Nanny for the SEALs by Cassie Cole

30

Heather

My mind raced. I had just had sex with Brady and Asher. Rogan had insisted it was okay—hell, he was the one to suggest it!—but suddenly I was filled with doubts. Maybe he was joking. Maybe he didn’t really mean it. Maybe it was a test of loyalty.

“There was an attack tonight,” Rogan said, leaning on the kitchen counter for support. That’s when I realized he was wearing different clothes than before, underneath his jacket.

“Oh no,” Asher gasped.

“An assassin jumped the wall onto Amirah’s property,” Rogan explained. “He had a rifle. He got close enough to shoot through her bedroom window. I stopped him.”

“Fuck yeah you did!” Brady pumped his fist, then clapped Rogan on the shoulder. “Because you’re a goddamn super-soldier, you know that? We’ve got Captain Fucken America here! So you captured the prick?”

Rogan teetered sideways when Brady clapped him, and had to steady his balance. “He got away.”

Brady deflated. “Aw, fuck.”

“I told you these weren’t just idle threats,” Rogan said. “The stuff Amirah’s been getting on social media is too serious. They’re real, and she’s in danger.”

Brady nodded. “You were right. I should’ve listened.”

Rogan gave a start. “Hold on. You’re agreeing with me?”

“Of course I am.”

“Is something wrong?” Rogan looked at me and Asher. “You never agree with me, even when it’s obvious I’m right. What’s gotten into you?”

“We’ll, uh, talk about that later,” Brady said. “How’d you let the prick get away?”

Rogan closed his eyes and sighed. He looked so tired. “I was on top of the shooter, about to call for Cooper to help me restrain him, when someone hit me on the back of the head. A second assassin. They grabbed the rifle and ran. By the time I came to, they were gone.” Rogan touched the back of his head and winced.

I had been an idle observer to the conversation until this point. But once I knew he had been injured, my stomach sank. I crossed the room and threw my arms around him, squeezing him tightly.

“Are you okay?” I gently brushed my fingers through his chestnut hair. “Getting hit on the head explains why you’re so woozy…”

“I got checked out already,” Rogan said with a smile. “I passed the concussion protocol. But I’m still a little shaken up. I’ve got this, too.” He held up his arm to reveal a white bandage wrapping his skin.

Despite his assurances, I continued clinging to him like a barnacle attached to the hull of a ship.

Asher was scratching his chin thoughtfully. “There were two assassins. Did you get a good look at them?”

“I saw one. Not the second guy. One of them had a strange accent. Kind of English. I think. It happened really fast.” Rogan pulled away from my embrace enough to reach into his pocket. “But I got this.”

He held up a Zip-lock baggy containing a six-inch knife. The grip was wood, with a symmetrical double-edge on the blade.

Asher took it and examined it. “Fairbairn-Sykes?”

Rogan nodded. “SAS standard issue.”

Brady stepped forward. “You don’t think…”

“I do,” Rogan said.

“He can’t be that stupid,” Asher insisted.

“Not stupid,” Rogan replied. “Just cocky.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked. “Who is the SAS?”

“Special Air Service,” Asher explained. “British Army special forces. Their version of the SEALs, or Rangers.”

They all acted like that explained things. “I think I’m missing something,” I said.

“Jimmy,” Brady growled, growing angrier by the second. “Jimmy Cardannon was in the SAS. And he employs a lot of former SAS at Heimdall.”

Asher shook his head. “Let’s all slow down a moment. We don’t know…”

“Of course we know,” Rogan replied. “He showed up at our house and said he was going to put us out of business. Then there’s an attack on our client a few hours later. That’s not coincidence.”

“That knife was mass-produced,” Asher argued. The others were angry, but he was calm and cold. “It was issued to all countries in the Commonwealth, not just the British. There are probably hundreds of them for sale on Ebay.”

“I was there,” Rogan insisted. “Trust me. This guy wasn’t some crazy stalker fan who lives in his mother’s basement. I was barely able to restrain him before his buddy showed up. He was a professional.”

“You really think Jimmy would attack an innocent woman? I know I only met him once, and he was an asshole, but…”

“Private security is a big industry in this town,” Brady said. “When there’s millions on the line, you bet he would do something like that to torpedo his competition.”

“All right,” Asher said. “What do we do now?”

“Analyze the knife.” Rogan handed the baggy to him. “Maybe there’s some distinguishing feature that can narrow down where it came from. Check for fingerprints, too, although I doubt they were careless enough to leave any.”

