Guarding His Melody Read online

  “Sebastian doesn’t want the increased security?” Maybe they had been misinformed. It wouldn’t be the first time parents or managers wanted their family or assets protected and said family was less than impressed.

  “No, he wants to go somewhere, and Mr. Armitage thinks it’s a bad idea. Would you like to get settled and put your bag in your room?”

  Gray immediately shook his head. “No, thank you,” he said firmly. “I’d like to go to the security briefing.” He also wanted to know where the son wanted to go. According to the file, the young man never went anywhere.

  Mr. Keswick’s eyes widened. “I’m sure so, but Mr. Armitage will expect to meet you first.”

  “And Mr. Armitage isn’t at the meeting?”

  “I believe he is in his study,” Keswick replied. He paused outside an oak door similar to the many they had already passed, but before he had a chance to open it, the door was flung open and a young man nearly knocked them both over as he stormed out. Gray had his hand pressed on the man’s chest to stop his forward momentum before he even thought about doing so.

  Sebastian Armitage. Gray recognized him immediately at the same instant Sebastian registered Gray’s hand and flinched. Gray dropped his hand, trying to look unthreatening, but before he got a chance to speak, Sebastian’s green eyes flicked over Gray’s for a second before they dipped. The young man turned abruptly and headed toward the impressive staircase, then took the stairs two at a time. Gray had a second to catalogue his angry expression, the flush present on his high cheekbones, and that the photograph of him didn’t do Sebastian justice, scar or no scar.

  Way to go, Darling. Suddenly and for no apparent reason, he felt really old.

  Chapter Two

  “MR. DARLING?”

  Gray turned toward the voice and saw an older man—Quinn Armitage, whom he recognized from the file—stepping from behind a large oak desk with his arm extended.

  “Mr. Armitage,” Gray acknowledged him, and they shook hands. Gray immediately noticed another man in the room as he stood up. Tall, lanky even, with a short pointed beard and dark brown eyes. The man’s gaze roved over Gray, as if sizing him up, and Gray glanced at Armitage, expecting some sort of introduction.

  “I’ll see myself out” was all the stranger said, and he left without so much as a another glance at Gray.

  Armitage dipped his chin in a brief assent and glanced at Keswick. “Perhaps you can organize some coffee?” Keswick inclined his head and closed the door behind him. Armitage waved a hand at one of the two chairs in front of the desk and stepped back to sit behind it. He focused cool brown eyes on Gray and said bluntly, “Your company has been recommended, but my assistant was unable to find out any personal history for you in particular.” The man pulled out a single sheet of paper from a file on his desk. Gray didn’t need to see it to know it would contain his basic info, listing him as the only child of deceased parents and having a nondescript career in the Army for seventeen years before he was discharged following a leg injury during training. It also listed that he had started working for Rawlings Security immediately after his discharge.

  What it didn’t say—including the year-long rehab he had endured—would fill another three folders.

  Armitage looked up. The dissatisfied frown on his face became more apparent as Gray remained silent.

  Gray smiled politely. “Mr. Armitage. Personnel folders are kept minimal for security reasons. I am sure Mr. Rawlings explained this to you, as I am also sure you understand we would not have been hired by the Saudi royal family”—okay, so technically it had been a third cousin—“unless we all passed stringent background checks. If, however, that isn’t enough, I will be out of your way.” Gray stood. Pity. The job had fascinated him as soon as he had seen Sebastian’s photograph.

  “No, no.” Armitage waved him back down, alarm skittering over his features. “I hope you understand, I am very protective of my son’s well-being, especially given the circumstances.”

  Gray sat. “Perhaps you can tell me exactly why you feel there is a threat to your son?” Gray knew, but he always liked the family’s take on a situation. Sometimes the threat wasn’t where everyone assumed.

  “You have read the file Mr. Rawlings has?”

  “Yes, including the appropriate police reports, even the very brief interview with your son.” He was completely sure Rawlings wasn’t supposed to have that, but all it showed was Sebastian confirming details the cops already knew.

