Chapter Five

Chantal couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched as she climbed into the back of the suburban. It had been a long day, and her feet ached. Thanks to skipping lunch and only having an apple for breakfast, her stomach protested. Exhaustion ate away at her mood, but she forced a smile and greeted her local bodyguards. The workday wasn’t over, and as soon as she got home, she’d change out of her jeans into her sweats. Pulling out a thick customized planner, Chantal scribbled an observation from her last appointment and chose a colored sticker from the back as a reminder for a follow-up. 

Consistency and self-discipline were both key when offering quality chiropractic services. Only she was in charge of what filled her treatment space and took up her valuable time. Lives were made-up of pattern and routine, and she refused to spend her days on insignificant habits. 

Kirk, the DS Agent in Charge—referred to in diplomatic circles as the AIC—closed her door before climbing in the front. Like on all protection details, he sat adjacent to the driver, and she sat in the passenger seat directly behind him. The AIC was the only American diplomat on the detail—standard protocol. His job was to manage every aspect of the protective security operation. Her local guards took orders from the AIC.

As they pulled off, Kirk twisted around and shot her a smile. Chantal rolled her eyes as she placed the sticker beside the patient’s name. “Kirk the Flirt” was competent at his job but a skirt chaser. And not her kind of skirt chaser. He thought he was smooth and funny. Women thought differently. Ignoring her American colleague, Chantal engaged with the local lead guard who sat behind the wheel. Over the past week, she’d gotten to know Dishan, and it gave her an excuse to practice her Sinhalese while asking after his wife’s pregnancy. 

Chantal switched to using some of the local language. “Dishan, how was Priya’s vaidyavaraya visit? What did the doctor say? How is the baby?”

“Kicking like a footballer and due any day.” The big man grinned.

“You want a…” Chantal paused to think of the word as she packed her planner in the laptop bag. “Bolaya—ball—kicker? I thought you wanted a cricket player.” Leaning forward, she poked Dishan in the arm as he slowed down a narrow lane.

“My kid will be the best cricket player in all of Sri Lanka!”

“Of course.” Chantal laughed. “What does Priya want?”

“A computer nerd… so he can make plenty of money for his mama.” 

Glancing through the windshield, Chantal’s smile froze as a black van drove into their path, blocking the road. Two bikes pulled up on either side of the suburban. The men wore all black, their faces masked by helmets. Slamming on the brakes, Dishan yelled at her to get down as her guards jostled to draw their weapons. Someone shoved her to the floor, and Chantal strained her neck to see what was happening. The thought of being trapped and ambushed in a side street had her heart pounding and her hands gripping the back of the front seat. 

Glancing up, she saw a biker pull away. And they were moving again, almost too fast as Dishan punched the accelerator, speeding through the suburbs. 

“Where’s the black van?” Chantal yelled as Dishan rounded a corner, and her head slammed into a guard’s shin. “How did we get past the van?”

“We didn’t!” Kirk replied, his voice tense. “It reversed out of our path.”

“Are they following us?” The glimpse of huge trees lining the roadway indicated that they’d entered the Cinnamon Gardens. The exclusive suburb housed numerous embassies, high commissions, the Prime Minister’s Office, the town hall, and museums. 

“Not that we can see. Stay down. It may have been nothing.”

Chantal complied. Only once they were in the safety of the Jefferson House—aka, the ambassador’s massive home—did she rise shakily from the floor. Her black t-shirt stuck to a damp back, and she straightened the soft fabric before letting out a relieved breath as she watched the entry gates close behind them. 

The mansion held sheltering strength, and Chantal loved the historic residence. Built in 1914, it was once the home of the judge of the Supreme Court of Ceylon. The United States bought the house in 1948. Surrounded by lush trees and sweeping lawns, the stately white mansion had an understated grace that warmed her heart. 

Dishan helped her from the car. The driveway gates swung back open and his grip tightened. The sound of motorbikes had her turning. To her horror, two familiar bikes rolled down the private lane, followed by the black van. Dishan pulled her behind the suburban and reached for his side arm.

“They’re MSD. Take your hands off your weapons.” Martin walked down the steps as the unknowns pulled alongside her detail. 

“What the hell is going on?” Kirk stood to his full height as Martin crossed his arms. 

“Let’s head inside for a debrief.”

“This is ridiculous and—”

“Now, Kirk. That’s not a request.”

Chantal couldn’t take her eyes off her would-be attackers. The bikers shed their helmets as four other men climbed from the van. They all looked hardened and competent—almost brutal. Were these the men guarding her mother? Team Three? Chantal had heard that an MSD team had flown out to Sri Lanka to protect her mom, although Chantal hadn’t had a chance to meet them—over the last week, her mother’s late schedule kept her at the embassy till after dark. Chantal had heard all about MSD. Within the DS world, they were the “meat pounders,” who left delicate diplomacy to the rest of DS. MSD agents were brawny, heavy hitters that swept in at the last minute to rescue or annihilate.

One of the men pinned her with a piercing stare—like a glowing blade digging deep. Unlike the cold, hard look of his comrades, his narrowed gaze sparked along her skin like an inferno. Chantal’s chest contracted, and she looked away.

What the hell was going on? Anger replaced fear as she pocketed her trembling hands. 

Her face grew warmer with each step, and by the time she crossed over a heavy Persian carpet and entered the meeting room through an ornate glass and wooden door, Chantal was ready for a fight. Kirk beat her to it. 

“Can you explain why MSD agents decided to fucking ambush us on the way back to the embassy? Or should this be a conversation for the ambassador? Her daughter almost got caught in the crossfire.”

“That wouldn’t have happened.” The agent with the feral, copper-colored gaze smiled at Chantal. “Team Leader, Gage Hendrix for Team Five.”

Team Five? Another MSD team? Her mother already had plenty of protection. Ignoring his inviting energy, Chantal folded her arms. Gage Hendrix retreated and took a seat in front of the antique-lead windows, which looked out onto lush gardens. He rolled his shoulders—his muscled shoulders that matched sinewy arms and a GI Joe head. His easygoing arrogance mirrored the rest of his team, all who found amusement in Kirk’s discomfort.

“Let’s talk this out.” Martin pulled out an ornate chair. Chantal shook her head—too wired and needing to walk off residual adrenaline. Dishan also remained standing and took his place beside her in a gesture of silent support. 

The MSD team leader spoke, his honeyed eyes flaring as he addressed her security detail. “You took the exact route as the day before. Three days in the same week.” 

Kirk sneered and leaned forward. “Not every day—” 

Dishan spoke up. “Thanks to closures in the city due to roadworks, I alternated between two routes. But Agent Hendrix is right—that is no excuse.”

“Dishan…” Chantal frowned, and he placed a hand on her arm. 

“I made a mistake—one that could have cost your life.”

“And you chose not to use a variable time system. Miss Durant leaves the center at the same time every day?” A sizeable blond agent, built like a Boabab tree, asked.

“I do not.”

“You did this week.”

Chantal cut in, “If you’re here to train personnel then—”

“Not here to train… we’re joining your detail.” The fierce team leader stood and walked to her side, extending his hand while pinning her with that gleaming stare. “And I know you’re on the defensive, but our goal is to keep you safe.”