Flash Point Read online

  Contents

  Flash Point

  Copyright

  Synopsis

  Books by Brooke Blaine

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Epilogue

  Thank You

  About the Author

  A Desperate Man

  Acknowledgments

  FLASH POINT

  Brooke Blaine

  Copyright © 2015 Brooke Blaine

  www.BrookeBlaine.com

  Brooke's Newsletter

  Edited by Arran McNicol

  Cover Design © By Hang Le

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, excerpt for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any semblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The first time I saw her, I knew I’d have to kill her.

  It’s been five years since the brutal death of her mother, and Katherine Shaw still relives the nightmares of that night.

  She escaped.

  The danger should’ve been over.

  She couldn’t have been more wrong.

  When her father, a prominent judge, receives a chilling death threat, her past comes hurtling into her present.

  The warning is clear: They’ve got unfinished business, and they’re coming for her.

  Katherine Shaw.

  Rich girl? Check.

  Spoiled and obstinate? Check.

  A beautiful fireball who pushes every button he has? That was not listed on the dossier Jason Garrett receives when he’s assigned as one of her bodyguards. The last thing he ever expected was that his tempting client would prove to be more dangerous than those he’s protecting her from.

  Their attraction would be forbidden even under the best circumstances. But as the threat draws near, the tension between the two of them rises, culminating in an explosive flash point that will blindside them both.

  Books by Brooke Blaine

  A Desperate Man, Volume 1

  Co-Authored with Ella Frank

  Amazon

  A Desperate Man, Volume 2

  Co-Authored with Ella Frank

  Amazon

  A Desperate Man, Volume 3 ~ Coming Soon!

  For Jenella

  “Friendship is one mind in two bodies.”

  -Meng-tzu

  JUSTICE WILLIAM SHAW III should’ve known the moment he walked into his house that something wasn’t right. The first breath he’d taken upon entering had made him stop in his tracks, his hand still gripping the doorknob.

  It smelled like her again.

  Fresh lilies with an undercurrent of sandalwood; the fragrance she’d worn for years. He held the aroma deep in his lungs for as long as he could, until it burned and ached with the need to release. When he inhaled again, she was gone.

  He closed his eyes, and his hand slid from the knob to push the door gently shut behind him. She was still there, her presence still embedded in the foundation and stronger now than it had been for years.

  God, he missed her. Missed the way she’d run down the stairs to wrap her arms around his neck, no matter what time it was when he finally got home. He longed to watch from the doorway of her art studio upstairs as her hands tenderly shaped the clay that she’d eventually turn into an amazing spectacle of creativity. Hell, he even missed her tough love—if she saw him now, she’d tell him to stop lingering in the past, suck it up, and be the unperturbed asshole she’d married.

  Chuckling sadly, he wandered down the hall toward his office, feeling the weight of the cold, barren house on his shoulders. It wasn’t just the loss of his wife that had him feeling melancholy this evening. He missed his daughter as well, something she’d find hard to believe if he ever told her. The holidays had come and gone and still Katherine wouldn’t answer his messages. The more time that passed, the further he felt the rift beneath their feet ripping them apart, but he wasn’t sure how, or if, he could fix it. The feeling of futility wasn’t something he was accustomed to.

  He’d been so caught up in his thoughts, he missed clue number two: The door to his office had been ajar, something even his daughter at the age of three had learned was off limits. But it was only after he pushed it open farther with the briefcase in his hand and flicked on the light switch that he realized his error.

  The scene before him displayed a massacre—one he didn’t need to see to remember. Photographs of his wife splayed across the hardwood in bloody disarray papered the walls, each one held up by the point of a knife.

  The Justice’s knees faltered, but he caught himself on the edge of the desk, forcing himself to move closer to the back wall. Because there, in the center, were the words:

  And just below that, dated today, was a picture of Katherine.

  THE WOMAN IS taller than I expected.

  Slender to the extreme, even in an oversized jacket, she towers over the guy she’s speed-walking to the ’66 blue Mustang with; not that it seems to faze him. Even from a hundred yards away, the puke-inspiring look of adoration on his face is evident as he struggles to keep the umbrella over her head.

  In their rush to avoid getting drenched, they’ve failed on two counts—first, the blonde is already wet, her long locks sticking to her face and trailing down her back, and second, they haven’t noticed the men that have been trailing them across campus from the dorms to the parking lot.

  But then again, all of them have failed to notice me.

