Christmas Bodyguard
Author
Katherine Garbera
Reads
16.6K
Chapters
22
She'll risk her life to right history's wrongs But is she willing to risk her heart? An anonymous tip about a missing rare artifact has put antiquities investigator Daphne Amana in the line of gunfire. But giving up the investigation is unthinkable. Being protected by her ex-lover, security expert Kenji Wada? Impossible! She's used to working alone. Not to mention the fiery attraction still simmering between her and Kenji…waiting for the right moment to combust. But when a killer's dangerous game of cat and mouse unveils a nefarious black market operation, the art world — and Daphne's fledgling reconciliation with Kenji — is rocked to the core.
Chapter 1
Daphne Amana was a leading attorney in international rights and criminal law. The company directory at Mitchell and Partners law firm described her as a brilliant mind who handled cases of real international importance. She was pretty sure her boss wouldn’t see this as her most brilliant move. But she was out of options, so meeting an informant in a dark alley...well...might not be the safest decision, but it was the only play she had in this case. She was trying to return contested artifacts back to the village of Amba Mariam, the modern home of the Gondar tribe from Ethiopia.
The collection was part of items taken during the 1867 expedition of British and Indian soldiers with the stated aim of freeing British hostages and punishing Emperor Tewodros II and his people. The military assault was a success. Hundreds of items were pillaged by the soldiers, and many were sold at an auction where most of the collection that was housed at the British Museum was acquired. The only rival for its significance was the collection at the Los Angeles Museum of Foreign Cultures, which was donated by the grandson of one of the British soldiers and contained gold and silver regalia, jewelry, weapons and liturgical vessels and crosses from the Ethiopian Orthodox Church.
Daphne became aware of the collection at the Los Angeles Museum of Foreign Cultures when a cultural minister for Ethiopia, Marjorie Wyman, hired her law firm to petition to have the items returned when her discussions with the museum director stalled. Working in international rights gave Daphne a background that made this case one she wanted—no, needed—and she’d asked to be assigned to it. But the director of the Los Angeles Museum of Foreign Cultures, Pierce Lauder, was being difficult, and his attorneys kept asking for postponements of the actual trial that were making the discovery of the items still in the museum’s collection difficult.
Daphne had taken the museum to court, gaining a motion to compel them to allow her access to their museum and storerooms, but still they were coming up with excuses for why she couldn’t get in to inventory the items. Sure, it was the holiday season. Thanksgiving had been last week, so a lot of people had taken extra time off, herself included, but she could see through the flimsy excuse that Mr. Lauder kept providing.
Especially when the list of items he’d sent over marked several as missing. Not stolen or lost, simply missing. She’d gone on a local news show to make the public aware of the contested collection, which had stirred up interest and spawned several public protests, but still, Lauder wasn’t returning her calls.
History had always been a passion of hers—the fact that many of the exhibits she’d enjoyed at places like the British Museum were taken as spoils of war had never seemed fair to her. It was part of the reason she’d become an international rights attorney.
The collection was a small one that had come to the Los Angeles Museum of Foreign Cultures by way of Jonathon Hazelton-Measham, who’d been part of the 1867 expeditionary force of British and Indian soldiers led by Sir Robert Napier into Maqdala, an almost impenetrable mountain fortress in northern Ethiopia that was the seat of power for Emperor Tewodros II. Tewodros had established a library and a treasury and dedicated a new church as part of his plan to unite the tribes of Ethiopia and create one united country.
The British had been helping Tewodros, including educating and training his son, when they had a falling out, which resulted in a massive assault on the fortress in 1868. It caused the deaths of hundreds of Tewodros’s army with only limited British casualties. After the invasion, there was widespread looting of the fortress and church by soldiers.
Many of the pillaged objects were subsequently reassembled and auctioned. But Jonathon Hazelton-Measham kept the objects he’d collected, which included many items from the new church that had been constructed. The items, or tabots, included a silver censer used to burn incense during mass, a ceremonial cross, two chalices, and processional umbrella tops. He also had several weapons and regalia that were rumored to have come from the fortress. The thirty-nine items that Jonathon looted and brought home with him to England were sold via his descendants to the museum in 1985.