  Armitage smiled wryly. “Sebastian wouldn’t talk to them. He played his deaf card.”

  Gray blinked. “Deaf card?”

  “My son can read lips very easily. He is talented and intelligent. Unfortunately, he is one of the most stubborn people I know and has no trouble acting out to avoid what he would consider an offensive conversation.”

  “Offensive?” None of the cop’s questions had seemed offensive to him. But he wouldn’t be surprised if everything hadn’t been noted exactly.

  Armitage sighed. “It came out in the interview that Arron was gay. One of the cops intimated a correlation between being homosexual and being a pedophile. Of all the security staff, Arron was the one Sebastian got along with. He treated that remark with the contempt it deserved and refused to answer any more questions after that.” Armitage fixed a firm stare at Gray. “I won’t tolerate bigotry or discrimination under my roof. I am assured that I will get neither from you. I also asked for the detectives in charge of the case to be replaced.”

  For a second, Gray held his breath. Did Armitage know he was gay? Then he dismissed the thought. Rawlings didn’t even know, or if he did, he would never use it as an advantage on a job. Gray met Armitage’s eyes, nodded his understanding, and changed the subject. “Will the police be attempting any more interviews?”

  “Actually, yes. I had a phone call from a Detective Carter barely an hour ago. He is taking over the case and apparently has worked with you before.”

  “We have experience with Detective Carter.” Straight-up kind of guy.

  Armitage glanced at the photograph on his desk, which was turned so Gray could see it. A beautiful blonde young woman was laughing and blowing kisses at whoever was taking the picture. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to work out who she was, especially as Gray now knew where Sebastian got his green eyes. He glanced at the other three pictures on the desk—all of the same lady.

  “Sebastian has had more to deal with than most. His health, his mom’s death, and then his transformation.” Armitage shot a hard look at Gray. “Transformation is when he developed the mark.” He gestured to his own cheek as if Gray hadn’t understood.

  “Yes, sir,” Gray said. “I understand he was twelve?” He’d actually been a week shy of his thirteenth birthday, but Gray was making conversation.

  “He was coping with the speech better, and the vertigo had settled to an occasional minimal incident. Had made friends, and we were even thinking about schools for the first time ever. He liked St. Andrew’s in Delaware, and Juilliard of course….” Armitage seemed lost in memories. Then he shook himself a little. “My son thinks he talks a little oddly. Even though he is usually quite articulate, sometimes his words slur because he cannot hear them, especially if he is tired. He was all set for kindergarten, but the first day another child told him he sounded dumb, and I couldn’t get him to ever go back. Fast-forward eight years and the mark happened. We had lots of doctors and scientists wanting access to Seb, eagerly awaiting what ‘abilities’”—Armitage used finger quotes—“he would have, but it was the last straw for my son. He completely closed himself off. The only interest he has is his music and his studies.”

  But he was still going to the hospital appointments, Gray thought. He hadn’t completely given up if he was still going through all the operations. Then Gray processed what else Armitage had said. He had eagerly waited to see what abilities Sebastian had? That was unusual. Most parents thought it pretty much amounted to a prison sentence for their child to be en
hanced. Gray had never heard anyone express it as exciting. But to be fair, Armitage operated a large technical and engineering business empire. Gray could understand how he might have a different view on his son being enhanced.

  “Did he continue with the homeschooling?” Again, something Gray knew, but it was good to hear Armitage’s opinions.

  “Oh yes, absolutely. GED at fifteen. He is gifted with his music, and he has a love for languages and was hoping to travel. That was ruined for him, obviously, when he transformed. Not that he needs to worry about having a job.” Armitage looked uncomfortable, and Gray understood money wasn’t an issue. “One of the hardest things is the blanket travel restrictions on the enhanced. They are unable to get a passport or access to any other country and are prevented from flying.”

  Gray had never thought about that aspect particularly, but to be honest, he’d never thought about any of it much. He’d just seen the occasional shocked news report when one of them did something illegal like rob a bank. Not that there weren’t plenty of bank robbers, but he guessed the papers would take notice when people blew doors off safes without any explosives.

