Danger in Trust

  Dear reader

  Thank you for picking up Danger in Trust, and I so hope you love Emily and Griff the way I do!

  Elite SWAT is set in Western Australia and as such is written and edited in British English. Because Emily and Griff are Australian, Danger in Trust is written through their eyes, and as such I haven’t changed any terminology for international readers. Yes, even thongs! (Which some of you may call flip flops)

  But, if you find any terms confusing, please don’t hesitate to ask me what they mean - I love to hear from readers! Just email me at leah@leah-ashton.com or message me via my Facebook page.

  Leah xx

  PS Danger in Trust was originally published (briefly!) as Relentless. Apart from minor edits (including changing the team name from WASP to Elite SWAT) it is the same book.

  Danger in Trust

  Elite SWAT Book Three

  Leah Ashton

  Copyright © 2019 by Leah Ashton

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN 978-0-6484400-9-3

  First eBook edition published August 2019 (as Relentless)

  This eBook second edition first published July 2020 (as Danger in Trust)

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Preview of Beneath the Fear

  About the Author

  Also by Leah Ashton

  Chapter One

  Emily Valente did not want to be here.

  She hadn’t wanted to get in her car, she hadn’t wanted to drive here, and she certainly hadn’t wanted the generic black-suited bodyguard to open her door for her when she’d arrived.

  Yet here she was.

  At the door to her mother’s mansion, in front of the ornate, mock-Grecian façade, and with her skin prickling with perspiration from the heat of the sun.

  Or maybe not. It had just slipped from summer to autumn, and the day was mild. More likely, she felt hot and uncomfortable simply because she was here. At her mother’s house, on her mother’s demand, today of all days.

  It had been thirteen years, at least, and she would’ve happily made it longer.

  The door opened before she could knock.

  It wasn’t her mother, of course. Instead, it was another bodyguard, as generic as the one who’d opened her car door and who now hovered somewhere behind her.

  Well, not hovered. She’d had some experience, long ago, being followed by bodyguards, and they didn’t hover. There was a … a weight to their presence.

  A burden.

  She was led through the familiar foyer, up the sweeping staircase, and down the plushly carpeted hallway to her mother’s office. There, her mother stood awkwardly in front of her desk, although to anyone else she would’ve looked as poised and professional as usual. But Emily noticed. She saw how tightly her mother had twisted her fingers together and the whiteness to her knuckles.

  She also saw how grey her mother’s hair was now, and the extra lines on her still beautiful face.

  None of this was a surprise. Donna Valente was on television often enough for Emily to know her hair was no longer the raven black of her childhood, and that she’d aged. Her mother was the premier of Western Australia, and as the head of the state government, it was difficult for anyone not to notice her.

  Yet, it was still a shock. And that shock triggered an ache in her chest and an unexpected urge to cross the room and hug her.

  It was an inappropriate urge, clearly, and she forced herself to ignore it.

  “Emily …” her mother began. But then she paused as her gaze flicked up and down Emily’s body, taking in her newly-short blonde hair, bright orange lipstick, matching bright orange T-shirt, and dark skinny jeans. “You look nice,” she said.

  Emily shrugged but couldn’t work out what to say. Silence stretched.

  Eventually, her mother nodded. “Well,” she said. “You must want to know what was so important.”

  There was no need to answer that question, so she didn’t. Neither she nor Donna were big on stating the obvious.

  There were a few other people in the room, some Emily recognised as various members of her mother’s staff, but she had no idea what their roles were. She’d never paid too much attention to the mechanics of politics, quite deliberately.

  “Do you want to take a seat?” her mother asked.

  Emily shook her head. “No,” she said. “This can’t take long. I have somewhere to be.”

  At this, her mother frowned, but didn’t comment.

  She did have somewhere to be. Not right now, but soon. Tonight was the annual Western Australian Women in Business Awards Evening – and she, Emily Valente, had been nominated. It was, without a doubt, the biggest thrill of her career, but dread already gathered deep inside her in anticipation of her mother somehow ruining it.

  Just once, could something be about her, and not her mother?

  “You know I sometimes receive threats, don’t you?” Donna said.

  Emily crossed her arms over her chest. It wasn’t difficult to predict what was coming next, and she didn’t like it. “But the suits keep you safe.”

  She said it firmly, as if that would make a difference.

  “My personal protection officers do an excellent job,” her mother said. “It would be unsafe for me to conduct my work and life without them, given my position.”

  So much for avoiding stating the obvious. Was it nerves that made her mother delay announcing the reason she’d been called here? Donna Valente nervous? Surely that was impossible.

