads-up that Parker’s closed up in his studio, so Duke’s all yours until I get back.”

“Oh, joy. Why the sudden trip?”

Poor Duke. Everyone liked him, but no one wanted to deal with his craziness. Kade told his brother about Harper’s phone call.

“Do you know what has her afraid enough to fake her death?”

“Not yet. I’m going to bring her back here. Figure this is the safest place for her while I get to the bottom of it.”

“You taking your bike or the Ram?”

“The bike. With bike week going on, I’ll blend in better.”

“Okay. Be safe. And call if you need help with anything. I’ll head over now to get the goofball.”

“Great. Thanks. He’ll be in his crate.”

After changing his shoes, Kade slipped on his leather jacket and put his gun in one of the pockets. His wallet went in his back pocket, then he grabbed his motorcycle key. Duke wasn’t happy about being left in his crate, but he’d forget that as soon as Tristan showed up to get him.

Kade headed for the garage. Now that he was opting out of the Army, he’d treated himself to two things: a Harley-Davidson Road King and a Ram 1500 TRX pickup, both black and badass. He had his brothers to thank for being able to do that. They had refused to take money from him for household expenses while he was in the military. They said it was enough that he was risking his life for his country.

Because of his art, Parker was a wealthy boy, and he paid most of the bills. He’d also covered the cost of remodeling their house after their aunt had died. Now that Kade was getting out of the military, it was time to contribute his fair share.

He emptied his saddlebags, making room for whatever Harper might have with her. What wouldn’t fit in them would have to be left behind. It still hadn’t sunk in that she was alive. He took a few minutes to muddy the bike, including the license plate, obscuring all but two of the plate numbers. It killed him to dirty his bike up, but the less attention it got, the better.

As he rode toward Myrtle Beach, his thoughts drifted to the first time he’d seen Harper. She’d been running down the street, chasing a dog. The dog would run, then stop and let the woman almost catch up, then he’d run again. The dog was having a blast, the woman not so much.

Kade and a teammate were doing a ten-mile run, and the dog veered their way, coming to a stop at their feet and giving them his goofy grin. He wore a collar, so Kade grabbed it and held the dog until the woman reached them.

“Lose something?” he said.

She stopped next to the dog. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“No problem.” He tapped the dog’s nose. “And who are you?”

“This is Duke, better known as the military dog school flunky. He thinks everything’s a game, even bombs.”

“My kind of guy.”

She laughed as she stood. “Figures.”

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