“And what do we do about Jimmy Fucken Cardannon?” Brady asked.

Rogan shook his head. “Nothing. A single knife isn’t enough evidence to confront him directly. We have to keep protecting Amirah and hope he doesn’t try again.”

Asher cocked his head. “How is she handling all of this?”

“She’s in good spirits. She’s glad we stopped the attacker. I’m not sure it feels real to her. But if he had gotten a shot off with that rifle…”

There was an uncomfortable silence as we all thought about that.

“I’ll dig deeper on the offending social media accounts,” Asher said. “Maybe I can trace their origin another way.”

“You want me to cover Amirah tonight?” Brady asked. “Cooper’s alone over there, right?”

“The LAPD is there, but they’ll leave once they get everyone’s statements.” Rogan looked at his watch. “You don’t mind covering things until morning?”

“Just give me ten minutes to sober up,” Brady said. “I’ll get changed.”

Rogan nodded. “Thanks. I’m going to get some sleep.” He wandered off to the bedroom, more steady on his feet now than he was before.

“It must have been bad,” Brady said quietly.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because he accepted my help, rather than trying to go back out himself.” Brady shook his head and went down the hall himself.

Asher kissed me on the cheek. “I’d better get to work. I’m glad our fun wasn’t interrupted.”

“Me too. I had a lot of fun.”

“Maybe we can do it again sometime.” Asher gave me a final smile, then went downstairs.

I got ready for bed and said goodbye to Brady as he left. Rather than go to my bed, I knocked on Rogan’s door and then let myself in. It was larger than the guest bedroom, with a king-sized bed adorned with plush grey sheets. Rogan was sitting up in bed, shirtless. His hand was on something on his nightstand, but he let go of it when he saw it was me.

His gun, I realized.

“Relax, it’s just me,” I said as I slipped under the sheets. “I came to comfort you.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not in the mood to have sex,” he said.

I found his warm body underneath the covers. I threw a leg over his body and snuggled up to him. “No sex. I’m here to comfort you.”

I didn’t realize how stiff his body was until he began to relax. It was like every muscle was finally deflating after several hours of tension.

He sighed. “Thank you, Heather.”

“Just relax. You’re home now.” After a moment, I added, “You’re safe.”

Rogan gently caressed my back under the covers.

I was wide-awake now after hearing about Rogan’s evening. I wondered if I should tell him what Asher, Brady, and I had done while he was gone. I decided now wasn’t the time. I could tell him later, when things died down.

But I did want to tell him. No secrets.

“I made a mistake,” he said gently.

“What’s that?”

“I insisted on watching Amirah’s house myself, even though I was exhausted. That’s why I lost the fight against them. If I was fresh, I would have restrained the first guy sooner, and then his buddy wouldn’t have gotten the drop on me. If I had sent Brady in the first place, like he wanted, he would have caught them both.”

“Or maybe he would have been distracted listening to the Lakers game on the radio,” I said. “Then the attacker might have… You know. Succeeded.”

My eyes were closed, but I felt Rogan shake his head. “I need to do a better job delegating responsibility. I can’t do everything myself. It’s something I’ve struggled with for a while. I have to be in control. It’s not easy for me to give that control to someone else.”

“You’re acknowledging it, at least,” I said. “And I totally get where you’re coming from.”

“Do you?” he asked doubtfully.

“It’s the reason I’m so outgoing,” I answered. “I can’t just relax and go with the flow. I have to take life by the reins, leading the charge in whatever situation I’m in. At the Lakers game last week, Maurice wanted to stay in our seats on the upper level. I insisted we go find better seats, on the lower level or in a suite.”

I sighed against his hard body. “It’s the reason I hate going to auditions for commercials. I want something bigger, where I have more control over things.”

He stroked my hair tenderly. “Taking orders from other people is a big part of acting, you know. There’s a script, and a director, and a producer…”

“I know, I know,” I said. “I need to work through it. That’s what Maurice is always telling me, anyway.”

I felt Rogan rumble with silent chuckles. “Look at us. A couple of type-A personalities who keep fucking things up.”

“I’m glad you’re safe.” I kissed his chest for good measure. “That’s all that matters.”

“It’s not all that matters,” he said after a moment. “Protecting our clients matters, too. If something happens to Amirah Pratt…”

He left it unspoken as we drifted off to sleep together.