“I’m fine, thanks. It’s nothing,” she says.
“That’s not nothing,” Sullivan barks. “Jesus, why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because you always overreact, like you are now,” she snaps.
“No one’s ever done anything like that before, Sinclair,” Mal adds. “We’re just looking out for you.”
Sinclair folds her arms, her lips clamped together.
“It’s not the first time, is it?” I ask, unease bubbling inside my chest from her tense posture.
She shifts in the seat. “They’ve never damaged my car before. Usually they just leave a note under the wiper.”
“Fucking hell,” Sullivan snaps, pushing his hands into his pant pockets and turning away.
My throat dries up at the fear radiating from him. It might look like anger to everyone else, but I know my son. He’s been scared of something else happening to our family ever since he saw his mother and brother die in front of him.
“What kind of notes?” Mal asks.
Sinclair shrugs. “Just ones saying I should watch my back. Or that I’m not as special as everyone thinks I am. Stuff like that. I get nice ones too.” She brightens. “Someone left me a flower and told me I nailed the runway last week.”
“Jesus Christ,” I husk out.
Sullivan turns and meets my eyes. A darkness swirls in his, a flash of the pain I know he fights so hard to conceal so he looks like the strong one. The oldest of the three. A role he’s always taken seriously, even before we lost them both.
“It’s fine, Dad. It’s?—”
“It’s not fine.” I cut Sinclair off and turn my attention to Denver whose face is like thunder as he stares at her.
“Denver?”
His jaw clenches and he takes his eyes from Sinclair and meets mine.
“From now on, until we work out who’s been sending Sinclair these threats and find out what Neil is doing here, you’re with Sinclair.”
“Yes, Boss.” He nods.
“What?” Sinclair gasps. “What doeswith memean?”
“It means he’s your personal bodyguard as of now.” I point my finger at the floor to make my point. “You don’t go anywhere without him.”
“No!” She stands from her seat and glares at me.
“Yes.”
Her mouth flaps and she looks around the room for support. Sullivan nods and Mal wisely keeps quiet. Hallie offers her a sympathetic smile.
“Dad,” she begs, “not him. Please. I’ll take Killian or Jenson… but not him.”
“Denver’s the best we have.”
She doesn’t bother to hide the disgust in her voice. “It’ll be like being babysat by a gorilla. He barely talks, just grunts. At least Killian’s interesting, and Jenson’s fun.”
“You’ve got Denver.”
“My life is over,” she mutters.
“Don’t be so dramatic.” Sullivan sighs, the earlier fear I saw in him lessening as he looks at Denver and gives him a curt nod.
