Kingstons rival, p.1
Kingston's Rival, page 1
CONTENTS
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Newsletter and Social Media Links
About the Author
Other books by Carole Mortimer
COPYRIGHT
Copyright © 2024 Carole Mortimer
Cover Design Copyright © Glass Slipper WebDesign
Formatter: Glass Slipper WebDesign
ISBN: 978-1-914336-15-7
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved.
DEDICATION
My Family,
As always.
PROLOGUE
“Fuck!” Casper muttered under his breath, his eyes wide as he stared out the front window of his car at the road before him. It was lit only by the beam of his vehicle’s headlights.
Inwardly, his brain was racing along as speedily as his car now hurtling swiftly along the narrow and winding lane.
Too speedily.
This was despite the fact he kept pressing his foot down on the brake pedal.
For whatever reason, and Casper had no time to get into that right now, those brakes weren’t responding.
Which meant his car wasn’t going to slow down or stop any time soon.
It was also true what people said: time did seem to go more slowly when death looked as if it could be imminent.
Casper continued to tightly grip the steering wheel even as he inwardly considered the only two possible scenarios open to him.
He could unfasten his seat belt, steer the car to the other side of the road, open the car door beside him, and simply throw himself out. Hoping he would land on the grass verge edging the lane. His car would have to take its chances of coming to a stop against the first available obstacle.
The problem with that was, if he missed landing on the grass, then he was going to hit the tarmacked lane with some speed. Hard.
He could try driving up onto the grass verge on this side of the road and into the low hedge running along the side of the road behind it. That way, the speeding car might have slowed slightly before it collided with the hedge and rather than going straight through it the car might slow down, maybe even come to a complete stop.
If it didn’t, then the car would, in all likelihood, go through the hedge and down the slope behind it. It might even roll over on its way down. With Casper still inside, which would cause considerable damage to both the car and him.
Despite that possibility, the latter of those options seemed like the best one to him. Even if, at six o’clock in the morning, the likelihood of anyone finding him for several hours along this countryside road was very unlikely.
Now all he had to decide was when would be the best time for him to veer the car off the road.
He knew this lane well, traveled on it two or three times a week, on his way to and from his family estate where he lived most of the time. Which was the reason he knew there was a sharp ninety-degree bend coming up soon, with an even steeper downward slope behind it than the one next to him if he didn’t manage to maneuver the car around that bend.
It was now or never, it seemed.
At least it would have been if he didn’t suddenly see another set of headlights coming toward him from the opposite direction!
A vehicle that, unfortunately, once it had completely turned the sharp corner ahead, proved to be a tractor, which was, as was usual with such a large vehicle, taking up two-thirds of the road. He doubted the farmer driving the tractor had expected to meet any traffic coming in the opposite direction this early in the morning either.
Casper quickly readjusted his options. They had now changed to hitting the tractor and bouncing off it, which would possibly injure the farmer in the process. Or Casper could turn the steering wheel to the left and veer the car off the road now and simply hope he avoided coming into contact with the tractor at all.
He didn’t hesitate to turn the steering wheel sharply to the nearside verge, hoping like hell he’d made the right choice.
That hope died an immediate death when he felt the front right-hand side of his car come into contact with the huge tractor wheel at the back of the vehicle. The impact easily spun his car so that it hit the hedge sideways on before plowing through it and then immediately rolling down the slope beyond.
The car tumbled over and over, throwing Casper from side to side so that his right side kept hitting the car door, although thankfully, the seat belt continued to hold, and the door remained closed.
Until one particularly vicious roll of the car caused Casper to hit his head painfully on the side window, and he was completely enfolded in darkness.
CHAPTER ONE
She recognized him the moment he walked into the spacious office on the top floor of the prestigious Kingston Security building.
Casper Kingston, the youngest member of that family.
The research she had done on all the members of the Kingston family had revealed this man was aged thirty-five and that he was the tech expert—read: hacker—in the family-run business. He was also reputed to be a charming and arrogantly self-confident rogue within a family of equally good-looking men. Their individual wealth also meant they were all millionaires several times over.
Casper’s handsome face was currently sporting the visible evidence of the cuts and bruises inflicted on him the previous week when, after the brakes had failed on his car, he’d had to drive it off the road at six o’clock in the morning to avoid colliding with the tractor coming in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, he’d then entered into an argument with a low hedge and the steep slope behind it.
The hedge and slope had won.
