I let my eyes drift half-closed, watching the movie through the filter of my lashes, and let myself feel warm, safe and almost, almost home.
Chapter Thirteen
Theo
I was nursing a coffee in the lobby when I caught sight of her through the glass doors. Jasmine stood just outside the entrance, her slim frame wrapped in that oversized peacoat we'd found her in, despite the warmer clothes now hanging in her closet. The morning light hit her face as she tilted her head back to look up at the building's impossible height, and something in my chest clenched. She looked so small out there, so exposed, and every protective instinct I'd spent years honing kicked into overdrive.
The coffee cup was warm in my hand, almost too hot, but I barely felt it. My attention was fixed on her through the glass, watching the way she hugged herself against the winter chill, the way her breath fogged the air in front of her face. She'd ventured outside for the first time since we'd brought her here. That was progress, I supposed. Or maybe it was just cabin fever finally overriding her fear of the outside world.
I set the coffee down on a nearby table and moved closer to the doors, positioning myself where I could see her clearly but wouldn't be immediately visible if she turned around. Not stalking. Just... monitoring. Making sure she was safe. That's what I told myself anyway, even as I acknowledged the lie. I wanted to be near her. Wanted to make sure nothing threatenedher. Wanted to see that expression on her face, the one where wonder briefly overtook the fear that usually lived in her green eyes.
The cold pressed against the glass doors, and I could see frost patterns forming at the edges of the panes. Winter in the city was brutal, all sharp edges and frozen concrete. The kind of cold that seeped into your bones and didn't let go. Jasmine had lived through months of that on the streets, had sung through it, had survived it somehow. The thought made my jaw clench.
She shifted her weight, favoring her right ankle. The left one was still healing, still giving her trouble despite the medical attention we'd arranged. I'd noticed her limping less over the past few days, but the injury was deeper than we'd initially thought. Another thing that made me want to find whoever had hurt her and make them understand what pain really meant.
I forced myself to breathe, to let go of the anger that wanted to surface. That wasn't helpful. Wasn't what she needed from me.
Through the glass, I watched her turn slowly, taking in the street, the other buildings, the flow of morning traffic. Her shoulders were hunched, her defensive posture making her look even smaller. But her eyes were tracking everything, cataloging, assessing. Street survival instincts that probably wouldn't fade for a long time, if ever.
Then I saw him.
The man appeared from around the corner of the building, moving fast, his gait purposeful in a way that immediately set off alarm bells. Camera in hand, a professional rig with a long lens. Paparazzi. My muscles tensed before my brain fully processed the threat.
He was on Jasmine before she registered his presence.
The camera flash went off, bright and intrusive, and I was already moving, pushing through the glass doors into the sharp bite of winter air.
“Excuse me, miss!” The reporter’s voice was aggressive, demanding, the kind of tone that tolerated no refusal. “Who are you? Are you the record company's new pet project?”
Another flash. Another invasion of her space.
Jasmine froze completely. I saw it happen, the way every muscle in her body locked up, and her eyes went wide with fear that came from trauma. Her breathing changed, became shallow and rapid, visible in the fog of her exhaled breath.
The reporter moved closer, his camera raised for another shot. “What's your connection to Kade Killion? Are you his new acquisition? How much is he paying you?”
The questions were designed to provoke, to get a reaction that would make a good story. And Jasmine was giving him one, but not the kind he probably wanted. She was shutting down, her body language screaming distress, her hands coming up in a defensive gesture that made my blood pressure spike.
I covered the distance between us in four long strides, my body moving on autopilot, every protective instinct I'd ever cultivated laser-focused on getting between her and this threat. I didn't run. Didn't need to. I just moved with purpose, my broad shoulders clearing the space, and suddenly I was there, my body a wall between Jasmine and the camera.
“Back off,” I said, keeping my voice level despite the anger burning in my gut. The scar on my face pulled tight with the tension in my jaw.
The reporter lowered his camera slightly, taking in my size, my position, the unmistakable message my posture was sending. But he didn't back away. They never did, not immediately. They were used to pushing boundaries, to taking what they wanted, regardless of who got hurt.
He laughed. “Ah, Theo Danvers, are you her bodyguard now?” he asked, already raising the camera again, trying to angle around me to get another shot of Jasmine.
“Do I know you?”
“No, but everyone knows you. Kade’s head of security and number one pack dog.” I growled. He was pissing me off. “Tell me, Theo. Does Killion hire protection for all his projects?”
I shifted my position, blocking his angle, my hands loose at my sides but ready. I could smell him now, cheap cologne and stale cigarettes mixing with the exhaust fumes from passing traffic. The scent made my nose wrinkle.
“I'm someone who's suggesting you try official channels for interviews,” I said, injecting a note of dark humor into my voice that didn't quite mask the threat underneath. “You know, those things where you call ahead, make an appointment, act like a professional instead of ambushing people on the street.”
The camera flash went off again, this time aimed at me. Fine. Let him photograph me. Better me than her.
Behind me, I could hear Jasmine's breathing, still too fast, edged with panic. The sound of it made my protective instincts ratchet up another level, made my hands curl into fists before I forced them to relax. Violence wasn't the answer here. Not yet, anyway.
“Public sidewalk,” the reporter said, smirking. “Freedom of the press. I have every right to be here.”