  “I know, Mum,” Emily sighed, sounding exactly like the grumpy teenager she’d once been, and she saw her mother’s eyes widen. Unsurprising, given the last time she’d seen her, she’d insisted on calling her Donna. She wanted to kick herself for the error, but it was done now. “Please just tell me why I’m here.”

  But of course, she already knew.

  And she was having none of it.

  “My latest threat is serious,” her mother said. “And it’s not aimed just at me. It’s aimed at you, too.”

  Just as she’d expected.

  She made herself shrug. “So what? You received threats all the time when I was a kid, and none of them went anywhere.” All those bodyguards, all that intrusion into her life – for nothing. “It’s just some crackpot who’s looked you up on Wikipedia and realised you’ve got a daughter. Nothing for me to worry about.”

  She took a step back towards the doorway. It was time for her to go. Away from her mother, and her past. No way was she letting some bullshit threat mess things up for her.

  “That’s not true, Emily,” said a voice she recognised. A man with salt-and-pepper hair and a matching, neatly trimmed beard. Her mother’s chief of staff, perhaps? Brian, she thought. “We had a serious security breach while you were at university. An armed man was intercepted inside this house.”

  Emily looked
at her mother, stunned. “Why wasn’t I told about this?” she said, her words high pitched. “I was living here!”

  Her mother met her gaze with zero expression on her face. “I didn’t want to concern you. You were already—”

  “Pissed off that your career impacted every aspect of my life.” Emily finished for her. “You didn’t want it to ruin my ability to sleep soundly too, right?”

  She was furious, mentally adding this omission to the litany of frustrations that’d led to their years-long estrangement. She’d never wanted it to come to this, to not have her mother part of her life.

  Yet, here she was.

  She looked at Brian. “Is this threat related to that one, then? The crazy with the gun in this house?”

  “Hunting knife,” Brian corrected gently. “And, no, it isn’t.”

  Emily ran a hand through her hair in frustration. “So, the point of that anecdote was?”

  “That this threat is real,” her mother said sternly. “That other threats have been real, and I’m not going to risk your life because you think you know better than the police.”

  Emily looked at the floor. It had a swirling pattern in silvers and navy blue, and her gaze traced those curves as she tried to pull herself together. She was thirty-one now, and she was absolutely aware she was behaving like the immature young woman who’d stormed out of this house all those years ago.

  But it was near impossible not to revert to type. Not with the woman she’d never thought would just live her life as if Emily had been the inconvenience she’d often felt like she was, standing right in front of her. In over ten years, not one phone call. Not one email.

  The ache in her chest had tightened and stupid tears threatened.

  It hurt so much to be back here. It hurt so much.

  “We believe this is a legitimate threat, Ms Valente,” came an unfamiliar female voice. Emily glanced up. It was a woman she didn’t recognise, but she’d bet she was a cop. She just didn’t have the political staffer vibe.

  “Who are you?” Emily asked, not caring how peevish she sounded.

  “Detective Blenheim,” the woman said coolly. “And we’re assigning an Elite SWAT protection team to you immediately.”

  Emily shook her head. “No you’re not. You need to tell me a lot more about this before I agree to having suits following me around everywhere.” She swallowed. “You don’t get to decide if this is happening – I do.”

  Technically, this was absolutely true.

  The detective sniffed. “We’ve completed a threat assessment, Ms Valente, and we believe the organisation involved has the means and the ability to follow through with this threat. If we leave you unprotected, our opinion is the likelihood is high they will follow through.”

  “The organisation involved?”

  “This isn’t some crackpot, Ms Valente,” the detective said with some bite. “We have reason to believe the Notechi Outlaw Motorcycle Gang are behind this threat against your mother and yourself.”

  “A bikie gang?” Emily looked at Donna. “Why on earth would a bikie gang be after you?”

  “And after you,” Donna corrected. “And I honestly don’t know. The threat told me to back off, but I’m not aware of a specific reason why they’d target me. I pushed through tough new organised crime laws, but that was years ago. And while I know there is currently a police investigation into a Notechi kidnapping of a school teacher – you must have seen it on the news? – I have no influence over an active police investigation.”

  Emily did know about the kidnapping, it had been on the front page of the paper only days ago, and the teacher involved was now in witness protection.

  “They don’t expect you to stop the investigation?”

  “No,” the detective interjected. “The Notechi are a sophisticated organisation. They know what the premier can and can’t influence.”

  “Then why the threat?”

  This didn’t make any sense at all.

  “We don’t know,” the detective conceded. “But the Notechi have a significant history of violence, and have access to firearms. We consider the threat level high, for both the premier, and yourself. This is a legitimate threat on your lives, and if you refuse E-SWAT team protection, Ms Valente, that would both be very unwise, but also potentially fatal.”