He’d spent the next three days in hospital, having suffered a concussion from hitting his head during the car’s roll down the slope. He’d also broken the ulna of his right arm, on top of those many visible injuries to his face from where the windscreen had shattered as it rolled over and over down the hill until coming to a halt, upside down, at the bottom of the slope.
He was lucky the farmer had been trying to make an early start on his day; otherwise, Casper might have remained upside down in his car at the bottom of that hill until a member of his family became alarmed when they hadn’t heard from and found they couldn’t reach him on his cell phone either. Even if Casper hadn’t been knocked unconscious, and so was unable to call for help, his cell phone had been smashed and was no longer capable of receiving or making calls.
Once he was discharged from hospital, he'd spent the next four days recuperating at the family estate in Surrey.
Unlike the other men in his family, several of whom had been in the military, Casper kept his dark hair in an overlong style, revealing several shades of red amongst that darkness. His dark brown eyes looked full of a barely suppressed impatience with his own less-than-autonomous situation. High cheekbones, chiseled lips, along with the slight scruff on his jaw, all added to his piratical appearance. He wore a black tailored suit, but instead of wearing a formal shirt and tie beneath it, he had on a black T-shirt.
None of which detracted from the obvious bruising and cuts to his face or the sling immobilizing his right arm as he threw himself down into the chair in front of his brother Sinclair’s desk.
Casper stretched his long legs out in front of him as he turned and began to survey the other people in the room, three of whom were members of his family, the others being her and the other three bodyguards that made up the rest of her team.
“Why do I feel as if I’ve been ambushed?” Casper growled as he scowled at his two brothers and cousin.
“Possibly because you have,” Sinclair confirmed mildly.
The scowl deepened. “Why have I?”
“You know why.”
Casper huffed. “I seem to remember that I told you, when I was in the hospital and became aware enough to realize you had men standing guard outside my room day and night, that I won’t need a team of bodyguards going forward.”
Sinclair nodded, unperturbed by the aggression. “And I remember informing you that I wasn’t asking for your opinion. I was telling you. For fuck’s sake, someone messed with the brake lines on your car,” he snapped with uncharacteristic aggression when he obviously realized Casper was about to argue again. “Just enough so that the car would slowly lose power and eventually, far from where the sabotage occurred, the brakes would cease working altogether.”
His youngest brother shrugged. “I’m still alive.”
“But you so easily might not have been,” his brother Max put in harshly.
“I—”
“Stop arguing, Casper,” their cousin Adam rasped. “Whether you like it or not—”
“I don’t.”
“Too bad,” Adam dismissed. “Because you’re having a team of bodyguards twenty-four-seven until we discover who was responsible for almost killing you. It might not have happened at all if you had told us about the deliberate slashing of your tires, not once but three times, during the past couple of months, along with several deep scratches that had to be repaired and resprayed.” His glare was one of rebuke. “The repercussion from that silence is that you now have a team of bodyguards. Live with it.”
Instead of continuing to argue, Casper Kingston now fixed his narrowed and piercing gaze on her. He slowly straightened before sitting forward. “Who are you?” he challenged.
Not exactly an auspicious beginning!
“Casper!” Sinclair warned.
“It’s fine,” she assured him, not taking her gaze from Casper’s accusing one for a moment.
After all, she’d half been expecting Casper’s resentment toward anyone who agreed with his family’s assessment of him needing a bodyguard. As the youngest and only unmarried member of his family, Casper had always been something of a free spirit. At least he had been, which meant he wouldn’t easily accept having bodyguards not only protecting him but taking note of his every move.
His brows rose as he again demanded pointedly. “Well?”
“I’m Persy Jones,” she answered just as abruptly.
The three other members of the Kingston family were watching their exchange with varying emotions.
Sinclair looked mildly surprised at Casper’s aggression.
Max was frowning, possibly for the same reason.
Their cousin Adam looked both puzzled and curious.
She had worked with all three of these men during the four months she’d been employed at their family-owned firm, Kingston Security. She knew them all to be highly professional, but also friendly.
She didn’t feel that same warmth of welcome coming from Casper Kingston.
“What sort of name is Persy?” Casper derided as he continued to stare at the tall and stunningly beautiful redhead standing across the room.
“Persephone, who prefers to be called Persy, is one of the new employees we took on four months ago because of the increase in clients,” Sinclair explained pointedly, the reprimand still in his tone. “She returned this morning from three days’ leave to be informed she’s now head of your new security detail.”
Casper knew he was being rude, but he’d already guessed this woman’s reason for being here. She was a part of the ambush he’d referred to when he’d entered Sinclair’s office. The head of it, it now seemed.
