That evening, I’m standing in the foyer of the Harlow house, after dismissing the unit sitting at the end of thedriveway. A young girl who looks to be about twelve years old asks me to stay put while she goes to get ‘Aunt Kinley’.
The house is vast. From what I was able to research on the ranch, it’s twelve hundred acres and used to be a cattle ranch, but changed to a horse ranch, training, and boarding setup a couple of generations ago. It’s been in the family for over one hundred and fifty years, and I think each generation adds on to the house to make it bigger.
The current owner, Clive Harlow, has six children, and his wife died after the birth of their youngest child. The oldest, Grayson Harlow, has never left the ranch and stands to inherit. He also lost his wife in a car accident almost eight years ago and has a daughter from that marriage.
The other two sons enlisted when they were eighteen, one forcefully after getting in trouble with the law into the Army, and the other went into the Air Force. Because they both moved into higher, elite levels of the military, information on them is sparse.
I met Mason when I was here last night, he looks and behaves like military, and from what I gathered, his wife and toddler son live on the property. The guy, Jax, who was next to him in the hall, is also military, but I know nothing about him except that he is married to Mason’s sister, and they have infant twins.
Aside from Kinley Harlow, who makes a decent living as an artist, and Mason’s sister, Marley, there is the youngest sister, who is a veterinarian who just opened her own practice in Owasso.
As I’m looking around the foyer and the stairs that lead up to the second floor, I’m impressed by the simple grandeur of the home. Everything is wood and it’s bright, warm, and comfortable.
“I want to say it’s good to see you again so soon, Special Agent, but I don’t like to lie.” The deceptively pretty voice thathas been in my head since last night has me turning toward a large doorway that opens to a dining room with a table that seats at least twenty.
Ms. Harlow is leaning against the frame in a pair of linen shorts that look like a very short skirt and a flowy tie-dyed tank top that has a pot leaf in sequins on the front and only comes to the top of the waistband of her shorts. The smallest sliver of a tan stomach is peeking out at me. There’s a little diamond stud hooked into her belly button.
Her blond hair, which was in a ponytail last night, is hanging in big waves around her arms to her waist, and she’s barefoot. She’s crossed her arms over her chest, and one foot is propped on her tan inner thigh like some yoga move or something. Her toenails are just as pink and pretty as they were last night.
My cock jumps in my pants.
I don’t have time for this shit.
Ignoring the blood rushing south, I pull the copy of the signed order from the judge out of my breast pocket and unfold it. Holding it up in front of me, she pushes off the frame and takes a step toward me to tug it from my fingers.
She takes less than a minute to read it, and her eyes narrow as she gets to the bottom. Her pretty, plump lips press together in a tight line, and in one calm blink, those hazel-green orbs slide up to look at me without lifting her head.
Somewhere in the distance, a group of cicadas start to trill together, the rising crescendo a perfect representation of the stifling hot middle of fucking summer, or as some of us like to say, hell.
Sliding my hands into the pockets of my slacks, I cock an eyebrow and smile. “You wanted an order signed by the judge? Your wish is my command, baby.”
CHAPTER FIVE
KINLEY
YOU’VE GOTto be fucking kidding me.
Turning on my sweet as saccharine smile, I lift my eyes to the hot agent standing in front of me, his gun tucked under his arm and his badge hooked on his pants.
I fold the paper and hand it back to him. “I’m sure there are more than enough women closer to home for you to corner and grope, Special Agent Abbot. You didn’t need to go to all this trouble for lil ‘ol me.” I turn on my sarcastic Southern drawl at the end of the statement.
His almost black eyes look back at me with no amusement. Everything about him is serious. From his shiny black shoes and perfectly pleated black slacks that hug his hips, and dark navy button-down neatly tucked into said pants, which he’s rolled up his forearms, exposing tattoos on both arms to his wrists.
Just like last night, his beard is neatly manicured and his dark as night hair, that’s cut into a long fade, is gelled and combed to perfection. In the light of day, his olive-toned skin almost glows golden. The top two buttons of his shirt are open, exposing a spattering of dark hair across a very defined chest. I can’t see his chest within those two buttons, but Icansee the fabric dip and mold to the wide span of impressive pecs under his broad shoulders.
“Trust me, Ms. Harlow, this is standard procedure. No special treatment is being given.”
His poker face is impressive. I’ve never seen a man who could beat my dad or my brother, Gray, but he’s pretty damn good. I wonder if it’s an FBI thing. He looks good while doing it, too.
Crossing my arms back over my chest, I look back at him with a smirk on my face. “So, what does this mean? You plan to hang around here every day?”
His eyes flick over my head to the wall and pause for a second before he blinks away whatever emotion he just tried to hide, and his gaze returns to me. “For the foreseeable future, I’ll be your shadow. At least until the threat is neutralized.”
I’m pretty sure that was irritation he just blinked away. Or anger.
Tipping my lips up, I take a breath and cock an eyebrow. “Wow, that seems like a waste of taxpayer money. I already have all the shadows I need, agent, they’ve been hanging around scaring off perceived ‘threats’ since I hit puberty and discovered boys.”
Ignoring my comment, he continues as if I didn’t just reduce his job to the annoying behavior of a brother. “I would be remiss if I didn’t remind you it would be safer, and more efficient, if I could move you to an undisclosed location for the time-being.”