  Emily looked back to the swirly carpet for a long minute before eventually meeting her mother’s gaze. “I left to get away from this, Mum.” She’d done it again, said mum, and she chewed the inside of her lip in frustration. “Especially today. I have plans tonight – an event – and the last thing I need is this. Finally, something is …”

  … about me. About my achievements, not yours.

  “I know,” Donna said, and for a horrible moment, Emily thought she’d said that last bit aloud. “I’m aware of your nomination. Congratulations.”

  Emily’s forehead creased as she tried to work out what that meant. Did her mother have someone in her team keep track of her and the accomplishments of the company she’d taken over from her father?

  “You can still attend your event tonight,” the detective said in a tone Emily presumed was supposed to be conciliatory. “Your protection officers will simply accompany you.”

  Simply? As if no one would notice her police officer entourage?

  “And when you return,” she continued, “we’ll have two female officers assigned for night shift in your home and additional patrols outside your house.”

  Great. Bodyguards twenty-four seven.

  But – an outlaw bikie gang with access to firearms and a history of violence? – that didn’t sound like much fun either.

  “I’m not stupid,” she said, finally. Reluctantly. “I’ll accept the protection.”

  She understood the entire room thought her hesitation ridiculous. Who knew how her mother had explained her absence for all these years? But they couldn’t possibly understand how what should be an easy decision for anyone – accepting protection to keep her safe from harm – was anything but for her.

  This wasn’t just about having bodyguards again, after all these years.

  It was about being in this house.

  It was about having her mother back in her life, even if it was through forced circumstances. Because it was through forced circumstances.

  Those stupid, stupid tears tightened her throat, and she dug her fingernails into her palms as she tried to distract herself.

  “Excellent,” the detective said. “I’ll introduce you to your protection officers—”

  “I just need a minute first,” Emily said, and her words sounded angry, not emotional - which was something.

  “It will only take—”

  But Emily left the room before the woman could finish that sentence.

  A moment later, she started running down the hall.

  Griffin Walters was returning to the premier’s office when a woman cannoned around the hallway corner and straight into him.

  He heard her gasp as she became plastered against his body, her blonde hair tickling his chin, her cheek against his chest, her breasts, hips, and thighs pressed hard against him as he staggered a step or two backwards before regaining his own balance.

  He grasped her upper arms to steady her.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She stepped back immediately, and his hands fell away as her honey brown gaze flicked up to meet his. Her eyes were wide and glossy with what he was certain were tears.

  “Are you okay?” he repeated.

  She didn’t reply, instead she efficiently studied him – taking in his short-cropped hair, then barely glancing at his face before looking down at his tie, white shirt, navy blue suit jacket, suit pants, and polished dress shoes. She likely couldn’t see the gun and holster clipped to his leather belt, but she would’ve felt it when she’d run into him.

  “You’re a bodyguard,” she said, looking back up at him.

  “I am,” he said. “And I’d really like you to confirm you’r
e okay. Are you hurt?”

  She swiped at her cheek even though her tears hadn’t fallen past her eyelashes. “You didn’t cause these,” she said. “Or I mean, I didn’t cause them when I smacked into you. I’m sorry about that. I don’t know why I was running, I—” She shrugged. “It’s been a complicated morning.”

  She managed half a smile, but it was less than convincing. She was wearing a vivid orange lipstick Griff found himself staring at – although maybe that was also because of the lips beneath the lipstick – which were wide and full. He made himself meet her gaze again, but now it was her eyes he found distracting.

  She was beautiful, he realised. Not in a way that was immediately obvious – he certainly hadn’t paid much attention to the photos of Emily Valente included in the assignment file he’d received this morning – and this woman was clearly Emily. Maybe she was too far different to conventional beauty standards – her nose was thin and long, her jaw square and strong, her mouth generous, her eyes direct. But the more he looked at her, the more he wanted to look at her.

  She reached out suddenly, rubbing her thumb against his chest, just beside the buttons of his shirt.

  “Oh shit,” she said. “I’ve got lipstick on you, right here.”

  He went absolutely still beneath her touch – and then she went still too, seeming to belatedly realise what she was doing. She snatched her hand away.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “What is it with me today?” She ran a hand through her pixie short hair. “I’ll pay to get that dry-cleaned. And I’m sorry for touching you like that.”

  He shrugged and grinned. “It’s okay.”

  He’d been totally okay with having this woman’s hands on him.

  “There’s a bathroom just down here if you want to try and get some of it off. I’ll show you.”