  I keep my distance now, tracking them from the shade of the Georgia pines on the periphery as the rain streams off the branches, the bitter cold soaking through my clothes. The suits following her won’t be a problem. Not for me. Neither will the love-struck nuisance by her side.

  A scowl crosses her face as she yanks open the passenger-side door before the male can do it and slides inside, slamming it shut behind her. He stands there for a moment, seemingly baffled and with his hand still outstretched, before he shakes his head and walks around to the driver’s side.

  If the look on her face is any indication, she isn’t happy about where she’s going. I almost pat
myself on the back at being the one that set the plan in motion that put her miserable expression there.

  The men following her also get into their oversized SUVs a strategic distance away. Those cars scream who the hell they are. Idiots. But they’re all exactly where they need to be.

  I don’t move until they disappear from sight. The moment isn’t right yet, no…but it’s coming.

  The cold, smooth metal of the automatic tucked inside the back of my pants reminds me that revenge will come.

  Katherine Shaw has to die.

  “DO YOU WANT to stop for milkshakes? There’s a Shake ’n Fries up the road.”

  Katherine Shaw sat in the passenger seat with her long legs curled beneath her and a damp sketchpad held up to her chest as though she were holding a child.

  Every now and again, it occurred to her that her best friend, Steven Chambers, was trying to engage her in conversation, but he’d get the picture soon enough. She wasn’t in the mood to talk. She was desperately trying not to think, which was why she was drawing to keep her mind occupied.

  “I’m thinking I’ll try the peanut butter cup this time and then breathe in your face,” he continued.

  Bless his heart, she thought. He was trying.

  “Really?” he asked. “Not even the stench of your most hated food in the world can get your attention right now? This is dire.”

  Leaning back, she scrutinized the outline she’d made of Steven’s side profile before hovering back over it. His hand reached over and tried to pry the sketchpad down to take a peek, but she snatched it closer.

  “Are you never gonna let me see one of your drawings?” he complained. “C’mon, Kit Kat. I’m starting to get paranoid I’ll walk into your room and find pictures of my face all over your walls.”

  She merely raised a brow, not taking the bait.

  He stayed quiet for a few minutes, but then there was a flicking of buttons and a familiar tune came on. The sound of a sixties surf-rock song permeated the confines of the car, drowning out the pounding rain, and she sighed, hating that he knew exactly how to bring her out of her funk.

  They’d been inseparable since second grade, when she’d twisted her ankle heading to the school bus for a field trip and he’d stayed behind with her at the nurse’s station, telling jokes and sharing his gummy fruit snacks. He’d always been that way—caring and considerate, always putting her first. She knew eventually he’d fall in love and she’d be relegated to second place, but for now, they had each other.

  She glanced up from the paper to see Steven nodding his head to the beat. His brown hair was a tangled, wet mess, and with every head bang, drops of water flew off onto the dashboard. His sapphire eyes caught hers, and he smiled before launching, horribly, into the first verse.

  Faking a wince, she said, “God, you are destroying this song, Chambers. Seriously, you sound like a dying cat.” She spun the volume dial to the right to drown out his warbling.

  That only caused him to belt the words louder, and even his movements became over the top. He grabbed her arm, using her balled fist as a microphone, and she briefly thought about letting her hand accidentally slide up to punch him in the nose. But then she remembered he was actually doing her a favor by driving her back to her father’s estate so she wouldn’t have to go alone. And with that one thought, dread and unease filled her stomach, and she pulled her hand away.

  Steven glanced at her out of the corner of his eye but kept singing. He was a saint to be doing this. Though she only lived a little over an hour away from her childhood home in Atlanta, she hadn’t been there since she graduated high school over three years ago, having moved out the second she was able to. So the idea of being ordered home wasn’t exactly putting her in the happiest of moods.

  The car veered across two lanes of traffic before Steven pulled the car into Shake ’n Fries.

  “Whoa,” she said, bracing her arm on the door. “Hey, psycho—warning much, next time?”

  “All right,” he said after turning the volume down. “This situation of yours calls for drastic measures. We’re divin’ in.”

  As they pulled into the drive-thru, he didn’t bother to ask her what she wanted, and she didn’t bother to tell him. It wasn’t like her preference had changed over the last few years.

  Tuning him out as he placed their orders, she had just leaned her forehead against the cool glass, when she noticed two black SUVs pull into the parking lot. One of them pulled off to the right side and drove past them and around the restaurant, while the other deviated to the left and parked. Both vehicles were pretty nondescript, and she wouldn’t have even paid them any attention if it weren’t for the dark tint on the windows obscuring the view of who was inside.