Of the thirty-nine items, the museum claimed that roughly twenty-five were still in their possession. Fourteen items either dropped off their inventory or were currently marked missing.
Her client represented the department of culture for Amba Mariam, the modern day name for Maqdala. The items weren’t just in the Los Angeles Museum of Foreign Cultures but also in the British Museum. The bulk of the items still accounted for remained in England at different museums and libraries as well as a museum in Canada, all of which were holding ongoing discussions about their return to Amba Mariam.
Which didn’t help Daphne’s case. There was no precedent stating that the items should be returned. If the items had been returned in London, that would go a long way to swaying the judge to rule in her client’s favor.
However, the recent theft of items by a complicit staff member at the British Museum was helping her with this case. There were only so many places to sell rare antiquities without raising suspicion.
The missing items included one chalice, the silver censer—apparently the brass censer was still in the museum’s possession—a piece of regalia not named, two other tabots, and a diptych in a silver case that may have come from a private collection in France, which suggested to Daphne that the thief knew the value of what they were taking. Then there were two manuscripts that were described in the late Hazelton-Measham’s will as part of his donation but had been dropped from the museum’s inventory in the 2010s before the current director was in place.
It wasn’t the monetary value that was at the heart of this case as far as Daphne was concerned. It was the cultural value. Emperor Tewodros II had collected these items from all of the tribes of Ethiopia to unite them into one kingdom.
Apparently there had been flooding at the museum, and some of the pieces had been lost during the evacuation of items. Which wasn’t a suitable response as far as Daphne was concerned. Museums were sticklers for cataloging their priceless antiquities. She’d been going round and round with Pierce Lauder and his lawyer, Ben Cross, ever since, trying to figure out what happened to the mysterious missing pieces.
Which was didn’t explain why she was sitting in her car at nine p.m., trying to get up the courage to go and meet an anonymous person who had messaged her on WhatsApp, saying that they had information on the missing items.
She’d tried to convince them to come to her office, but they’d been insistent they would only meet her away from both the museum and her offices. She’d suggested a twenty-four-hour coffee shop that she frequented, Zara’s Brew on North Hollywood Boulevard. Her informant had agreed to her request, but they wanted to meet behind the shop so they wouldn’t be observed.
She was a single woman who could protect herself, but still, this had bad idea written all over it. She knew Carl would have forbidden her to do it and probably would have removed her from the case entirely, so she hadn’t let anyone know she was here. Which now seemed...well, not like her best idea. So she texted her assistant just to say she was meeting an informant and gave her location. She also held her phone in her hand with 911 ready in case things got dicey.
She left her car and hit the lock button as she walked toward the coffee shop. The barista on duty had their head down scrolling on their phone, and there were only two diners in the café area. She took a deep breath as she headed around the back of the shop and saw that the alleyway was empty and dimly lit.
Because of course it was. Right?
Pulling the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder, she moved into the alley.
“Hello?” she called.
Stepping further into the alleyway, Daphne cautiously scanned the area. A shot rang out, and she felt the impact of the bullet in her shoulder. There was a sharp burning pain and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. God. That hurt. She hit 911 as she fell to the ground, trying blend with the shadows near the dumpster. She felt woozy and scared, and started the deep breathing exercises she’d learned to keep from passing out because she had a low blood pressure condition that gave her dizzy spells.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
She heard the sound of footsteps running away and a thud. Glancing toward the sound, she didn’t see anyone.
“I’ve been shot. I’m behind Zara’s Brew. I got hit in the shoulder and am bleeding. I can’t see who shot me.”
“Stay on the line. I’m dispatching police and ambulance to your location.”
Daphne leaned against the dumpster, keeping her legs close to her body, her head tipped back as she held the line. The 911 operator kept talking to her, and Daphne always responded, but she knew she was close to losing the battle to stay conscious. She reached for her purse to get a tissue to apply pressure to her shoulder.
She fumbled when opening it, and some of the contents spilled out on the dirty pavement. After a moment, she found the tissues and pressed one against her shoulder, then put her phone on speaker, setting it on her lap. She glanced around, realizing that her wallet had fallen out.
