The Fall of Declan: Brother's Keeper Security, #1

By Stephanie St. Klaire

You met them in the McKenzie Ridge Series, get to know them in Brother's Keeper...

 

This broody bunch of Irish Alpha's with heart are the brother's you want on your side when things go wrong... 

This edge of your seat series will make you laugh just before it takes you through twists and turns you won't see coming and will give you all the feels along the way... 

 

The O'Reilly Brothers are your next binge read series - they're unputdownable...

Brother's Keeper I: Declan - 

The only thing that can taint money, privilege, and endless access to the finer things in life is murder. 

Lydia exchanges her life of luxury for a life on the run when she discovers her real estate tycoon husband is nothing more than a cold-blooded killer with endless resources. The only person who can keep her alive is the last person she wants to trust.

Declan O'Reilly was on his way to retiring from a life undercover when his final case took a potentially fatal turn. Blowing his cover to protect the only reason he stayed on the case to begin with becomes a challenge when money and power corrupt the very agency he was sworn to trust. 

Going off the grid, where nobody can find them, Dec learns his desire to protect Lydia is more than just a job...

He risks it all to protect the one thing he thought he could never have... 

She fights to discover what she's really made of only to find its what he saw in her all along...

Not once, but twice, fate offers a maniacal twist that can tear them apart, as much as it can drive them together while trying to outrun the extensive reach of a diabolical criminal.

Sometimes you have to break rules to protect what you love. 

Can Brother's Keeper Security help them find their way, or does it just put more lives on the line?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephanie St. Klaire
• Release date: Aug 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781975629335

Book preview

1

He shot the man. Lydia just watched her husband commit murder in cold blood. His eyes were void of emotion, his expression seething, and his cold demeanor something she didn’t recognize. Murder was a far cry from the affair Lydia Prescott-Valdez feared she would stumble upon when looking for her husband after he skipped yet another date night – a sign her marriage was in trouble. The shock of what unfolded instead provoked a sharp gasp and sent her running when one of Esteban’s men caught her eye – he saw her. She ran blindly, her body on autopilot while the past several minutes, which would change her life forever, played back like a bad movie reel.

When Lydia had pulled up to the real estate tycoon’s building in booming Miami just minutes before, she thought it odd so many cars were in the parking lot at such a late hour. Esteban’s car, front and center. Nobody holds board meetings that late.

Mistake number one – don’t go in.

A sense of fury raced through her, and rage sent Lydia storming through the front door despite the warning bells sounding in her head telling her not to go unless she was prepared for hard truths and ready to deal with them. Deaf to her own good sense, Lydia went up the elevator to his executive suite.

Mistake number two – if you act on emotion, be prepared for the fallout.

Confident she was about to unveil the source of her husband’s distraction in the form of giant fake boobs and a trashy discount store outfit that wasn’t even fit for a stripper, she was surprised to find his office empty. Fists tight and white-knuckled, Lydia followed the sound of something she couldn’t identify, intent on finding her damn husband. Half of the executive floor was under construction, and as she followed the sounds, it began to look like it was just late-night renovations, given the drill-like sounds and what was perhaps a saw.

Mistake number three – missing people and odd noises never end well.

Lydia stopped in her tracks when she heard a man’s bloodcurdling scream.

Mistake number four – if a man screams in sheer agony, you should run.

But she didn’t. Lydia kept on going until she found her husband, gun in hand, watching one of his associates drag a knife down the side of a bloodied and beaten man’s face while an equally brutalized man lay on the floor in a wounded heap. The man at the other end of the torture was held up only by rope dangling from the rafters because he could no longer stand on his own two feet. Certain her husband had nothing to do with something so heinous, that he stumbled upon it just as she had, she waited for him to use the gun to free the victims.

He raised his gun, alright, and used it but not at all the way Lydia assumed he would. Gunfire rang out as the body on the floor jolted from the impact of the bullets Esteban just emptied into his now dead corpse. The other man cried out, wetting himself from fear. Fear Lydia’s husband invoked, fear only evil could stir, fear that now raced through her, too.

She hadn’t realized that her reaction was out loud. She didn’t hear herself, but one of Esteban’s men did. Jason. He was her driver and bodyguard, appointed to watch over her and her son. Nausea settled in when their eyes met, and menace rested in his stare. All Lydia could do was run. She was completely unaware of how she made it down the elevator, through the lobby, and out to her car. She was just…there.

