Protective Measures. Maggie K. Black

standing so close to him she could almost feel him against her chest. She held her breath still half expecting him to tell her that she didn’t look like a bodyguard.

      Instead Leo asked, “Who’s your client?”

      “I’m here on surveillance only.” She took a step back. “A couple of our clients have been targeted by a particularly nasty gang of thieves. Samantha picked up some online chatter that three of them would be here tonight scoping out a new target. So, I’m here to hunt the potential thieves while they stalk their next target.” She took another step backward.

      Leo’s arms crossed in front of his chest. “You knew thieves were targeting an international gala and you didn’t alert the police or security?”

      “Of course we did,” she said. “But this particular group of thieves don’t pick pockets and grab handbags. They think of themselves as vigilantes, who in their own twisted logic are righting wrongs and meting out justice. They steal big things, like companies and identities. They plan stings that take months, to break into vaults or invent media scandals. Are you familiar with Greek mythology?”

      He shook his head. “Let’s say I’m not.”

      “They call themselves The Anemoi.” She pronounced it like “the enemy.” “Which roughly means a group of deadly storms. That’s what these thieves do. They destroy lives and leave them in ruins. They’ve targeted three of our clients so far, nobody has ever successfully identified a single member of their gang and the police seemed convinced they’re a myth. Internet chatter that three of them were here tonight, scoping out their next target, was too good an opportunity to pass up, and I’m not about to stand around and try to convince you they’re real when one is sneaking around the gardens as we speak.” She took another step back, sweeping her long skirt into her hand. “It really was a pleasure to meet you, Commander. I hope you enjoy your evening.”

      “Wait!” Leo said. He was too late. She’d already vaulted backward, over the balcony.

      She landed on the grass and rolled, feeling the soft damp earth absorb the blow. Then she sprang back up into a crouching position. She raised her bracelet microphone to her lips. “Okay, Alex, I’m down in the garden. Tell me you’ve still got eyes on our guy.”

      “No, I don’t and security doesn’t have him, either.” Alex’s voice was in her ear. “Please tell me you didn’t just leap off the balcony.”

      “He was frowning at me, and I didn’t want to waste time arguing with him.”

      “Or climbing down safely. Or taking the stairs.”

      She slipped into the shadows against the stone wall as her eyes scanned the night around her. Heavy iron fence lay to her right. Beyond it swirled the dark waters of the Saint Lawrence River. She headed left, toward the front of the building, following the path as it curved around flowers and fountains. “Just tell me what he looks like.”

      “Samantha’s intel said there are three Anemoi thieves on-site tonight,” Alex said. “They go by the handles Prometheus, Pandora and Jason. Prometheus stole fire from Mount Olympus. Pandora opened a box that shouldn’t be opened. But Jason is a weird code name for a criminal.”

      “Jason of the Argonauts stole a golden fleece,” Zoe said.

      “Got it. Based on my intel, the guy skulking around the gardens is Prometheus. He’s really big with broad shoulders. Imagine a bull in a jumpsuit.”

      “You hate being stuck in the van, don’t you?” she asked.

      “At least Theresa’s happy I’m keeping out of danger.” He laughed. “Just wait until I tell her she missed hearing you flirt with the great Commander Darius.”

      “We weren’t flirting.” She felt herself blush. Maybe the good-looking commander had taken her breath away, just a little. But Leo was a valiant and decorated national hero. She was just a bodyguard. Not to mention, he was also a devoted father. And she’d always suspected she wasn’t cut out for motherhood, even before a doctor had confirmed she’d never be able to have children of her own.

      A man like him wouldn’t be drawn to a woman like her.

      “Next time we have a mission like this, you can wear the fancy clothes and I’ll stick to blue jeans,” she added. She took one last glance back at the balcony. It was empty. Leo hadn’t come after her. But at least he hadn’t blown her cover. A long, thin braided belt skimmed the waist of her gown. She looped her fingers through it and with a quick tug, her long skirt pleated neatly into a knee-length tunic. She had matching athletic shorts on underneath. Ta-da. Bit of Samantha’s creative tailoring and she’d just gone from gown to something she could actually move around in.

      “Is he as handsome in person as the media makes him out to be?” Alex asked.

      She rolled her eyes and ignored his teasing.

      A life in competitive sports, not to mention a string of unrequited teenage crushes, had taught her pretty quickly that there were two kinds of guys in the world. Those who viewed her as equal and were happy to fight alongside her, but saw her as nothing more than one of the guys. And those who saw her as a “girl.” They were an even bigger problem. Something about her threatened them, she supposed. All she knew was that too many of them had the urge to cut her down to size. A sly word here, a crude gesture there, the occasional demeaning comment when nobody was looking, day after day, from creep after creep, until she’d eventually snapped when she was fifteen, spun around and elbowed the offending guy in the face, not even registering that the camera was rolling. That had been the end of her competing internationally. Now that creep, Killian Lynch, was a famous face in the spotlight and she slunk in the shadows.

      “You okay?” Alex asked. It was impossible to hide anything from him.

      “Yeah, I’m fine.” She paused. The path ahead curved into a bridge over an ornamental pond. She started toward it. “But I saw Killian Lynch.”

      The fist seemed to shoot out of nowhere as a black-clad figure leaped from the darkness. His arm swung toward Zoe’s face, giving her just seconds to dodge the blow as it flew inches from her jaw. She spun toward her attacker. Alex hadn’t been exaggerating—the man was huge, with a flat face that looked like it had been in too many fights. Her hands rose as years of competitive training coursed like adrenaline in her veins. But she barely had a second to catch her breath before a knife flashed in the moonlight.

      “Found Prometheus!” She leaped back again as the blade swung inches away from her stomach. “He’s got a knife.”

      “Do you need backup?”

      “I might.” Her attacker slashed again. This time she ducked under the blade, then with a quick flick of her wrists snapped the knife from his fingers. She heard it clatter in the darkness. Prometheus kicked the legs out from under her. She stumbled. Her stiletto heel snagged on the cobblestone. She pitched into a protective front roll, a sinking sensation filling her stomach as she felt the path disappear beneath her. She tumbled into the flower pond. Muddy water engulfed her body. She scrambled out again. Prometheus was gone.

      “I lost him.” She yanked off her stilettos. Nonsense like this was why she hated working in fancy clothes. Her bare feet ran quickly and silently down the path. A utility door was open on her right. “Found an open door. He must be inside. He won’t get far.”

      She slipped through the door. Air-conditioning raised goose bumps on her skin. She was in a historical gallery of some sort with flat glass cases and the eerie blue glow of dim emergency lights. “I’m going to keep trailing him. Okay, Alex... Alex?”

      Silence from her earpiece. No typing. No static. No buzz.

      No Alex.

      Her earpiece must’ve shorted out when she hit the water. Help me, Lord. I’m on my own. Footsteps echoed in the distance. She sprinted through the hall and into another almost identical one, just in time to see the black-clad figure dart into a side door. The door slammed behind him. She yanked the knob. It was