  Armitage shook himself a little and brightened. “It is our dearest wish that he can help research the implants that we are designing for him in the hope it will benefit millions. I would be proud to name him my successor to manage the company when he is recovered.”

  Recovered? Gray remained silent. Recovered from what? And did Armitage just say his son was essentially a guinea pig?

  Gray turned at the knock on the door as it opened to let in Keswick carrying a tray with coffee—he supposed—and an older man who looked like he had just stepped out of a cover shoot for Guns & Ammo. He was wearing the “badass” civilian “trying to look like I know what I’m doing” tactical gear, complete with a holstered subcompact Luger. The shaved head and combat boots completed the look. Gray tried not to roll his eyes.

  The extra for the Rambo remake—he even had a knife strapped to his leg, for fuck’s sake—bristled as soon as he laid eyes on Gray. Gray had on plain black chinos and an open-necked blue shirt under a black sweater. “Smart casual,” Gina, Rawlings’s secretary, called it. The Heckler & Koch P30 hidden in the small of his back was concealed unless Gray bent over, but no one would see the pocket-carry Ruger, should he choose to use that. In a pinch he could always use his ankle holster, but that was his least favorite.

  “Mr. Armitage, we don’t need any extra firepower,” Rambo challenged. Gray remained silent. “Sebastian trusts us. He doesn’t want new people.”

  Which is gonna make things hard, Gray thought. If it was true.

  Armitage’s gaze flickered to Gray’s in desperation and embarrassment, and Gray suddenly felt sorry for him. On the surface, he was just a dad trying to do the best for his son.

  Rambo added, “You know Seb will never let a stranger anywhere near him.” Derwent—Gray assumed—shot Gray a triumphant look.

  Gray was inexplicably out of patience and stood up. He would normally let this asshat ramble on until he ran out of air, but he had a job to do. He had experience with potential targets resenting their freedom being curtailed. Gray was a rip-off-the-Band-Aid type of guy. And for some reason, he resented Rambo using the familiarity of the shortened name—Seb.

  “Mr. Derwent?” Gray didn’t wait for the confirmation of identity. “I understand you were in charge of security for the house and ultimately Sebastian, but that will no longer be necessary. If Mr. Armitage wants to retain you for the house and grounds, that is his prerogative, but from this instant, I am solely responsible for the safety of Sebastian.”

  “Look—” Rambo puffed up, looking like he might explode.

  “I drove up and parked unchallenged. The trunk of my car wasn’t searched. I haven’t been asked for any sort of identification, and I have been allowed onto the premises without being searched myself. I have already had the opportunity to kidnap and/or murder the target I was sent here to protect as well as, but not limited to, his father and assistant.”

  Gray had his Heckler & Koch pointing at Derwent before the stupid man had the chance to finish the thought of pulling his own. Gray knew what intent looked like in people’s eyes. The gasp and shock were heavy in the room. He let a beat of silence go by before he holstered his weapon, knowing his point had been made. He wasn’t sure what point Derwent had been trying to make when thinking of drawing his, except maybe showing off and trying to humiliate Gray, but the demonstration had been effective.

  Gray turned to Armitage. “If you are truly interested in protecting your son, I am in charge of all security from this second onward.” He casually leaned forward and poured himself a coffee from the elegant silver pot on the tray into a china cup, then sniffed appreciatively before he took a welcome sip.

  Armitage seemed to recover quicker and fixed a hard gaze on Derwent. “Mr. Darling is in charge until further notice. You answer to him, and I expect you to give him everything he needs.”

  Derwent’s jaw dropped, but he didn’t say a word. Gray glanced at him. “Lose the tactical gear. Wear jeans-casual for everything in the house. Handguns only for the house, and if Mr. Armitage needs accompanying anywhere, I expect you to wear a suit.” He let those instructions sink in and waited to see if he got any comeback. The stiff nod of acquiescence relieved him. Gray didn’t want to cost the guy his job—provided Derwent was going to do as he was told—but there were urgent and drastic changes that needed to be made, and Rawlings had dress standards among others.