Sitting behind the wheel of her running car, she felt panic threaten to paralyze her until she saw Jason through the lobby’s glass doors, running toward her. Tears spilled over, and Lydia gasped for air while her tires spun out on the hot pavement. Slammed with every emotion one could muster, she realized that not only was her marriage clearly over but she also just witnessed a murder. Her next move became obvious. Run.

Her whirlwind love affair with Esteban was tainted at some point, and Lydia had been determined to get things back on track. She wasn’t a quitter, used to getting what she wanted. Thinking back, the socialite circuit that Lydia and her sister, Trinity, frequented exposed them to endless lines of suitors, but the one who caught Lydia’s eye, and fought for her heart – Esteban Ricardo Valdez – was also accustomed to getting what he wanted. He pursued her, wooed her, and finally won her over despite the enormous red flags she chose to ignore. He was too damn charming and easy on the eyes for her own good.

Their marriage began as a fairy tale, certain to end in a forever happily ever after, but eventually, the newness wore off, and the once doting husband became the absentee husband. When Lydia became pregnant with their son, it seemed their happily ever after was on the horizon once again until the baby was born, and the family became boring. She had always prided herself on her independence, though Lydia lived on a trust fund and never worked a day in her life, and her confidence – until now.

It wasn’t the money and spoiled life her husband offered her – she grew up privileged. It was love, or so Lydia thought, and she had been ready to fight for it. Whatever had Esteban’s attention was to meet its match, but she was no match for murder and scandal, nor did she expect to stumble upon it.

Lydia wasn’t that tough, and he wasn’t worth that much. Sitting in a cold, musty interview room at Miami PD, her mind was reeling. It all started to fall into place as she sat alone in the room, lost in thought. So many late-night broken hearts and tears, wondering where her husband had been, fell into place now. A person doesn’t simply pick up a gun one day and create a scene such as the one she watched unfold. It was calculated, methodical, and horrific. He knew what he was doing because he had done it before, more than once, more than twice.

How the hell did she love a man like that, and why the hell had she been so hell-bent on trying to make him love her back when he didn’t want her. Now she didn’t want him. Lydia feared him and all that came with him. When she told the police officer what she had witnessed, he placed her in an interview room and was likely watching her through the large mirrored window to her left, trying to decide if she was a half-crazed loon or a real witness to a crime. Lydia was dressed in a scandalous dress that was supposed to impress and seduce her husband, and her makeup was a runny mess from all the frantic tears she unloaded, along with skinned knees and elbows…she must’ve fallen at some point and just couldn’t remember. Lydia looked like a hot mess right out of Miami’s seedy nightlife.

Jason was trained to see, hear, and smell everything – to always be intimately familiar with his surroundings. Tonight, that skill paid off when a small, breathy sound caught his attention, and he quickly followed it back to its source. Standing halfway around the corner of a wall behind a plastic construction curtain in the dimly lit distance was Lydia. He’d recognize those curves anywhere, even in the shadows. When their eyes locked, he knew exactly how much she had seen…everything.

Even with the poor lighting, the terror and fear were evident in her expression. He needed to get to her before anyone else noticed her, especially Esteban, and before she ran. Like she read his thoughts just as they surfaced, Lydia backed away slowly at first, then turned and ran. Shit.

Jason stepped back from where he stood and pulled his phone from his pocket, as if he was taking a call, then excused himself. As Esteban’s right-hand, nobody, including Esteban, questioned him. It wasn’t unusual for him to take calls and disappear to take care of business without explanation, and it worked this time too, despite the old played out I’m taking a call trick. The truth was, Esteban was entranced and distracted by the torture he and the rest of the men were inflicting. They didn’t care or even notice his absence. Good.

Once out of view of those he wished not to draw attention from, he rushed out of there like a man on a mission. He came through the lobby doors as her car tore off like a bat out of hell, understandably so. Quick to follow, he tracked her using her GPS, his gut burning. He knew exactly where she was headed, and it was the worst place Lydia could go. He needed to stop her before she ruined everything or, worse, got herself killed.