  She remembered absently noticing cars like theirs in the side mirror when they’d left campus. Probably some high-ranking university douchebags being carted around by chauffeurs, too important to do anything as trivial as driving themselves.

  “My lady,” Steven mocked, passing her a large cookie dough milkshake. He took the lid off his chocolate fudge brownie shake and licked it. “You’re welcome for sparing you. It could be peanut butterville in this bitch right now.”

  Rolling her eyes, she closed her sketchpad and then stabbed her straw through the top. “You just didn’t want me gagging in your new car.”

  “That too.”

  As he turned back onto the main road, slurping happily, her eyes were drawn back to the side mirror. Both black cars were pulling out of the parking lot and heading in their direction.

  Suddenly, it felt as if a cold fist clenched around the pit of her stomach. Something was off.

  They hadn’t stopped for food. They hadn’t stopped for bathroom breaks.

  They couldn’t be following them.

  Could they?

  FIRST IMPRESSIONS SET the standard by which people are regarded and stereotyped into their appropriate boxes. Late and sloppily dressed? An unabashed disregard for themselves and others. Too early? An eager overachiever.

  Jason Garrett stood by one of the expansive windows in the great room, his hand pushing aside the curtains as he watched the young woman jump out of a car, before her driver even had a chance to turn it off, and run up the pathway to the house.

  As the Justice’s daughter made her entrance by storming inside the estate and slamming the door behind her, Jason ticked off the boxes she fell into upon her first impression: Spoiled. Rebellious. Daddy issues. Possible aversion to rain.

  Her boots squeaked against the hardwood floor, the stream of curses flowing from her mouth growing louder with each step. She called out for her father, and her voice shook with unconcealed anger.

  As she rounded the corner, Jason let go of the curtain and put his hands in his pockets. Though he hated to do it, he had to add beautiful to her list of first impressions. Because holy shit, even soaking wet, she was. She was tall and lean, with flashing emerald eyes, and blond hair tousled and darkened by the rain. Water dripped down in a steady rhythm onto the floor as she reached up to push her long bangs off her forehead. Then, as her eyes landed on the man she was looking for, she said, “Why the hell are there people following me?”

  Justice William Shaw stood up wearily from his chair, but before he could speak, she said, “And why didn’t you answer your phone? I tried to call you several times while being stalked by God knows who. I mean, since you demanded this meeting in the first place, the least you could’ve done was pick up the phone. But then I suppose common decency left this house when Mom did.”

  Her father’s jaw ticked, and he looked as though he wanted to reply and then thought better of it. With a deep sigh, he took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Sit down, Katherine.”

  “I really don’t want to stay.”

  “Please,” he said, and then lowered himself back into the armchair. “We need to talk.”

  Jason observed her movements as she scanned the room, suddenly realizing they weren’t alone. When her eyes
stopped on his, a look of interest flashed across her face, but then she looked down at his tailored black suit and her frown returned.

  Ah. She doesn’t like my type. That worked out well, since he wasn’t overly fond of self-entitled women. Even the tragic history, as detailed from the Shaw file he’d read before taking the job, didn’t endear her to him any more than a stranger off the street. She was a client, and in Jason’s eyes, those were so off-limits he never bothered anymore to check out the merchandise, so to speak. But as she turned to face her father, he caught a glimpse of her ass.

  Well, almost never.

  A glance out the window showed the rest of his team had parked and were heading up the front path—the “stalkers” that’d been tailing Miss Shaw. When the front door opened and she noticed them, she quickly walked into the room and finally took a seat on the couch.

  “Package delivered,” Rhodes, one of the agents, said with a wink as he strolled through the entryway to the parlor. The guy always looked so damn smug, and if they weren’t on the same team, Jason would’ve been quick to take him outside and knock his ego down a few notches.

  As it was, Jason hadn’t been appointed the lead on this case, which would be unusual except that he had made a request to end his term with his last client—a real dick with an underage fetish that Jason had been having a hard time not punching the shit out of every time he looked at him.

  The head of this particular case was Agent Thompson, a hard-faced man with a gruff attitude to match, who stopped at the edge of the hall and gave Rhodes a look that said he’d deal with him later. Then he turned and acknowledged the Justice with a nod. “Sir.”

  “Thank you for escorting my daughter here safely.”

  “You mean package,” Katherine said under her breath.