Page 54 of Love Bound

And though they wouldn't be wrong, it certainly wasn't where the story ended.

I've known Nic since college and met Bryce four years ago when he first came to work for us. We needed a personal security escort for several high profile clients. That's when he came on. Nic and I handled corporate security, and we had our team, but we lacked enough personal bodyguards. When the shit hit the fan with Megan Connelly—the film star, with the threats against her and a car-jacking—the studio she was tied to contracted with Colton Security.

Bryce had just been separated from service by anOther Than Honorable Conditions discharge that left him without a G.I. Bill, benefits, or salary. But he was big and quick and understood the lexicon and syntax of the job. After a three-week background check and a call to a friend in the FBI, I decided to take a risk. Something in my gut just told me Bryce was gold.

And he is.

Four years later, the guy's saved my life two times—once in the field, once when I contemplated taking my own. And I took a bullet for him three years ago. According to Bryce, that makes us even.

Jackson was with us just four months before Allision and Kenny were killed so I'm sure he has a warped view of who I am. I don't care though. He here. He's helping out. He can visit his dad later and kill two birds with one stone.

By the time we're done, it's lunchtime and they want to check out the deli and indoor picnic tables at Weaver's. Bryce would go for a beer, Nic might but would prefer a martini. I'm sure Weaver's doesn’t serve martinis, and certainly not at one in the afternoon.

The little bell jingles as we walk in and order cold meat sandwiches.

The girl behind the counter turns around, and it’s Laurel. For a second, I feel slightly exposed, like I need to fess up to sleeping with Claire. These Russo sisters are everywhere. I exhale as matter of fact as I can, remembering small towns are like this. Everyone wears a dozen hats.

"What can I get you guys?"

We settle in on the indoor picnic tables, glossy with heavy coats of polyurethane. Red plastic baskets lined with shiny paper hold huge sandwiches stuffed with turkey, avocado, tomato, onion, lettuce, and apples. Laurel seems surprised by our substitution en masse of fries for fruit, but we train hard. Well, I used to train with them at the gym in our building down off Beacon Street in Boston. Now, I do my own thing. It's why I set up the basement first. I'm sure the town thinks I'm crazy and not really working on the place.

It does feel good to be here with them, talking and eating, Bryce laughing hard at some stupid shit, and Nic quiet, until he guesses the punchline. The guy's brilliant. And then Jackson. Quiet, as always, in public places.

As usual, before we had sat down, I checked for soft perimeters, egresses and exits, the height of windows, the position of sprinkler heads, and checked out everyone who stepped in the door, assessing if they had a weapon, and if they did, if they were a threat.

Nic is just grabbing the baskets when Bryce glances over, laughs, and wags a finger at me. "You need to dial that down. She doesn't know what you’re doing, and neither do those people," he says, pointing first at Laurel and then an older couple holding a loaf of bread. "But I do. In a place like this, I'd bet the threat level is like point zero two."

Jackson shakes his head. I'm with him. There's always a threat.

I look at Bryce.

Nic's face gets dark as he slips on his bomber jacket and shades. "I'd up it."

Suddenly Bryce looks at Nic. "What the fuck. He's out?"

Jackson's gaze drops to the floor. He can sense a charged moment.

I feel my jaw clench.

"Steven Miller was paroled last week," Nic says.

Bryce slams his fist on the table, drawing attention from Laurel, the older couple, and a teenaged girl who’s just stepped inside.

Nic's voice is quiet, as if he’s talking about the weather. "Miller was released a week ago last Friday, so nine days ago. The order that Colton Security would be invited to the parole hearing and that we'd be notified again when he's released was never filed properly."

"So, that's it? We've missed the window? Fuck, Nic, you should've told me immediately and I'd have found him." Bryce is saying the things I wish I could say.

"I didn't find out until this morning. Sophia texted," Nic says.

Sophia’s our office admin, thirty-something, and pretty, curvy, and very Italian. She's had a crush on Nic for five years. Not the pining, handwringing type or a brutal kind of self-destructive crush, but the lingering love that just never goes away and flares around the edges of friendship, waiting to ignite.

My stomach churns. "I need to get back to Boston."

Nic lays a hand on my shoulder. "That's the last place you should be. Frankly, I'm more concerned that the asshole seems to have gone off the map."

My hands turn to fists under the table. Good thing Laurel can't see.

Nic goes on. "Listen, the guy's gotta show up weekly to report in. That'll be this Thursday. Once he shows up, we'll trail him. Make sure we know where he is."