  “I will meet you and whoever else works in security in an hour.” He turned to Keswick. “I need a diagram of the house for that meeting and a list of staff and any other personnel who come into the house. I assume you have a record of anyone else who has a reason for admittance to the grounds? Gardeners, domestic staff, etcetera?”

  Keswick nodded, still looking shocked from the sudden display of firepower. Gray stood and picked up his bag. “If someone can point me to Sebastian’s room?”

  “I—” Armitage subsided, looking at Keswick, which seemed odd to Gray. He expected Armitage to want to take him to meet Sebastian. Or meet him again, anyway.

  “Do you want me to introduce you two?” Derwent asked defensively.

  Gray shook his head. The first meeting hadn’t gone exactly as planned, and if Sebastian resented his presence already, he didn’t want anyone else influencing his opinion. Gray probably needed to lay it on the line for the son as well as the father.

  “Top of the stairs and turn right. Sebastian has the suite of rooms at the end,” Keswick informed him, shaking himself out of shocked mode and back into assistant mode. “We have prepared a room for you. That’s left as you get to the top and the first door on the right. Mr. Armitage’s suite is at the end in the same direction as are two further guest rooms. We have two ground-floor rooms that Derwent and any other of his team use if needed.”

  Which is no good, thought Gray. His room was too far away, and he didn’t intend on being anywhere Sebastian wasn’t until the threat had been properly assessed. He reached over and shook hands with Armitage, then with a nod to Derwent and Keswick, turned and let himself out of the office.

  Now to meet Sebastian properly, and likely have his second battle of the day.

  Chapter Three

  WHY DID he always have to be surrounded by old people? His dad—well, obviously—but Andrew was old and trying not to be, Joseph was probably born being sixty years old, and Mrs. P had looked eighty for the past twenty years. Sebastian huffed; she could still wield a rolling pin, though, and her aim with a salt shaker was just as good. In fact when he’d been younger, he was pretty sure Mrs. P had X-ray vision. She always had this sixth sense when he was going to sneak a second cookie, and she seemed able to see through closed doors.

  The smile Seb felt creeping around the corners of his mouth vanished as soon as he remembered he didn’t deserve to find humor in the situation. Arron was dead, and Monsieur Dubois hurt, and at least one might
be his fault. He hadn’t gone to his music lesson, though. He’d done what he was told, and Monsieur had still been hurt.

  Seb groaned and cradled his aching head. He should have known better than to start a fight with his dad just after recovering from his last migraine. Stress always brought them on, but this time he really thought his dad would understand.

  He sank onto the couch and thought about Arron. He didn’t believe for one second the porn they had found on Arron’s laptop was his. Arron hadn’t deserved what that cop said about him. He was gay and had been living a lie for the past seven years. Seb was the only person he told, and if Seb had known about the threat to out Arron, he would have paid the money. Arron had protected Seb’s secret for nearly three years, and Seb would have gladly handed over every dime. Arron was the first person he’d talked to in a long time. Their shared interest in music had gotten them talking—actually it hadn’t been Arron’s interest; it was him complaining about his daughter’s expensive music lessons that his ex-wife insisted he pay for that had made Seb laugh. If Arron knew how much he used to pay Monsieur Dubois, he would have died.

  Fuck. Seb’s eyes burned. What a shitty figure of speech.

  Seb got up slowly and took a few deep breaths. Slightly dizzy but manageable. Fear or any upset could bring on his vertigo, and he had spent two days throwing up after he found out about Monsieur Dubois and Arron. Mrs. P had clucked around him like the mother hen she was, but he hadn’t wanted anyone near him. He had gotten better at coping on his own.

  He’d thought he was free of the vertigo when he first transformed—the only bright thing about getting marked as even more of a weirdo—but it had gotten steadily worse over the last two years. Sometimes he would just lie on the floor in the bathroom, too sick to make it in and out of bed and determined no one would have to clean up after him. It had gotten so bad a few times that his dad had hired a nurse. Half of Seb was glad it was a stranger and half of him wanted to curl up in shame that someone, anyone, had to see him like that.