Treasure Me (Alpha Four, Book 1)

  Treasure Me

  Alpha Four, Book 1

  By

  Mia Dymond

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2015 Mia Dymond

  Published on Smashwords

  Cover photo: Daniel Sroga|Dreamstime.com

  Cover by Dara England

  * * *

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to wherever you bought it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Take that, sucker!

  Sophie Graystone issued the silent jab as she raised her auction paddle, winked at the auctioneer, and desperately tried to maintain her composure. Five hundred thousand dollars was a chunk of change – even for a Henri DuBois painting. Yet, Mrs. Vanderbuilt didn’t take no for an answer and when she wanted something, she didn’t blink an eyelash at the cost – all the more reason for Sophie to win the bid.

  Sitting with one leg crossed over the other, she drew tiny circles in the air with the toe of her shoe while she glanced around the room. The most elite auction venue in Everglade Springs, Florida, Parisian Designs earned every star of their status. The interior alone resembled the finery of a five-star hotel with its white, pristine marble floors and bright, diamond-embellished chandeliers. The room hosting the auction this afternoon sat adjacent to the main lobby and welcomed bidders with its plush, navy blue carpet. Sculpted from marble, busts of artistic greats Claude Monet, August Renoir and Vincent van Gough rested on carved, oak podiums scattered around the room. Even under glass, each artist peered from inside with a look of perfection. Elegant paintings by renowned illustrators Michelangelo, Rembrandt, Da Vinci, and Picasso covered the walls, a solitary lamp mounted just above the frame to accent the beauty of the work. The whole room screamed refinement right down to the comfortable wingback chairs provided to each bidder.

  She turned her attention back to the action while she waited on pins and needles, straining to hear if someone would make another bid while the auctioneer rattled numbers over his tongue. Anxiety knotted the nerves in the back of her neck and she fought the urge to turn and look behind her to see if she could match a face to the voice who had earlier run the cost up to this ridiculous amount. Demand for Henri Dubois paintings was high and winning a bid could be brutal. She took a deep breath and braced herself for whatever happened next.

  And then the auctioneer paused.

  Going once. She pursed her lips.

  Going twice. Slowly, she let the air seep out of her lips.

  “Sold to bidder number thirty two!”

  When the thud of the gavel vibrated her eardrums, Sophie forced the remaining air from her lips and smiled. Mrs. Vanderbuilt wouldn’t be disappointed.

  Tension began to leak from her muscles as she relaxed back against her chair, relieved that she’d been able to acquire the Henri DuBois painting. The new and upcoming artist had taken the art world by storm during the last few months with his colorful masterpieces of contemporary abstract art. His use of bold and bright colors and abstract shapes seemed to strike a chord with his buyers and rocket him into popularity overnight. The painting being auctioned today was one of her personal favorites.

  Titled Angry, the vivid shades of orange, yellow and red dominated the canvas, the strokes thick, tall and intimidating. Although the naked eye could not immediately determine a clear-cut explanation of the picture, art collectors seemed to appreciate the opportunity to draw their own conclusions. Her own mind chose to interpret the painting as a blazing fire, the flames hungry as they devoured the canvas.

  Today’s piece had been extremely difficult to track down and it was only her stellar reputation that afforded her an auction paddle. One of the artist’s first paintings, it had just recently become part of an estate and the heirs were more interested in the monetary worth than in the artistic value.

  Sophie stood and made her way to the security booth where she would pay for the painting and then take possession. Her accomplishment made her smile. She had worked hard to make her art studio, Treasure Me, a reputable business – one that made obtaining an almost impossible artifact, possible.

  “Congratulations, Miss Graystone.”

  She smiled and handed her paddle to the auction coordinator. “Thanks, Carl. Mrs. Vanderbuilt had her eye on this one.”

  “Ellen has a beautiful collection.”

  “She does,” Sophie agreed as he handed her several pieces of paper.

  “Did you know she attended Oxford University with Jacque DuBois, Henri’s grandfather?”

  “I had no idea!”

  Carl pressed a button below the counter just before she heard the buzz that signaled that the door to the Acquisitions Room had been unlocked.

  “Ask her sometime,” he said as he opened the gate to allow her entry. “I’m sure she’d be glad to elaborate.”

  “I will. Thanks, Carl.”

  Sophie entered the Acquisitions Room and handed her paperwork to the guard. As soon as she held the cherished painting, she headed to the rear door, specifically placed for discreet exits and secured by an additional guard.

  “Would you like an escort, Miss Graystone?”

  “No thank you, John. I’m parked close.”

  Sophie stepped out the door and blinked several times in the bright sunlight before walking the short distance to her pearl-white Lexus four-door. She had just shifted the painting to one side to allow herself to reach for the door handle when a shadow moved over the driver’s window.