After hitting every red light in town, Jason finally made it to the police station, where he found Lydia’s car haphazardly parked right out front. It was still running with the keys still in it. She was in a petrified frenzy, no doubt. He hoped he was there in time to stop her from making the biggest mistake of her life. Before she incited her own death sentence.

It didn’t take long to find her – Lydia was the talk of the station. Esteban owned the local PD. They were deep in his pockets. When you were in the business he was, local law enforcement went to the top of your payroll because you would need a lot of favors. He caught the attention of a familiar face and was quickly taken to her.

Jason entered the room Lydia was held in, and her face drained of all color. Let’s go.

No! Lydia said, turning to the officer as she made a desperate plea. You can’t leave me with him. He was there. He…he knows!

The jackass smiled. Whatever you say, darlin’. I’m doing you a favor.

A favor? I’m as good as dead. You have to help me! Please don’t leave me with him! she pleaded to no avail, and again, the man just smirked while Jason glared.

"Thanks, man. I got it from here. I’ll take care of the problem." Jason tried to keep it cool to avoid any more unwanted involvement. They needed to get the hell out of there while they could.

"Problem? I’m a problem? I think you mean witness – to murder – one you seemed heavily involved in. She turned to the officer one more time, so desperate her voice fell to a whisper. You can’t leave. Please arrest him. Don’t leave me with him. He’s going to hurt me. He’ll probably kill me."

Something Lydia said hit Jason hard in the gut. He didn’t know why it mattered so much to him at that moment, but she was afraid of him. She thought he was as bad as Esteban, and that stung.

The officer fired back in a less than gentle way, "Hey, you’re lucky I’m letting you out of here. You came into a police station drunk, high, and who knows what else, trying to file a false report and stir shit for a trick gone bad. I should arrest you for each count, including driving under the influence. You parked your damn car on the front steps of the police station!"

High? Like drugs? Wait, trick? Lydia saw red, and her whisper quickly became a raging roar. "You think I’m a prostitute? Who the hell do you think you are talking to? I’ll have your badge for that!"

Jason could only imagine what was going through Lydia’s head. First, she knew that he saw her at the crime scene, or she wouldn’t have run or feared him now. Then she went for help, was denied, and the officer not only insulted her but was willing to turn her over to an accomplice to murder. He didn’t want her to fear him, but Lydia needed to until they got out of there.

Approaching her, Jason grabbed her arm and pulled her close enough to hear what he had to say. Play along, or neither of us is getting out of here alive.

Confusion darted across her expression but was gone as quickly as it came.

Let’s get out of here, Jackie, he said. The boss wants to see you. You’re late.

Initially, Lydia had no desire to trust him, but something changed when he called her Jackie. He had always been good to her, patient without ever offending or intimidating her. It seemed he was at risk as much as she was if he was worried about getting out alive. Her choices were slim. Stay with cops who think she’s a drugged-up whore and get tossed in jail where Esteban is sure to find her. Or take a gamble with Jason, who seemed to be giving her a way out…but to where?

Get your hands off of me, jerk. Stumbling came easily as he manhandled her a bit, trying to get her to the door. It helped the whole drunk and high thing. I’m not going to see the boss. He can kiss my ass.

Uh-huh, whatever you say, sweetheart. Lydia stalled, wondering if Jason was still playing along or if he was really taking her to the boss, Esteban. He leaned down, and whispered, "Trust me."

And she did. All the way to her car, where he placed her in the passenger side, got behind the wheel himself, and sped off.

2

What are you doing? Lydia asked after minutes of silence. His presence was intimidating at over six feet tall and with more muscles than a small army. His slightly overgrown auburn hair, ending in an almost curl, was slicked back, his face shadowed in day or two old scruff. His emerald green eyes were as beautiful as they were frightening.

Driving. His smug response and expressionless demeanor had her on edge, wondering if she made the right choice.

Wh-what about your car?

It’s being picked up. His eyes never left the road – his jaw was clenched and tense.

By who? She was genuinely curious. If Lydia was being abducted, she would have to try to get away at some point, and knowing who all the players were would benefit her later. All the late-night crime shows she watched, waiting for her husband to come home, were paying off. Irony at its best.

If looks could kill, he was the reaper. Unamused and highly agitated by her questions, he finally turned to her with a sharp tone, Don’t worry about it.