Placing the bloody tissue on her lap, she reached for the wallet and other items, and she noticed something that looked like a burlap bag with the museum logo on it. She pulled it toward her just as the cops parked at the end of the alley. She shoved the bag into her purse along with her wallet.
“I’m over here,” she said.
Two cops came toward her location. One of them was on alert, gun drawn.
“I’m unarmed and injured,” she said.
“Don’t worry, ma’am, the ambulance will be here in a moment. Where are you hurt?”
“Shoulder,” she said. She was starting to slur her words as the pain became too much. Her last conscious thought before she passed out was to draw her purse to her body. “Don’t...leave...my...bag...behind.”
“I won’t. We’ve got you.”
The world faded to black. She was semiconscious of being loaded onto stretcher and transported to the hospital. She was still in pain and still scared, but she knew that whatever was in that burlap museum bag was worth it. After all this time, she might have finally gotten a break in the case that would help her figure out why the museum had stopped talking with her and the cultural minister. What really happened to the missing artifacts?
Working for Price Security gave Kenji Wada a chance to use the skills he’d honed for nearly a decade in the CIA as a field operative. The job had been exciting, and there had been a few life-and-death moments, which suited Kenji’s need for adrenaline rushes. But he’d retired after a case had gone sour. And when Giovanni “Van” Price had offered him a job working as a bodyguard at his elite company, Kenji had said yes.
He was Japanese American, raised by his single American mother. He didn’t know much about his Japanese heritage except that his father’s family was from a highly traditional background of wealth and status and hadn’t approved of her. They hadn’t been allowed to marry, so his mom had said deuces to his old man and came back to LA, where she’d raised him. He had been close to his mom from the beginning and had nothing but love and respect for her. But he always had questions about half of his lineage and no one to ask since his mom had died several years ago when he’d been overseas on an assignment. He still missed her.
Something he didn’t like to dwell on.
As he waited for the latest briefing at Price to start, he knew that he was going to volunteer for whatever new assignment came up. Didn’t matter that it was the start of December. Christmas wasn’t his favorite time of year. It had always been a struggle for his mom to buy him presents, pay the bills and keep food on the table. She’d always made the holiday special and since he’d lost her... Christmas just felt empty. If Kenji had his way, he’d work through the holidays. He needed to stay busy and focused on the job. Not his personal life.
The others on the team arrived for the meeting. The Price Security team was small and tight. Van liked to say they were a family, and Kenji did view the other members like siblings. They all got along for the most part but also got on each other’s nerves at times.
There were two women on the team. Luna Urban-DeVere was a former MMA fighter, wickedly smart and tough as nails. She was married to multimillionaire Nicholas DeVere, who she met while protecting him. Lee Oscar was the tech genius of their team, and though she had skills with weapons and hand-to-hand combat, most of the time she stayed here in the Price Tower, keeping tabs on the team and providing information to them.
Next was Rick Stone, a former DEA agent who always looked like he was about to fall asleep until there was danger—and then he turned lethal. Then Xander Quentin, a big British bloke who was former SAS and Kenji’s best friend. Xander had recently fallen in love with a woman in Florida and was now splitting his time between the East and West Coasts. He had just finished an assignment in New York and was taking time off over the holidays to spend with Obie, his girlfriend.
Last, but certainly not least, there was Van Price. He wasn’t that tall, but he was solid. All muscle from the tip of his bald head to his broad shoulders with the tattooed angel wings that peeked out from under his collar.
“We’ve got a new client. Should be a nine-to-five gig and will be running through the holidays and into January,” Van said as he came in. “I know I promised some of you time off, so...”
“I’ll do it,” Kenji said.
“Mate, I thought you were coming to Florida with me,” Xander said as he turned to him. His best friend looked hurt.
Kenji clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s more important you go.”
Xander bro-hugged him. “Yeah. Thanks for that.”
“Depending on where it is, I could do it. Nicholas will be working until Christmas Eve,” Luna said.
