Triple-Duty Bodyguards : A Reverse Harem Romance

I’m woken by an insistent buzzing under my pillow. Twisting my head, I blink around the unfamiliar room. Something warm shifts against me, and I turn to see Briar curled up under my arm. Her pink lips are slightly parted, and her eyelashes flutter as she dreams. She’s unbelievably sweet when she’s asleep.

Hell. She’s kind of unbelievably sweet in general. I hazily remember her holding my hand in the car yesterday evening. Even through all of her anger and frustration, she was still so gentle.

I must have looked like a goddamn idiot.

My phone vibrates again. I hook it out from under my pillow and frown at the contact, recognising the FBI number. Settling against the headboard, I swipe to accept the call, stroking my fingers down Briar’s arm.

“Hello?” I ask, keeping my voice low.

“Matvey. I hear you’re back in the States.”

“Anfisa. Nice to hear from you again.” I first met Anfisa fifteen years ago. Her husband worked on the FBI hostage rescue team, and they trained with the British SAS back in the day. Kenta, Glen, Damon and I actually attended their wedding. And his funeral.

Anfisa’s one of the best FBI employees I’ve ever met. Whip-smart, and almost scarily analytical. We’ve worked together a few times on US jobs, and every time, she’s blown us away.

“I wish the circumstances were more pleasant,” she says crisply. “Colette called and informed me of your client’s issue a few days ago; I looked through it briefly, just as a matter of interest.”

“And? You have any idea who it is?”

“No. But we had agents investigating a separate case a few hours ago, and I think it may be related to Miss Saint’s stalker.”

“What do you mean?” I rub my eyes. “Is the guy branching out? Finding new girls?”

She hesitates. “Would you be able to meet at my office? I want to ask your opinion on some of the evidence we’ve collected.”

“Sure. When do you want me?”

“Now, if you can.”

I look down at Briar. She’s shifted slightly, and a piece of her blonde hair is curling silkily against my chest, fluttering as she breathes in and out. “Send me the address.”

I get washed and dressed quickly. When I step into the suite’s living room, Kenta is sitting awake at the breakfast bar, his gun by his elbow, reading a book. He glances up at me as I grab my jacket and wallet.

“Going somewhere?”

“Anfisa called. Thinks they’ve got a lead.”

He nods, turning a page. “Bring coffee on your way back.”

I’ve worked with the FBI plenty of times before, mostly when we were protecting US political figures. All of their offices look pretty much the same: grey walls, grey carpets, and desks jammed too close to each other. People in cheap shirts and suits hunched over their computer screens. Even though it’s early morning, the LA office is pretty full. No one pays me any notice, lost in their work.

“Matvey.”

I turn to see Anfisa, holding two takeaway cups of coffee. She looks exactly the same as when I last saw her—tired-looking, black hair scraped back in a bun, dressed in a dark trouser suit. “Anfisa,” I greet. “Do you only own one set of clothes?”

“I don’t think you are in any place to judge my fashion sense,” she says briskly, breezing past me and opening the door to her office with her hip. “Inside. I think you’re going to be very interested in what we found.”

I glance around her office as I step inside. It’s bare. A desk covered in papers, empty shelves, blank walls. The only decoration I can see is a picture of her late husband tacked over the door. I sit down.

Anfisa smiles at me tightly as she slides a paper cup of coffee over the desk. “It’s swill,” she warns.

“Used to it. What did you find?”

She settles in her desk chair. “You know Thomas Petty?”

I nod. “I’ve already assessed him, I’m pretty sure he’s not a suspect.”

She purses her lips. “I’d say we can definitively cross him off the list. He had a petrol bomb thrown into the first floor of his LA residence at two AM this morning.”

“Shit.” I rub the back of my head. “He okay?”

“His property is heavily damaged, but he’s fine.” She opens a file and pulls out a glossy A4 photograph, sliding it across the table to me. “The assailant got away before we arrived, but left this pinned on the windshield of Mr Petty’s car.”

