Full Force. Elle James
Chapter Three
They’d gone maybe a little more than a mile when Mustang pulled off at a large, impressive stone wall and wrought-iron gate. Declan’s truck had just pulled through onto the estate and he waved his hand out the window for them to follow.
Mustang drove through and the gate closed slowly behind them.
Emily had heard Grace talk about her new employer, Charlie, or Charlotte Halverson, the widow of a wealthy philanthropist. Grace had gone on and on about the beautiful estate and how kind and caring her employer was to her collection of employees.
Having been the most recent recipient of Charlie’s kindness, Emily was anxious to meet the woman. If Charlie had not sent Mustang out to help, Emily was absolutely certain she would not be alive to appreciate the beauty of Charlie’s estate at that moment.
She glanced toward the man beside her, studying him in the light from the dash.
He was tall, with broad shoulders and a ruggedly handsome face. Something about his stoic countenance tugged deeply at Emily’s insides. Or perhaps she was just grateful he’d arrived when he had and saved her from being shot. Either way, she felt closer to this man than any other stranger she had ever met.
Chills rippled through Emily. She fought to keep her teeth from chattering. Her clothes were damp, and she smelled like swamp water, but she couldn’t help that.
“S-s-so you work for Charlie?” she asked.
Mustang gave a curt nod. “Yeah.”
“W-w-what do you do for her?” Emily wrapped her hands around her arms and shivered in her seat.
He adjusted the thermostat on the dash to make it blow blessedly warm air. “She hired Declan and then he brought the rest of our team on board. I guess you could say we are kind of a security agency.”
“Does the agency have a name?” Emily asked.
Mustang smiled. “Declan’s Defenders.”
“So, Declan is your leader?” Emily asked.
Mustang nodded. “He was our team lead before. It just seemed natural for him to be lead of Declan’s Defenders.”
“Before?” Emily stared across the console at the man driving.
Mustang’s jaw tightened. “We were in the marines together.”
Emily nodded silently. She should have recognized his military bearing. The man didn’t have an ounce of flab or fat on him. And when he stood, he held himself straight, shoulders back and head held high, the countenance and bearing of someone who had been in the military, living under strict rules and guidelines.
Mustang shot a glance her way. “So what did you do to piss someone off enough that they want to kill you?”
Emily shook her head. “I have no idea,” she said.
“I seriously doubt it was a case of road rage,” Mustang noted.
Emily snorted. “Well, if it was road rage, he did a good job of it. He ran me off the road.”
“And chased you down with a gun.” Mustang’s brows dipped. “If I’m not mistaken, that man spoke Russian. And when I tackled you, you spoke in Russian, as well. What’s up with that?”
Emily ran a hand through her hair and stared out the window beside her. “I’m a Russian interpreter. No, I’m not Russian, I’m American, but I studied Russian in high school and college. I also studied abroad in Moscow for a semester. Now I teach Russian at Georgetown and I translate for people who speak Russian.”
“Was the guy who tried to kill you one of the clients you translated for?”
Emily pressed her lips together. “You know as much as I do. The man wore a ski mask. I couldn’t tell you if he was one of my clients.” A shiver shook Emily so hard her teeth rattled.
Mustang glanced at her again. “You’re cold.”
She nodded.
“Sorry, I should have given you this earlier.” He reached over the back of the seat, grabbed a blanket and threw it across her lap. “Wrap yourself in that. You need to warm up.”
Emily picked at the blanket. “I hate to get it all wet and smelly.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’ll wash.”
Mustang followed Declan’s taillights as they twisted and turned on the tree-lined road leading to Charlotte Halverson’s massive mansion.
Emily wrapped the blanket around her lap, thankful for the warmth. She would be sure to wash and return it when she got back to her apartment. Then she’d begin the hassle of getting her car repaired or replaced. In the meantime she was dependent on Charlotte Halverson and Declan’s Defenders to get her around. And she was thankful they’d come through for her when she’d needed them.
As they pulled up in front of the three-story mansion with its many gables and arches, several men descended the marble staircase from the front door. Three women followed, one of whom Emily recognized as Grace. And the other, her friend Riley. The front porch lights shone down on the third woman’s gray hair. That had to be Charlotte Halverson. Emily had seen pictures of her in the news and in the papers.
Mustang pulled to a stop and shifted into Park. Before he could get out and around to the other side of the truck, the door opened and Declan held out his hand for her.
Emily pushed the blanket off her lap and accepted the assistance to get down from the truck.
Grace, the first woman to reach her, wrapped her in her arms. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry this happened to you.”
“I’m okay. Mustang got there in time.” Emily briefly hugged her back and then pulled away. “Sorry. I’m soaked and I’m sure I smell.”
Grace’s brow furrowed as she held Emily at arm’s length and raked her gaze over her from head to toe. “What happened?”
“We’ll fill you all in when Emily’s had a chance to get out of those damp clothes,” Mustang said.
“Right.” Grace hooked Emily’s arm. “We’ll find you something to wear. I have enough clothes here, I might as well move in permanently.”
The gray-haired woman stepped forward. “I’ve left an open invitation for you and Declan to take the west wing.”
Grace smiled at her employer. “Charlie, this is my friend, Emily. Emily, meet Charlotte Halverson, my new boss.”
Emily held out her hand. “Nice to m-meet y-you,” she said, her teeth rattling. “And th-thank y-you.”
“Oh, pish.” Charlie took Emily’s hand and frowned. “Your hands are like ice. Inside. Now.” She grabbed Emily’s other elbow and marched her up the steps. The door opened as if automatically.
Once inside, Emily saw a man dressed in a suit, holding the door handle, standing at attention.
“That’s Arnold, my butler,” Charlie said. “Don’t let him intimidate you. I can’t get him to wear anything but a suit.” She winked at Arnold as she passed him. “But I can’t live without him, so he gets his way more often than not. Isn’t that right, Arnold?”
“Yes, Mrs. Halverson.” Arnold gave her a slight bow.
“Charlie. I’ve told you to call me Charlie.”
Without changing his expression the butler nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
Charlie shook her head and gave a wry grin to Emily. “Please, call me Charlie. Mrs. Halverson was my husband’s mother.”
Emily forced a smile past her chattering teeth. “Charlie,” she repeated softly.
“Mrs.