“I’ve got this,” Kenji said. He needed to be busy, more than anyone else. “Unless I’m not right for the job?”
He looked over at Van, who just gave him that slow smile of his. “You’re perfect for it. A local attorney was shot while meeting an informant about a case of potential art theft they’re investigating, and her firm wants a bodyguard.”
Cakewalk.
“Who is it?”
“Lee? You got the presentation ready?” Van asked.
Lee’s fingers moved over the keyboard of the laptop she took everywhere with her, and the presentation flashed up on the screen at the end of the boardroom. But he wasn’t listening or paying attention once the photo of the client was shown.
Daphne Amana.
Well, screw him. Of course he’d volunteer to protect the one woman he was pretty damned sure didn’t want to see him again. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen. She’d matured, of course. It had been nearly twelve years since he’d told her see ya and broken up with her.
Her deep brown eyes sparkled with intelligence, and her face was still gorgeous, with high cheekbones and a full mouth. She had long black hair and tanned skin. In the corporate photo, she wore a suit that had been tailored to fit her shape in a way that immediately stirred regrets in him about how he’d walked away from her.
He’d done it because family hadn’t been in his plans at twenty-three. He’d known that he wanted the most dangerous assignments the CIA had to offer, and having Daphne in his life would have been a liability. So he’d ended it, never expecting to see her again.
But here she was. Doing the good work she’d always wanted to do and putting herself in danger.
“Kenji?”
“Huh?”
“Mate, you okay?” Xander asked.
No way was he bringing up Daphne. He was the best man to keep her safe. Something Van might not agree with if he was aware of their past.
“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m good. When does the gig start?”
“Today. Head over to their offices, where you’ll meet her and assess the situation,” Van said.
“Cool.”
The meeting went on with everyone updating the team on their current assignments or being briefed for the next one, but his attention was on his phone, where Lee had sent the case file. Daphne Amana. He wasn’t sure this assignment was going to be the distraction he’d wanted. But he couldn’t step away now.
Kenji walked back to the elevator to get ready for his assignment. Like there was a way to get ready to see the one woman he’d never really forgotten. He’d had moments when he’d thought of her. Had googled her late at night when he wasn’t working or playing Halo against Xander online. Despite that, he’d never reached out.
When he walked down the hall, he noticed someone had put Christmas wreaths on his and Xander’s doors. Kenji stood there staring at the display of holiday cheer. Christmas was going to be all around him. There was no way around it. At this time of year, he had to just grit his teeth and get through it. Normally work was a good distraction, and one time when X had been off the same time as he was, they’d gone to Aruba, rented a house, and gotten drunk and laid by some gorgeous women at their resort for ten days.
It had been perfect. No sign of Christmas or thoughts of exes or parents—the ones who were around and the one who hadn’t ever tried to see him.
He rubbed back of his neck and used the security app on his phone to open the door as he heard the elevator opening. As close as he and X were, he didn’t want to talk about Daphne or Christmas.
“Hold up, Kenji,” Xander called as he got off the elevator.
“Yeah?”
“Hmm, well, I don’t want to overstep, but is something up with you?”
They normally didn’t do the intense emotional shit unless they’d both been drinking, when they could pretend that neither of them would remember it. So Kenji knew he must be showing signs of weakness. This was the one time when he shouldn’t be.
“Dude,” he said. Then realized that he was about to open up big-time, and neither of them wanted that. Also he didn’t want to burst X’s love bubble. He shook his head and opened his apartment door. He and Xander were the only two with apartments on this floor.
Xander put his hand on Kenji’s shoulder and squeezed it. “I’m here if you need anything. Obie’s working hard studying for finals, so I’m sort of at loose ends because Van didn’t want me to get stuck out on assignment. But...”
Kenji turned and looked at the man who was more like a brother to him than just a friend. Xander was a lot like him. Work kept them grounded. True, Xander had his fiancée now, but that hadn’t changed who he was at his core.
“I will. But like Van said, it should be a breeze,” Kenji said. Hoping Xander bought it.
His friend just raised both eyebrows. “’Kay, but if it’s not, I’m here.”
“Thanks.”
