Luca

By Jackie Keswick

Luca Birch talks to strangers as if he’s known them for years. So why does he struggle to connect with White Knight Security’s latest client? Because the man is gorgeous, and Luca has seen him on stage? Or because Jax Monroe lives to push Luca’s buttons?

Luca may be a tiny bit starstruck, but if he can’t figure out who is attacking Jax and how to stop it, he won’t ever get the chance to unravel Jax’s many layers and find out what’s beneath.

And that’s a failure his heart might not be able to take.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jackie Keswick
• Release date: Feb 16, 2024
• ISBN: 9798215094839

Jackie Keswick

Jackie writes a mix of suspense, action adventure, fantasy and history, loves stories with layers, plots with twists and characters with hidden depths. She adores friends to lovers stories, and tales of unexpected reunions, second chances, and men who write their own rules. She blogs about English history and food, has a thing for green eyes, and is a great believer in making up soundtracks for everything, including her characters and the cat.

Book preview

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Prologue

Fritz Bronnley cast a satisfied glance over the breakfast table set for five and went to start the coffee. White Knight Security was busy and he saw less of his friends now than he had when they’d served together, despite them all living under one roof. The weekly team breakfast Fritz insisted on held both their friendship and their business together.

Morning. Grant popped his head around the doorway. I have croissants and Danishes.

Oh, good call. Spencer on nightshift?

Grant nodded. Quiet one, so he’s joining us.

Fritz hid a smile and didn’t comment on Grant’s need to collect his lover from work, even if it meant rolling out of bed before sunrise. He was glad the two were making a go of it, and Spencer, a trauma surgeon at Stoke Mandeville Hospital, was quickly becoming an honorary member of White Knight Security. He had a knack for spotting people who needed their help.

The first one had been nightclub owner Kris Hillyard who’d turned up on Spencer’s ward. Spencer had known that Kris wasn’t the victim of a mugging as he’d claimed. Grant had called Rylan to help protect Kris, and one thing had led to another. Now, six months later, Kris and his cats had finally moved into Rylan’s home, and Kris had become another regular at their breakfast table.

They’d been doing this long enough now that Fritz had everyone’s breakfast preferences down pat. Croissants and pastries for Spencer and Grant at one end of the table. Steamed rice, broiled salmon, and pickles for Kris, and bacon, eggs, and sausages for the rest. Fritz felt like the steward of a medieval household, and he loved every minute. Being the boss also meant he made the rules. And he’d banned electronics, at least from the early part of their breakfast.

That morning, Kris already had his tablet screen up and Fritz didn’t bother reminding him. He grabbed a bread roll and threw it, not surprised when Rylan plucked it out of the air two inches from Kris’s face.

Kris looked up. His smile was a heart-stopper. That morning, it was also thinner than gold leaf.

I’m not breaking the rules, Cap, he said, voice thick with worry. This is a genuine emergency.

Tell me about it.

I had a phone call last night, Kris explained, while Rylan set a bowl of rice on his plate and placed a slice of broiled salmon next to it. Connor Graves is a colleague of sorts. He used to be a booking agent for a music label. Making sure the artists get gigs in clubs or on concert tours, you know? A few years ago, he met a young Jax Monroe, and the two hit it off. When Jax had his breakthrough, Connor became his manager.

Kris didn’t touch his chopsticks, unable to relax until he’d told the story. He’d grown up with no one to lean on and Fritz—also struggling to ask for help when he needed it—appreciated the effort.

He pushed the coffee mug closer to Kris’s hand. What’s wrong with your Mr Graves? Or is it his charge?

It’s Jax. He’s getting weird messages beyond the usual crank mail. Connor says the emails sound threatening, demanding that Jax return ‘it’. He made air quotes. They’re implying Jax has taken something that wasn’t his, or that he’s holding a stolen item, maybe. Connor doesn’t know, and neither does Jax. And Jax wasn’t in the best of places, so he’s ignored the messages.

‘In the best of places’?

Burnout, according to Connor. Jax spent two years on the road, performing almost every night until he ran out of steam and went home to recover and write more music. But the music-writing isn’t going well because the recovering is taking longer.

If that’s been going on for weeks already, why’s your friend calling you now?

Because it’s escalating. Connor feels they’re being watched. Last time he was in Edinburgh, someone searched his hotel room. Then a car followed Jax when he went running, and the messages are getting nastier. He held up his tablet. It’s all here if you want to read it. But Connor doesn’t panic easily. He’s been in the industry for twenty years. If it can happen, he’s seen it.

Give me that. Fritz held out his hand for the tablet. And don’t let your breakfast get cold. I promise we’ll look at it.

Kris picked up his chopsticks, and they ate until guitar chords interrupted the silence, followed a beat later by a smoky, moody voice.

I knew it, Grant said, before Fritz could berate him for using his phone at the breakfast table. Jax Monroe’s the guy Luca listens to when he takes Matilda apart or tinkers with his computers at three in the morning.

You’re sure?

Pretty much.

Then he won’t mind if I ask him to cut his break short. Fritz fished out his own phone and dialled a video call.

Luca grinned from the big screen unshaven, dishevelled, and splashed with mud. Hey Cap, he waved. What’s burning?

So glad you asked. We have a new client.

It can’t wait until I’m back?

No. It can’t wait. Where are you, even? You appear to be standing in a field.

I totally am. I’m at NightFlight. He waited a beat. It’s a music festival.

A music festival.

In Devon, yes. Tell me who needs help?

A singer by the name of Jax Monroe.

Luca’s jaw dropped. You’re shitting me!

Not. He’s been receiving threatening messages, and his manager thinks it’s escalating. No known reason.

Deranged fan?

Possibly. His manager has hired us to keep him safe and find out what’s going on. Are you up for it?

Luca turned his head left and right, contemplating a vista none of the men at the table could see. Then he shrugged as if it didn’t matter. I was heading to bed, but yeah. Whatever. Text me the details and I’ll load up Matilda and get moving. He signed off.

Grant cackled like a loon. He’s taken Matilda to a field in Devon? I need pictures!

Oh, it gets better. Fritz’s grin was evil. GPS says he’s in Sidmouth, right on the south coast. Shame I don’t get to see his face when he finds out that Jax lives as far north as you can go and still be on mainland Britain.

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Chapter One

Bloody hell! Jax scanned the car park. A van, panels held together by rust and a prayer, was parked in a corner. Two cars took up the spaces right beside the parking meter. Nothing had changed since he’d left his own car two spaces further along the row. Only now, his driver side window lay in shards on the grotty asphalt and rain soaked his seat.

He should have stayed home and defrosted a pizza.

Jax unlocked the SUV and snarled at the soggy piece of paper clinging to the driver’s seat.

RETURN WHAT YOU TOOK, OR ELSE.

What the fuck? Return what? To whom?

Fuck it! Staring at a random piece of paper while getting soaked—Idiotic! Jax wadded up the demand and threw it into the passenger footwell. He lifted his groceries in after and climbed into the car, not bothering to take off his rain jacket knowing he’d get wetter on the fifteen-mile drive home.

"I really should have defrosted a fucking pizza, he muttered, started the engine and left the car park. Or not chosen to