I examine the photo. It’s the cover of a gossip magazine. The headline emblazoned across the top of the page reads:

THE FEUD CONTINUES?? Sources claim that Briar Saint and Thom Petty are still unfriendly thirteen years after cheating scandal.

Underneath is a blown-up paparazzi shot of Briar and Thom awkwardly talking at the charity gala.

Thom’s eyes have both been crossed out in felt-tip.

“Christ.”

She pushes another photograph across the table, this time of the back of the magazine page. Scrawled in black marker are the words, You hurt her.

“That’s his handwriting,” I say immediately.

“Almost a definite match,” she agrees. “A bit sloppier, which suggests he was in a rush, or maybe under the influence. But it’s distinctly him.” She sits back. “I contacted Angel Security and spoke to one of your cyber intelligence workers. Two minutes before the attack, Briar’s Facebook page received another message from an anonymous account.” Her eyes flick down to the file. “‘This is for you. Happy birthday, angel. X’ It’s her birthday today?”

“As of midnight.”

She nods. “Thomas and Briar have a history of animosity, don’t they?”

“I don’t know the full story. They dated as teenagers. He says that she cheated on him. She says she didn’t.”

“We’ve seen it before: stalkers injuring or attacking perceived enemies of celebrities, in the hope of winning the celebrity’s favour. You’re familiar with the Jodie Foster case?”

“When her stalker tried to assassinate Ronald Reagan for her? Yeah.”

Her face is grim. “This may be something similar. But there is some good news. This time around, he was a lot less careful about hiding his identity. We caught him on Mr Petty’s CCTV cameras, and we were able to get fingerprints off the magazine page. We’re still processing the results, but we’ll let you know if we catch a match with any of your X suspects.”

“Thank you, Anfisa.”

She shrugs. “Thank Colette for sending the info on your case. If we find out that these incidents are linked, you can expect full cooperation from the FBI. It should speed up your search a bit.”

Thank God for that. I stand, shake her hand, and leave the office.

When I step back into the hotel suite, my arms laden down with shopping, it’s pushing 9AM. Briar is sprawled on the sofa, draped in a silky pink robe, kissing Glen deeply. Her feet are in Kenta’s lap, and she moans as he presses his thumbs into her heel. I pause in the doorway to watch for a second.

She looks happy. Really happy. Like a carefree young woman celebrating on her birthday morning. I feel almost dirty, carrying around a secret that I know will burst all of this happiness.

She pulls away from Glen’s mouth and looks at me from under heavy eyelids. “It’s rude to run away the morning after.” Her voice is hushed and husky. “I was very offended.”

“I had some errands to run.” I pull a huge doughnut box out of one of the shopping bags, setting it on the coffee table. “Happy Birthday, princess. Don’t worry, they’re vegan.”

She groans, leaning forward to open the box. Her eyes widen as she looks at all the pastries inside. “Yeah, okay, you’re forgiven.”

I push down a smile, rooting through the bag for the pack of birthday candles I picked up. “I wasn’t sure if you’d like them. Thought you might complain about fitting into your dress.”

“I’m supposed to be on liquids all day, but I’ve given up.” She pulls a face as I toss the candles onto the table. “Men are apparently going to sexually harass me whatever I do. I don’t see why I should starve myself to look hotter for them. I’d turn up to the premiere in a space suit if I could. See how easy it is to wank over me then.”

Her words are lighthearted, but I can hear the edge of bitterness running through them. Kenta squeezes her shoulder, reaching into the box and picking out a strawberry, heart-shaped doughnut. He sticks a candle in it and passes it to her. Glen pulls a lighter out of his pocket and leans over, lighting the wick. She smiles between them.

“Thank you guys,” she says softly. “This is perfect.” Kenta kisses her cheek, and she blows out the candle, taking a massive bite of the doughnut. “Help yourself,” she mumbles, waving at the box. “I’ll die if I eat all of these.”