Because the men in his family were presenting him with a fait accompli in the mistaken belief he wouldn’t react badly in front of four of their employees.
They were wrong.
He knew the three men in the room who weren’t part of his family, had worked with all of them in the past. He also remembered doing the usual security check on Persephone Jones five months ago, prior to her being offered a job with their family security company a month later. But he had never met her. Until now.
He went over in his mind what he knew about her. She lived in London and was aged twenty-four. She had spent five years in the military, one in Special Ops, before resigning almost a year ago for family reasons. Her records hadn’t said what those family reasons were, but Casper knew her only family was her father. She’d also never been married, so he could rule out a nasty divorce as being the reason. Perhaps the ending of a long-term relationship?
For whatever reason, Persephone Jones had left the military, then spent the next six months unemployed. No doubt dealing with that family reason before applying to Kingston Security for employment five months ago.
She had named Major Coleman, a man the Kingston family had worked with closely a couple of times in the past and an associate of Casper’s brother Max and his cousin Adam, as her main reference. The major had been her last commanding officer, and he had assured them Persephone Jones was more than suitable for being offered a job at Kingston Security, based on her performance when she was a member of his Special Ops team.
Casper had seen photographs of Persy, of course, but some had been black-and-white, and in others, she had been wearing unflattering army fatigues. None of them had revealed that, at six feet tall, she was only two inches shorter than Casper’s own height. Her shoulder-length hair was pulled back, possibly from habit after spending those years in the military, and secured in a no-nonsense ponytail at her crown. A style that didn’t detract from the deep red shade, shot through with gold, in the slightest. Her brow was smooth, indicating she was unperturbed by their current verbal exchange. Her eyes were the deep clear gold of fresh honey. She had a straight nose set between high cheekbones.
But her full and pouting lips completely dispelled her otherwise air of severity in a navy-blue tailored suit and plain pale blue cotton shirt.
Casper could easily imagine taking his time kissing and enjoying those pillowy lips. Or, even better, feeling them wrapped around his—
“Do you have a problem with a woman being assigned as lead on your security detail, Mr. Kingston?” those delicious lips now challenged.
“I don’t have a problem with women for any reason. What I do have a problem with is being assigned a security detail at all!” He gave his brothers and Adam another narrow-eyed glance. “Especially when I was brought here under the false pretense of meeting with a potential client.”
“That isn’t a false pretense,” Adam dismissed. “We just asked you to come into the office half an hour earlier than we’re expecting Morozov to arrive for his appointment.”
Casper gave a disgusted shake of his head. “Why are we even considering taking him on as a client? Every piece of information on him makes it obvious he’s a Russian oligarch who robbed his people blind and then left the country. He’s got more money stashed away in offshore bank accounts than he could possibly spend in a dozen lifetimes.”
“No one said we’re taking him on as a client,” Sinclair dismissed.
“Then why—”
“Casper, stop trying to distract us from the original subject,” Adam rasped.
Sinclair nodded in agreement. “If you recall—which I know you do—when we visited you in hospital after the accident, we discussed the fact that someone is obviously targeting you,” he reminded. “I accept that until the accident, it was only small stuff…puncturing your tires, scratches on the paintwork. Things you said you didn’t think were worth mentioning and were easily fixed.” The expression on Sinclair’s face told him his oldest brother didn’t agree with that decision. “But we all now know how quickly that situation escalated.”
“So much so, they almost succeeded in killing you,” Max reminded angrily.
Casper inwardly admitted that, at the time, he’d found the punctured tires and scratches nothing more than an irritation. The deliberate vandalism had always happened when he left his car outside a club or restaurant or a private residence in London if he was spending the night with someone, rather than parking the car in a secure car park. At the time, he had reasoned that it was London, and these things were bound to happen in a city.
The initial petty damage certainly hadn’t seemed worth mentioning to the rest of his family, and his mechanic and friend, Mike Somers, had always been able to fix the problem within hours.
He and Mike had been at university together, the hacker and the guy who hadn’t seen an engine he couldn’t fix or hotwire. The two of them had found the latter very useful on the morning they’d decided to move the porter’s car across the university quad and into the narrow archway, which was the only entrance into that part of the university.
The dean hadn’t been as amused, but he’d never managed to discover who was responsible, so the crime went unpunished.
After university Mike had taken his natural talent with engines and opened his own workshop and garage, where he now serviced only high-end cars such as Ferraris, Porsches, and Jaguars. His young sister Rachel acted as his receptionist. Hopefully, Casper’s Jaguar was on its way to that workshop right now.
