Her Covert Protector (Rogue Protectors Book 4)
Her Covert Protector: Chapter 15

“What did you tell Stephen?” John asked when they returned to her apartment. “He seemed to be more … accepting that I’m sleeping with you.”

Nadia laughed. “Honestly? I still think he doesn’t like the idea of a guy sleeping with his daughter. But I was able to explain to him that there’s more to you than a cold CIA operative.”

John closed the back door and slid on the bolt. “I hope you didn’t trash my credibility as a super spy.”

“Don’t worry. Your credibility is intact.”

“Thank God.” He drew her into his arms, his eyes full of speculation. Her chin was tipped up to him, and a smile tugged at her lips.

They were in the kitchen. And she was reminded of their hot encounter this morning.

His blue eyes narrowed. “There’s more.”

“It’s funny. I couldn’t explain that you were more than a hard-nosed CIA officer until I mentioned the Locke Demon to him.

John drew back. “The what?”

An exasperated sigh escaped her. “The Locke Demon, John. It’s the breakout character from the last season of Hodgetown. You do know what Hodgetown is?”

“Of course.”

She raised a brow.

He looked away in exasperation before returning his attention to her. “Theo’s show. I’ve watched a few episodes when I was putting together a file on Gabby’s division.” sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ Find ɴøᴠel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Of course,” she replied with candor. Trust John to be thorough when he was researching a job. “Anyway, the Locke Demon is a creature who used to be a man. Cursed with no emotions and meant to guard the thin line separating the dimension of monsters and humans.”

John’s eyes grew progressively slitted. “You compared me to this creature.”

“Not exactly.”

“This unfeeling demon.”

Nadia laughed briefly. “The point is, my dad finally understood that there may be hope for you yet.”

“What exactly is the problem here?”

“You heard Gabby. She compared you to a cyborg.”

“Christ. How callous do people think I am?”

“Hmmm… I remember Gabby saying that Declan said you’d throw your own mother under a bus.”

He let out an intelligible string of expletives. “Declan said that?”

The expression on his face begged for closer scrutiny. “You seem weirdly offended.”

“And I shouldn’t be?” he barked. John let go of her and marched to his duffel bag to unearth a bottle of Scotch. She wondered what else he kept in there, because he seemed like a magician pulling rabbits from its depths these days. He searched the cabinets for a glass, grabbed one, and poured whisky into it.

He seemed really, really … hurt. Hmmn. “I thought you’d be wearing it like a badge of honor.”

“I can’t believe Declan would say that.” He sipped on the whisky.

“It might not be his own words,” she hedged.

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“They’re exaggerating. And if it makes you feel better, Gabby also added that Declan said you’d risk your life first before others.”

“Whatever.” He took another measured nip at his whisky and stalked away from her to scoop up his duffel. The impassive expression she hadn’t seen on John’s face since he returned from Kiev was back. “Which room should I take?”

Wow, he didn’t even ask to share a room.

Why was she feeling hurt?

“There are only two rooms and mine is the one beside the kitchen.”

He stalked, or rather, stomped away from her.

“Wait. Are you mad?”

He stopped and glared at her over his shoulder. “Maybe. I don’t know what I’m feeling anymore.”

“Is this about the ‘mother under the bus’ remark? You know the guys are just speaking metaphorically.”

He shot her a derisive smile. “Yeah, but I happen to have a mother I love very much.”

With that statement he disappeared into the hallway between the rooms and then she heard the door slam.

But what was reverberating in her head was the weird fact that John Garrison, who many had joked had sprouted from the ground fully formed, actually had a mother.

Since when did he become a fucking snowflake? John thought savagely.

No, it had nothing to do with the ‘mother under the bus’ remark although that had grated on his nerves more than any insult thrown his way. And there had been many. He was usually a Teflon shield about these things. Nothing fazed him. It was nothing personal, just the job.

He realized he was circling the room like a caged animal, so he sunk into the edge of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees, and linked his hands, flicking his thumbs together to give his fingers something to do.

This was personal.

That was the difference.

Fuck.

He needed to get a grip. The deeper he got involved with Nadia, barbs that didn’t affect him before would take on a new meaning. He’d just been compared to a demon for fuck’s sakes. An unfeeling demon at that. He was realizing more and more that he had a lot of work ahead of him, but John didn’t want to pretend to be someone else.

At least not with Nadia and the people she cared about.

They were going to see the real him.

Except John wasn’t sure which one was the real him. Over his long career as a CIA operative, he’d assumed several identities. Each time he would absorb a nuance of that identity after a mission, adding a layer of that person to the core of him and each time that happened, it hardened the shell around his heart, strengthened the compartments in his head. In recent weeks, the shell had started to crack as shades of the man he used to be seeped through those spaces and started manifesting itself in his actions.

