Page 1 of The Bodyguard's Innocent Obsession
Chapter One
Lachlan
I’ve been in Senator Prescott’s office for four minutes and thirty-eight seconds. Long enough to know the man sitting across from me is scared. Not panicked. Not desperate. But worried in a way that runs deep. Worry that wears grooves into your face and takes years off your life.
“I’ve brought in private security before,” Prescott says, his voice low and tight. “But this is different.”
I nod once, not saying anything yet. Let him talk. Let him lay it all out.
The office is exactly what I expected. Rich mahogany paneling, leather chairs, shelves lined with first editions and gleaming brass bookends. It’s the kind of room that smells like money, power, and the kind of bourbon they don’t sell to regular people.
Prescott leans back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin. “You familiar with the housing bill I’ve been pushing?”
I raise a brow. “The one that’s got the billionaires pissing themselves?”
His lips twitch. Not quite a smile. “That’s the one.”
I have heard about it. Everyone with half a brain has. Prescott’s trying to close the loopholes that let mega-corporations buy up entire neighborhoods, gut the communities, then flip the properties for profit. It’s got the public cheering, and some very powerful men foaming at the mouth.
He continues. “Two days ago, someone tried to break into our Lake Tahoe property. Security scared them off, but they left a message carved into the front door.”
“What did it say?”
“Back off. Or next time, she’s gone.”
I go still.
“Your wife?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “My daughter. Arabella. I’ve received notes here before saying that they will target her if I refuse to back down. I haven’t told her about that, though, so please don’t mention it to her.”
I nod again, not bothering to point out that Prescott is going about this the wrong way. Keeping secrets won’t keep her safe. Secrets can kill.
Luckily, I’m here to stop that from happening.
Prescott presses on. “My wife and I now have a bodyguard with us full-time. I’ve brought in a team of three men to monitor the house around the clock. But Arabella...” He trails off, jaw tightening. “She’s not prepared for this kind of threat. She was homeschooled for most of her life, kept out of the spotlight as she was growing up because I thought that was the best thing for her. And with everything going on now... she barely leaves the house anymore. I need someone I can trust. Someone who’s handled high-risk protection before.”
“I have.” I keep my voice level. “Ex-Special Forces. Ten years private sector after that. High-profile clientele. Politicians. CEOs. Celebrities.”
“I know your record. That’s why I called you.” He looks me dead in the eye. “I want you to guard her. Full-time. Don’t let her out of your sight. Not even for a second.”
“You think the threat’s real?”
I already know the answer, but I want to see if he’s like most of the politicians I’ve met before, with his head stuck up his ass and no clue about how the real world works.
“I know it is.” His voice hardens. “And I’m not waiting around to see how far they’ll go.”
I nod once. That’s all the answer I need.
I don’t care about politics. I don’t give a shit about rich men playing god with legislation. But I care about the job. I care about doing it right. And if someone’s threatening a sheltered young woman to get to her father, I’ll bury them before they ever get close.
“I’ll protect her,” I say simply.
Prescott exhales, tension bleeding out of his shoulders. “Good. She’s in the kitchen. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
I follow him through a corridor that screams generational wealth, with crown moldings, marble floors, oil paintings with ornate gold frames. There’s not a single scuff on the polished surfaces. Everything is curated. Controlled. Cold.
I’m already forming a picture of her in my mind. Some pampered, overprotected rich girl. Fragile. Delicate. Probably rolling her eyes the second she hears she’s got a bodyguard. Probably thinks I’m going to be some stuffy ex-cop with a gut and a clipboard.
