His gaze flicked back to hers, unreadable. “The shutters are old and worn, but they can be secured. Not that they’d stop a bullet. The dock is a safety risk. Another point of access to the house. Although for its limited view from the road, the fact that it’s a private rental and not listed on the property share websites, it will suffice, and at the moment, it’s secure.”
Sighing heavily under her breath, she shook her head. “Of course, it is.” But when her eyes strayed to the water again, she let herself imagine the sound of waves against the dock at night, the stars mirrored in the lake, and Blake’s steady presence between her and whatever dangers waited beyond the reeds. A warrior challenging windmills? She smiled. No, granted, he was a warrior. A big, strong, sexual knight in a stretched t-shirt and tight jeans who wasn’t some work of fiction jousting windmills. The monsters tracking her were real and not the kind Don Quixote fought. Blake was, however, challenging her to keep her eyes off him. She kept looking at the water and wondered if he snuck looks at her the way she did at him? And with that,she slapped herself back into reality and followed her jean-clad warrior further inside the cottage.
Elise’s heels clicked softly against oak floors that gleamed in the fading light. The air smelled faintly of woodsmoke. A stone fireplace dominated one wall of the sitting room, and mismatched shelves leaned under the weight of paperbacks in Hungarian and German. Woven rugs softened the wood underfoot, their colors muted with age.
“It’s … cozy,” she murmured, trailing her fingers across the back of a worn armchair. She turned, expecting Blake to be right behind her, but he wasn’t admiring the view. He was checking the locks on the windows, testing the latch with a sharp tug before moving to the next.
“Charming shutters,” she said, half to herself, half to him. “Lovely lake view. And a man making sure no serial killers are hiding in the curtains. Very romantic.”
He didn’t even glance her way. “Stay here.” His voice was low, firm, as he crossed into the kitchen.
Yesterday, Elise would’ve rolled her eyes, but having someone come to your hotel room in the middle of the night stopped that childish behavior in its tracks. Instead, she wandered farther into the house. The kitchen sat just beyond, small but inviting, with cream-colored cupboards and a farmhouse sink under a wide window that framed the view of the reeds and water. A bowl of lemons sat on the counter, their bright yellow sharp against the pale wood. She picked one up and smiled at the heavy ceramic fake. No wonder they looked so perfect.
Upstairs, she heard floorboards creak. She followed, ignoring his order to stay put. The staircase led to a narrow landing and two bedrooms. The first had a wide window overlooking the lake. Elise stepped inside, her hand brushing over the quiltfolded at the foot of the bed. From here, she could see the dock stretching out, reeds shifting in the wind like a sea of green.
Blake appeared in the doorway, his shoulders filling the frame, expression unreadable. “Clear.”
She arched a brow. “Do you expect me to check under the bed, too, or will you handle that part?”
His mouth twitched, almost but not quite a smile. “I already did.”
“You know, most people would call this a getaway. A retreat. Now, I feel like it should be a bunker.” Elise sank onto the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath her, and watched as Blake crossed to the window, opened it to close the shutters with deliberate precision, before securing the latch again.
“A bunker that’s safe only if no one finds it.”
She studied him in the dim light, his silhouette hard against the fading sky. He was a man built for more than threats against some random reporter, and yet here he was, standing guard over her in a rented cottage by a quiet lake. She should have felt caged.
Instead, she felt … safe. A fleeting memory of home and both her parents at the table at dinner floated through her mind. The wind had been howling outside, the power had been out, and the candles had flickered, but she’d felt safe. When was the last time she’d felt like that? Since she’d left after her parents had died? The knowledge of safety had lived behind locked doors and through cautious interactions.
Now, as she glanced over at Blake, just sitting with this man, she was wrapped in safety. The feeling of certainty that nothing could happen to her.
Her voice softened. “What do you do, Blake? For Guardian?”
He blinked and looked at her. “I eliminate problems.”
“So, a troubleshooter?” She tried to grasp what his job looked like.
“That is a limited view of what I do, but, yes, when troubling incidents arise, I’m sent in to ensure they don’t continue.”
She frowned. “What kind of incidents?”
“That is above your pay grade.”
She laughed and shook her head. “What does that mean?”
“It means I have signed documents stating I don’t discuss what I do with anyone except my superiors, who have been vetted and are in possession of the highest security clearances known to man.” He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms over his chest. “Guardian Security is a private organization, but it is federally recognized; therefore, we maintain governmental clearances and appropriate checks and balances.”
“Tell me more about Guardian, please. I’ve worked the international beat for over five years, and I don’t remember hearing about Guardian.”
“We’re a US-based company, so I don’t doubt you haven’t heard much. About ten or twelve years ago, our company underwent a major restructuring due to incidents beyond our control. We’ve rebuilt and become more linear, stronger, and more adept at transforming our assets into what we need when we need them.”
She blinked at him. “Wait, I remember something about an office building being blown up in Washington. That was Guardian, wasn’t it? A lot of deaths. It collapsed, right?” He nodded, and she continued, “I thought that organization disbanded.” She frowned and patted her bag. “Crap, I don’t have my computer. But seriously, I thought it fell into sections and basically stopped existing.”
“Not so much.” He stood away from the ledge. “I’ll bring up your suitcase. You can take a shower and change. We’ll head out and grab some food. There was a small place back about a mile.”
“Kilometer,” she corrected him with a smile.
“Noted.” He turned and went down the creaky stairs. After taking off her coat, she looked out the slats of the shutter and saw him going to the car. His broad, strong shoulders under the t-shirt he wore were muscled. He was attractive, there was no doubt about it, but the most alluring aspect of him was his confidence. Okay, that and his shoulders, that waist, his nice butt … she could go on and on, but … she sighed, the fact that she believed every word out of his mouth because he believed it was true. His confidence was a waterfall that she had no way of avoiding. It seemed to protect her and dull the outside world.