Why wouldn’t he look at her? It was like it pained him to do so, and it was out of pure irritation that he finally did with his last response. His disposition was cold and oddly focused. He was thinking, plotting, and that had her worried. She had perceived him as a man of few words in the two or so years Lydia had known him, but she never knew him to be so short and insolent – it was ticking her off.

What’s going on? Where are we going? People go through several stages of emotion when exposed to traumatic events. Lydia was past shock and fear, heading right into angry and ballsy. "Why won’t you look at me? Too much for you because you’re going to kill me, too?"

Enough was enough. Her sassy and demanding spoiled attitude raked on his last nerve. Pulling into a dark, empty parking lot, he stopped the car and turned to her.

Are you done now? Can I talk? he asked.

"No. No, I’m not. What the hell is going on? Where are you taking me, and why the hell did you think you weren’t going to make it out of the police station alive?" With her back to the car door, she crossed her arms and shot him her best intimidating glare as a challenge.

Because the police station is the worst place you could’ve gone! Esteban owns that place. Lucky for you, we put on a pretty good show, and they aren’t likely to run to him – especially since they let you go. That’s a fucking death wish. He paused a moment, took a deep breath, and was ready for the big reveal. I’m an undercover agent for a branch of the government you’ve never heard of, and nobody recognizes. We don’t exist. You may have just blown the case and ruined two years of work.

Un…undercover? Why? You live in my home and work for my husband. Who exactly are you building a case against? There it was again - her crime shows and more irony. Two years of gathering evidence, undercover with agents that didn’t exist as far as the rest of the world was concerned? Lydia knew this was big – bigger than big – but she didn’t want to believe a word of it. More of the missing pieces were about to fall into place, starting with the reason her husband was always gone. She already didn’t like what she was hearing.

Drugs, trafficking, arms dealing, money laundering, and murder. You know, like the one you just stumbled upon while on a nosy escapade dressed like an expensive hooker? Lydia didn’t need to fear him, and Jason would make that clear, but she didn’t need to like him either. Keeping her at arm’s length and afraid of her husband would make his job easier.

Grabbing her chest in a breathy huff assured him that he had called the dislike part, and it was in full swing. "Excuse me? What is with you and that asshole cop? This is a very expensive, very couture dress that I bought for my husband who stood me up for a date with murder! You should know that expensive hookers don’t wear designer anything. They’re just cheap knockoffs."

Well, how is that very couture dress workin’ for ya? I’d say the cheap knockoff has a better chance of getting lucky and making a dime or two while at it. I mean, if you had to dress that way just to get your husband’s attention…

Frenzied indignation fueled her with enough courage to raise her open hand to him, but he caught her wrist before the slap landed. That…would be a bad idea.

You’re an asshole.

You’re spoiled.

Tears welled, making her eyes glassy, noticeable even in the dark. He didn’t do the crying girl thing, certainly didn’t do emotions, and here he was with one about to spill over. Shit.

Look, Lydia. We don’t have to like each other, but we have to work together. Truce? At least for now?

I just don’t understand. It seemed she was past the anger stage and heading straight to rock bottom sadness. I just…I just wanted to save my marriage. Your case…it’s Esteban.

Not a question but a statement. How could she not put two and two together after what she saw? Her world was crashing down around her, and Lydia didn’t even know the half of it. She was just a case to him. That’s all she could be, but somehow, Jason felt a little bad for her. He was human, after all, and she and her baby boy had been a part of his life for some time now. There were bound to be some feelings involved.

It’s actually good that you don’t understand. It means you don’t know anything about his dealings. He is a murderer, deeply involved in sex trafficking, and dealing arms, drugs, you name it. Lydia, we have been watching him longer than you’ve known him. I’m not the first agent to be undercover…I’m just the only one still here. He is the worst of the worst, and the sooner you wrap your mind around that, the sooner we move on with our lives.

In a weak, pleading voice, full of sorrow and very little confidence, she tried to make it all go away by changing the truth staring her in the face. My hu-husband is in real estate. He’s a developer.

Dammit, Lydee. He used her nickname, hoping it would get her attention, and he could get through to her. Frustrated, he turned to look out the car door window, running his hand through his hair before he turned to her again, tossing his thumb behind him. Did that look like real estate back there? Dead bodies, torture, grown men pissing themselves?

There wasn’t an easy way to say it other than just to say it – and he did – even if it hurt her