As everyone is distracted by the food, I pull out my phone and quickly summarise my meeting with Anfisa, sending the message off to Kenta, Glen, and Colette. Both men frown as they read the text. Kenta’s eyes flash up to mine, and he jerks his head slightly towards Briar, a question in his face.

I glance at Briar. She’s lolling against Glen’s side, stroking up and down his arm. He doesn’t seem to notice her petting him, fully focussed on his phone. He’s holding his chocolate doughnut in his other hand. As I watch, she tosses him a mischievous look, then pops her head up and steals a tiny bite. When he doesn’t react, she takes another bite, then pokes her little pink tongue out and licks chocolate cream out of the centre like a cat. It’s adorable, and it hits me that this is probably the most relaxed I’ve ever seen her.

I give Kenta a minute head-shake. No. I don’t want to tell her, yet. We’ll wait for the FBI to confirm X’s identity, first. She’ll find out sooner or later, and it’s her birthday, for God’s sake. She may as well enjoy the day before she finds out that her stalker has progressed to incendiary weapons.

Kenta’s lips press together unhappily, but he nods.

Glen starts tapping a reply to me, absentmindedly bringing his doughnut to his mouth. He starts when he realises it’s almost all gone. He narrows his eyes at Briar.

“What?” She blinks up at him innocently, then picks up her phone as it buzzes. “Ugh.”

“News?” Kenta asks, putting his chin on her shoulder.

She shakes her head, scrolling down the screen. “Thom keeps texting me.”

I freeze. “Petty? What is he saying?”

“Not much.” She frowns at her phone, her plump lips pursing slightly. “He wants to meet up. He’s being very insistent.” She snorts. “As if. I wouldn’t sit down and have coffee with him if he was the last man on planet Earth. Little skeeze.” She taps out a firm reply, then switches her phone on silent, tossing it across the couch.

I hesitate, then stride over, picking it up. “You mind?”

“I thought you decided that he’s not X?” She studies the ends of her hair, picking out a split end.

“I’d like to re-assess. Better safe than sorry.”

“He’s really not. He’s too… mild. Meek. And he definitely doesn’t fancy me.”

“Even so.”

She waves me off, arching to lick icing off Glen’s lips. I key in her passcode, opening the text thread.

Jesus. Thom must be desperate. He’s sent her twenty messages in the last ten minutes.

I have something I want to tell you.

It’s nothing bad.

Please, B. It’s important.

I just want to apologise.

Briar’s response is just: No thanks, shithead xo

I frown, remembering the message on the back of the magazine cover. You hurt her.

There’s two options here. Either Thom’s mad, and wants to confront her about her crazy fan; or he’s scared, and he wants to get back into her good books so he won’t get targeted again.

Either way, I don’t like it. I tap the call button and bring the phone to my ear.

Thom picks up on the second ring. “B, thank God. Thanks so much for calling. I was thinking we could go out and grab a coffee, or something—”

“This is Matthew Carter,” I interrupt him. “You might remember me. We met at the charity event for homeless children, back in London.”

He stutters into silence. “Th-the weapons guy?”

“Good memory. Stop trying to contact my client. She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“But—”

I end the call and pass Briar’s phone back to her.

She looks vaguely amused. “Okay, then.” She sits up, rolling out her shoulders. “We’re doing something tonight, right? Please tell me I’m not spending my birthday trapped inside a hotel room.”

I tense. “It’s an unnecessary risk.”

She sighs. “I can’t stay cooped up here all day, just because one man might send another inappropriate picture. It’s not like I want to go clubbing. Just a walk would be fine.”

“What about dinner?” Kenta offers. “I’m sure we can find a secure restaurant. Glen’s off-duty this evening, so Matt and I could cover the two of you while you have a meal.”

I glare at him. Briar sighs, fiddling with the bottom of her robe. “I guess there’s no chance of all of you joining me, is there?”

Kenta shakes his head apologetically. “We’ll be there, just sitting at a nearby table. You can still talk to us.”

She considers, then twists to look up at Glen. “What do you think, big boy? You ready to take me on a date?”

Glen turns bright red, alarm flashing across his face.