I get up, the floor creaking underneath me, and shoot a glance back at the bedroom to make sure I haven’t woken her.
When the coast is clear, I slip out into the night silently. I’m damn good at being sneaky and know what to look for when somebody else is doing distance reconnaissance like this.
I go over to where I saw the glinting binoculars and notice a lot of gum wrappers wadded up in the grass. Big Game Bubble—distinctive enough that it might come in handy later when I’m figuring out who this guy is.
While I’m down there, the scent of wet leaves from the sprinklers clinging to me, I check out the soggy earth for boot impressions.
Sure enough, I find footprints. But they aren’t boots. No tread to be seen. Just the outline of a dress shoe.
This guy wasn’t a professional. Just somebody Teddy had keeping an eye on things.
It doesn’t bode well that Teddy has people on his staff coming out here to keep tabs on what’s happened. I’m sure word has already made it back to him that I’ve broken the contract agreement.
I also have no doubt that Boss is going to be pissed when he finds out I angered a client. My record is pretty much spotless at Sentinel Security. Now, there’s going to be a huge smudge all over my ledger.
I take a picture of the shoe print and stuff my phone back in my pocket as I walk across the street to Claire’s house.
Part of me is thinking that I shouldn’t be doing this. I have no right stepping into Claire’s life, and if anything, it’s jeopardizing my career.
A different part of me—one that has turned out to be much larger and louder—is demanding that I ensure nothing more happens to that poor girl.
I don’t care what her job might be. No means fucking no. And Teddy touched her when she said no. She had to kick him with her goddamn heels to get him off.
The next time I see the guy, I have serious plans to grab him by the throat and squeeze until he begs me for mercy. And even then, I might not give it.
I take a moment outside on Claire’s porch in the cool night air, trying to steady my thoughts. I’m barreling toward something really chaotic and probably irrational.
Right now, I’m trying my damnedest to fight every urge to go into her bedroom and tell Claire that I can make her feel better. Cared for.Tended to.
Namely, with my head between her thighs.
That’s enough, Alec. You cannot be doing this. Off-limits. You’re basically taking her job pro bono. That makes her essentially a client, and you are aware of the rules. So, stop.
I release a heavy breath into the night air, watching it fog ever so slightly as the temperature has cooled. I put my hand on the doorknob, steadying myself so I can go back inside.
As I push into her townhome apartment, I lock the door behind me—just as a blood-curdling scream rips through the space.
Everything changes in an instant.
My vision narrows to a single point. The hallway. Her door. The space between me and danger. My heart slams against my ribs, and suddenly I’m not in Claire’s apartment anymore.
I’m back in the desert. Sand and blood and the screams of men I couldn’t save.
Move. Move. Move.
My legs eat up the distance before my brain catches up. I’m sprinting down the short hallway, my hand already reaching for a weapon I’m not carrying. Muscle memory from a hundred missions that ended in gunfire and grief.
The door is still open. There’s a window in her room. I didn’t check it thoroughly enough.Stupid. Careless. Just like before.
My pulse is roaring in my ears. The edges of my vision are going dark.
Get to her. Get to her. Don’t let it happen again.
When I burst into Claire’s room, I’m ready to kill whoever’s inside with my bare hands.
But no one’s there.
Just Claire, sitting up in the middle of her bed with her eyes wide and her breath sawing in and out.
