He checks his watch as he starts the engine.
“You need to be at Spring Studios by ten, and we still need to go back to your apartment first. We’re behind schedule.”
Then he pulls out into the traffic and doesn’t speak to me again for the rest of the drive.
5
DENVER
Sinclair’s apartmentis decorated in pinks, golds, and creams. It’s delicate and feminine, and Monty has a dog bed shaped like a throne in the living area. It has Sinclair’s personality stamped all over it. I’ve been inside it before, but never for long. That’s going to change now that I’m assigned to be with her every time she steps outside her front door.
I stand inside the open living space, mentally checking off all of the electronic devices. There aren’t any I haven’t already checked for bugs, so that’s one good piece of news.
The sound of the shower running echoes up the hallway as I pull out my phone and text Killian.
Me: SitRep.
Killian: Neil’s checked himself into the Lanceford. Doesn’t appear to be doing much at the moment except meeting up with one old buddy we already have a file on. Some guy he worked with years ago. Nothing that raises concerns.
Me: Good. Keep watching him.
Killian: Will do, Boss.
I pocket my phone. A situational report with nothing of concern should ease the tension in my shoulders, but it doesn’t. Until we know why Elaina’s ex-lover is in New York and rule him out as the person who has been targeting Sinclair, we can’t afford to let our guard down. It only takes one second for someone to make a move. And if you don’t see it coming, the consequences can be devastating.
A door down the hallway opens and Sinclair walks into the room dressed in white sweatpants and a hoodie, a pair of sunglasses on top of her head. She’s carrying a large bag and drops it onto the floor.
“You could have sat down, you know? Or helped yourself to a snack or something. We’ll be at the show for hours.”
She rests a hand on a table as she pulls on a pair of sneakers.
“I’m good,” I reply, waiting until she’s finished before I pick her bag up.
“Suit yourself, but don’t say I didn’t warn you when you’re starving later.”
I follow Sinclair inside the venue of the runway show. There’s a security search area set up where bags are being checked and some people are getting patted down.
“It’s worse on the way out,” she whispers. “The designer had some pieces stolen and copied. Now he insists anyone withbackstage access goes through this. But he’s a genius and his pieces are to die for, so we all put up with it.”
She steps forward and opens her bag, letting the security guy check inside. He nods and then beckons me forward.
“He’s with me,” Sinclair says. “He’s my bodyguard.”
The security guy studies me. “You carrying?”
“One,” I reply.
He jerks his chin, and I unbutton my jacket, pulling it aside so he can see the gun in a holster at my hip.
“You’ll need to check it into a locker.”
“Not going to happen,” I reply calmly.
Sinclair’s eyes dart between the two of us, then back to the gun. “Den?—”
“She doesn’t come in without me. I don’t come in without this.”
I hold the security guy’s eyes. Sinclair’s the most well-known model they have in the show today. There’s no way he’ll want to tell his boss that he’s the reason she doesn’t turn up.