  The hair stood on the back of her neck and oxygen let the air as she felt pressure on the tops of her shoulders.

  “Don’t move and you won’t get hurt.”

  In the next moment of extreme panic, she concluded the low-pitched voice was male and that the man with his hands on her shoulders had a strong grip – one that she knew she most likely would not be able to escape. She stood deathly still, buying time to analyze his motive. Although he hadn’t yet voiced his intention, she was pretty sure he wanted the painting and she was bound and determined not to give it to him. She clenched the painting closer to her body and came to a quick decision. If her conclusion was correct that he was male, she might possibly have the upper hand.

  Adrenaline bubbled in her veins and gave her superhuman strength as Sophie inhaled a deep breath and then sprang into action. She balled her right fist and flung her arm backwards, satisfied when it connected with flesh.

  “Bitch!” her attacker spat.

  Pressure left her shoulders and blood rushed to the previously-squeezed area. Bitch? Who attacked whom?

&nb
sp; She bit her bottom lip, determined to show him the mistake of attacking her. She swung the same fist that she used to get his attention seconds ago, this time downward and in direct contact with a particular muscle between his legs. And, there was no mistake that she made exact contact when he issued an extremely vulgar string of expletives. Convinced he was incapacitated, she turned to face him.

  Obviously in pain, he had already turned his back to her and, all things considered, made a rather hasty retreat. She quickly climbed into the driver’s seat and pressed the button to lock the doors. Her heart pounded like jungle drums as she grabbed her cell phone from her pocket and dialed the number that would summon help.

  ***

  Shielded by dim light in the sports bar’s interior, Lt. Dagan “Rebel” Caldwell sat with the rest of his team around a corner table and tossed back a swallow of beer while he glanced around the room. Feisty’s, their usual stomping ground was crowded, just like any other night. Several big screen televisions hung over the long, oak bar in the center, broadcasting a variety of sporting events. Waitresses clad in short shorts and tight tops that left little to the imagination served alcohol to big tippers. He smirked. Only his captain would bring them here to discuss business.

  “I got a phone call from Senator Graystone about an hour ago.” Cpt. Beck “Thunder” Raines glanced at each of the men around the table as he thumped his beer bottle. “Seems his daughter needs our help.”

  “A damsel in distress?” Sgt. Jace “Chaos” Taylor raised an eyebrow. “I’m in.”

  “Of course you are.” Rebel shook his head, not surprised by his teammate’s quick agreement. The man had a true appreciation for all things female and gave chaos a whole new meaning. Yet, few people knew that the ladies’ man had a knack for destruction – you name it, Chaos blew it up.

  “Must be serious if the Senator called.” His last teammate, Sgt. Gage “Ace” Moore, sat forward in his chair with a look of utter anticipation. Rebel knew from experience that once the sniper honed in on a mission, he was all in. “Blackmail?”

  “No.” Thunder shook his head. “She was attacked outside an art auction.”

  Rebel frowned, partly because he hated men who took advantage of women and mostly because he had no idea the Senator even had a daughter. The larger than life politician had been in office ever since he could remember. How had he managed to keep his daughter out of the public eye? Better yet, why didn’t she have a personal bodyguard?

  “Do we have a suspect?”

  “No.”

  “Sounds like something Everglade Springs PD could handle. Why us?”

  “Too much publicity.”

  “Security is tight at those things. How did he get away?”

  “Luck – apparently she put up a fight. Elbowed him in the nose then went straight for the jewels. He took off running, empty handed.”

  “My kind of woman.” Chaos chuckled.

  Still intrigued, Rebel attempted to put together the puzzle. “So he was after the painting?”

  “The Senator isn’t convinced the perp wanted the painting.” Thunder lifted his bottle, swallowed a drink of beer, and then returned it to the table. “He’s sure his daughter was the target.”

  Ace frowned. “So we’re on bodyguard detail?”

  “Not yet. He wants our take on the situation.” Thunder glanced at him. “I told him you’d be there this evening.”

  Rebel nodded. “She’s female. Sure you don’t want to send Chaos?”

  “Nah. You have a rapport with money – you’ll blend right in.”

  He grinned at Thunder’s explanation. Sometimes his status as an oil baron’s grandson gave him an advantage – an advantage everywhere except combat. He tipped his bottle, swallowed the contents, and then set the empty vessel on the table.

  “I’ll see what I can find out. Anything else I need to know?”

  Thunder smirked, something the Captain never did – unless you were screwed. “You may need body armor.”

  “I’ve seen action, Captain. I think I can handle it.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Point taken.” He stood and pushed the chair next to the table. “I’ll report as soon as I’m done.”