Shit, he just left her out there. There was some relief in knowing he could still be an asshole. Shaking his head, he got up from the bed, went to the closet, and slid a pocket door open to stuff his bag inside, but it was a tight fit. Columns of clothes in clear garment protectors took up majority of the space. No. Not clothes exactly. He peered closer. Costumes.

Nadia talked about cosplaying before she joined the LAPD. Is that why he was drawn to her? In some ways, they were the same. They formed a kinship in the way they slid into a second skin. John did it for a job, and he had an inkling of why she did it. It went back again to the time she was twelve.

The puzzle pieces that made up Nadia Powell began to fall into place.

A light rap on the door followed by its opening called his attention.

Nadia ducked her head into the room. “Is it safe to come in?”

An unbidden smile touched his lips. “Smartass. Come in.”

She entered the room and padded to his side as he returned his attention to the things in the closet.

“Careful, you might find some of my skeletons in there,” she teased.

John chuckled because there was indeed a skeleton bodysuit among them. “Was this for cosplay or Halloween?”

“Both,” Nadia said. “Speaking of which, Halloween is in two weeks.”

There was an open-ended question in her statement, so he cocked his head her way. “No.”

“Oh, come on. It’s going to be fun. Our division used to have a contest. Now that we’ve broken off into a task force, it’s going to be more intimate.”

John didn’t answer, but carefully shut the closet, contemplating the wood panel before he leaned against it and faced her. “Convince me.”

She grinned. “I’ll think of something. Maybe you can go as one of the Hodgetown monsters.”

“The demon thing.”

“Yes, but it’s too recent. I don’t think they’d have any good replicas.”

“You do realize Levi’s wife is a makeup and special effects guru on the series,” John said.

“Oh my God, you think you can ask him?”

“I was saving my requests to her for emergency purposes.” He was opportunistic. John admitted this to a certain degree and knew Levi’s wife was a great resource if he ever needed to build a cover—physically.

But seeing Nadia’s face light up at the prospect of having access to a Hollywood special effects expert sent a jolt through him. An overwhelming desire to make it his mission to put that expression on her face every fucking time settled inside him. That genuine Nadia smile.

“Okay, okay… wait,” she continued. “We might not want to waste it for a simple Halloween costume contest at the office.” But then again, the way he could see the gears turning in her head made him wary of whatever scheme she was cooking up in that brain of hers. It was a conundrum. What attracted him to her also terrified him. “StreamCon is happening the week before Thanksgiving and it’s in LA.”

“StreamCon? Sounds familiar.”

“Yes! It’s similar to ComicCon but dedicated to streaming networks.” She glanced up at him expectantly.

He grew warier. “What?”

“We can go.”

“When you say we, you mean you, right?” John said dryly. “I’ll go with you but only one of us is going in costume and it ain’t going to be me.”

“What do you have against costuming up anyway? You do it all the time,” Nadia grumbled.

“Don’t want to lose my street cred lumbering around in a one-ton body suit.”

Nadia laughed. “Now that’d be hard to imagine you doing. You slip in and out of places with ease.” Her brows furrowed. “Which reminds me of the reason I came into this room before I found you snooping through my closet—”

“I wasn’t snooping. I was trying to be considerate and not leave my shit lying around. You might kick me out.”

“Somehow I think you don’t like leaving ‘shit’”—she air quoted the word—“around. Anyway, if we’re going to work closely, you need to let me know how to deal with this new John Garrison.”

What the hell is she talking about? “I’m still me.”

“Hmm … maybe. Why is this the first time I’ve heard of your mother. Who else knows?”

John shrugged. “Only Bristow and Kade Spear.” And the admiral of course.

“Not Declan and Levi?”

“I haven’t known them as long as I’ve known Spear and Bristow.” In a way, he and Kade had come full circle. He rescued the former green beret from an Al Qaeda prison when the DoD didn’t launch any plan to rescue him. And now Kade had extracted them from the Ukrainian dungeon. “It’s not really a secret, but it’s not something I’d advertise.”

She stared at him for a second longer. “Is your real name even John Garrison?”

“I’ve been John Garrison for a long time.” He kept his focus on her eyes and tried not to stray to the exposed skin of her legs. Legs that were wrapped around his head earlier this morning while he consumed her. Christ, he could still remember her taste on his tongue. He erased the distance between them, still not letting his gaze leave her face. He gently drew her in and lowered his head, loving the way her breath caught, and how her eyes darkened. She wanted him.

He captured her lips in a slow lingering kiss, and then he raised his head, drinking in the features he found so compelling. “Jacob,” he said.

“What?”

“Jacob Mason is my real name.”

Nadia’s slow smile sent a ripple through him. “Well, hello, Jacob Mason.”

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