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CHAPTER1
Kinsley Breck
“So, I’m cleared to return to work?” I asked Dr. Logan Henderson, knowing well that I wouldn’t be returning to my job at the Federal Bureau of Investigation. A job that I had held for the last three years. They offered me a desk job, which was what I was supposed to have in the first place. But as a profiler, somehow, I was dragged out into the field, and it almost cost me my life. Even before meeting with the doctor today, I had turned in my resignation.
Instinctively I raised my hand to the right side of my head. My hair had all grown back, but I could feel the raised scar on my skull as well as my now misshapen ear. Not only was the ear barely there any longer, but I’d also lost hearing on that side completely. Still not as bad as the headaches I got every time I was exhausted.
“Miss Breck, you are one lucky woman. If the bullet would’ve been just a centimeter—”
“Please, Dr. Henderson. Don’t tell me how lucky I am again. I know how close to death I was,” I stated firmly.
The nightmares still haunted me. Although his face had been covered with a mask, his raspy voice had sent chills throughout me. Why wouldn’t it? A man standing right behind me holding a gun to my temple warning my fellow FBI agents to drop their weapons or he’d pull the trigger, would’ve scared the crap out of even the toughest agents. I had known he was only trying to buy some time. He had every intention of killing me as soon as he felt he was safe. I wasn’t the only one who’d picked up on that and someone gave the order for the sniper to take the shot.
Unfortunately, before the man dropped to the ground dead, his gun went off. Pain shot through my ear like I’d been hit with a hammer before it all went black. I bit my bottom lip so the smile wouldn’t surface. Maybe I shouldn’t feel this way, but I was glad that the evil man was dead.Better him than me.
It was the last thing I remembered when I woke from a coma three months later. It had been almost a year, yet it felt like it all had happened only yesterday. The journey of recovery had been long and difficult, but I had finally gained back not only my strength but also my independence. No more physical therapy was needed, and I was back to living on my own. If one was to pass me in the streets, they would never know anything had happened to me a year ago. But to me, my physical reminders were not half as painful as the mental ones.
“Thank you again for everything you’ve done for me. I wouldn’t be in such good shape if it weren’t for you,” I stated honestly.
The last thing I wanted was for him to think that I didn’t appreciate what he’d done for me. Logan Henderson was one of the best neurosurgeons in the world. Some say that it was luck that he happened to be in Boston when I was shot, but I didn’t believe in such things. If there was luck involved, I wouldn’t have been shot in the first place.
I rose from my seat and was about to leave his office when he stopped me. “Please, don’t leave yet.”
I couldn’t imagine what else was there to discuss. He’d cleared me and I no longer required any further appointments. Sitting back down I asked, “Is there something you haven’t told me about my health?”
“Not physical health, but you had mentioned you were looking for work.”
Nodding I replied, “I am, but I don’t have any medical or secretarial skills if you’re offering me a job,” I replied.
Dr. Henderson shook his head. “Not me. But I know someone who might be interested in your skillset.”
Many people had approached me saying I’d make a great private investigator. Not interested. What I needed was a change. Something that didn’t put me in the line of fire.
“Thank you, but I’m sure you have patients who you need to see. I’ll find something,” I stated.
“You haven’t even heard what type of position this is,” he stated.
I could tell he wasn’t going to let me leave without hearing him out. Smiling, I said, “You have my email. Why don’t you send me the information and I’ll take a look at it later?”
“Are you in a rush right now?” he asked. I shook my head. “Good, because Damien Blaze is in my waiting room, and he could meet with you right now.”
“Damien Blaze? Who is that?” I questioned. The name meant nothing to me. Was he someone who’d taken care of me while I was in a coma? There still was so much I couldn’t recall.
“He’s the one who is looking for help. I think you’d be a perfect fit for the role.” Dr. Henderson rose from his seat and said, “I’ll send him in, and he can give you all the details.” Before he left the office, Dr. Henderson said, “Miss Beck, you have my cell phone if you ever need me again.”
With that, he walked out of the office and closed the door behind him. This was the most unusual doctor’s visit I’d ever been on. Granted, I’d come to his office many times over the past year, but all the visits had been in an exam room and very routine. This time was anything but routine.
After a moment, the door opened again, and a tall dark-haired man dressed in a suit entered. He walked around the desk and took the seat Dr. Henderson just vacated.
“Miss Beck, thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me,” he said.
Didn’t know I had a choice.
“Not sure what we are meeting about. Dr. Henderson was vague.” And unusually, pushy too.
Damien chuckled. “Then let me provide you with a little more information.” He extended his hand and said, “I’m Damien Blaze and this is an interview.”
“Interview? I don’t recall applying for a job,” I said, shaking his hand.