  Thunder nodded. “Tuck and roll, soldier, tuck and roll.”

  ***

  He drummed his fingers against the desk as he waited impatiently for the call, annoyed by the amount of time that passed. Time was of the essence and the delay could cost him. Irritation squeezed the muscles in his neck while he gave the phone a cold, hard stare as if giving it an ultimatum – ring or else. He jumped when his singing object answered his silent demand.

  “I hope you have good news,” he said by way of introduction.

  “No. There was a slight complication.”

  Annoyance wrinkled his brow. “Complication?”

  “Yeah.” His associate released a hard breath. “Damn broad nearly broke my nose and my nuts are on fire.”

  “What exactly does that have to do with the operation?”

  “She got away.”

  He ran a hand down his jaw, incredibly pissed off to hear that declaration. “Can she identify you?”

  “I don’t think so. I took her from behind and once she assaulted me, I got the hell out of dodge.”

  “You’re going to have to try again. Failure is not an option.”

  “I don’t know, man. She’s a firecracker. I’m not sure it’s worth the bounty.”

  “It’s worth it, believe me. You and I both stand to make a substantial profit.”

  “I need to lay low for a day or so. I’ll contact you when I’m on the move.”

  “The sooner, the better.”

  “I told you, I need some downtime.”

  Anger boiled his blood. “Suck it up and put a bag of ice on your balls! Did you hit your head? We don’t have that kind of time! Either you finish the job or I’ll find someone who can.”

  A slight pause on the line told him the other man was most likely weighing his options. With patience he certainly didn’t feel, he waited for a response.

  “I’ll call you in the morning,” his associate said finally.

  “Good. I’ll have all the information you need.”

  ***

  Sophie sat in her childhood living room and snuggled back into the comforting fabric of her favorite Queen Anne chair while she released a long breath. There had been no hesitation to run straight to her parents and their umbrella of protection after the morning’s events. Being the only child of Senator and Mrs. Graystone afforded her their undying attention – sometimes positive, and others, negative.

  Guilt pinched her as her father paced, his long stride nearly wearing holes in the floor. Yet, the repercussions would’ve been much worse had she not come home.

  She shifted her gaze to her mother who sat in a matching chair on the other side of the table between them. Sophie had been accused of being Alana Graystone’s twin sister rather than her daughter and she was fairly sure their current mannerisms mirrored each other. Her mother’s arms rested against the chair’s arms, as did hers, with her eyes trained on her husband’s movement. She then caught the subtle twitch of her mother’s lips – the one that threatened to loosen her tongue and scold her father for jumping to conclusions – the same twitch Sophie currently repressed.

  Her mother’s gaze finally met hers and her perfectly-lined lips split into a reassuring smile. Sophie smiled back. Mom had the situation under control.

  “Edward, please relax. Sophie is fine and reinforcement is on the way.”

  The Senator stopped pacing and released a heavy breath. “Things could’ve gone very differently.”

  “Yes,” her mother agreed, “but they didn’t. You prepared Sophie well and she handled the situation nicely.”

  Her father gave a small grin. “That’s my girl.”

  Sophie grinned back. Not only had he taught her several methods of self-defense, he had arrived personally at the auction
when she called for help. Security wanted to call the police but Senator Graystone had other ideas.

  “Who are we meeting, Dad?”

  “Dagan Caldwell.”

  “A private investigator?”

  “In a roundabout way. He works with a private company here in Everglade Springs.”

  “A policeman?”

  “No, military.”

  “Do you really think an investigation is necessary?”

  “Absolutely,” her father said abruptly.

  Her mother reached to pat her hand. “We only want to assure your safety, Sophie.”

  “I know, Mom.” Sophie gave her mother’s hand a squeeze.

  She settled back in her chair, her intent to relax interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. Seconds later, she heard the housekeeper open the door and then footsteps across the tile. Heavy, methodical footsteps. Both nerves and insane curiosity caused her stand.

  Sophie drew in a quick breath at the man who entered the room and commenced to turn her knees to jelly. Eyes as blue as the Caribbean held her gaze as he sauntered the distance between them with a distinct air of confidence. His shoulder-length black hair hung loose, brushing the sharp creases of his long-sleeved, white dress shirt and taunted her fingers to play in the depths.

  She moved her gaze downward, over his broad shoulders, and then paused on the small gap in the neck of his shirt that exposed a smooth patch of skin on his chest. Her tongue swiped her lower lip as she found herself insanely curious about what else lie beneath that pesky shirt.

  She counted seven buttons as she forced her gaze further down to his lean hips and then to the denim that covered his lower body. Military man, her father had said. She gave a mental chuckle. The only evidence of military on this man was the black combat boots on his feet.