Maddox turns his chair to face me, takes in my clenched fists. “Doesn't it strike you as odd? He was gone for months. Emma gets involved with you, and he magically finds her apartment in a city of millions?”
The logic cuts through my anger. I think of the paparazzi photos from the fire. Emma and me, standing together in the smoke, splashed across every tabloid.
“The photos,” I mutter. “He could have seen her in the press coverage. Figured out where she was.”
“Maybe.” Maddox's eyes are steady. “Or maybe someone made sure he saw them. Someone who knows exactly which buttons to push to get you distracted.”
Before I can respond, the intercom on Maddox's desk crackles.
“Mr. Rhodes?” It's Jenny from reception. “There are some... gentlemen downstairs. They didn't want to come up, but they said you'd want to meet them.”
I glance at Maddox. He raises an eyebrow.
“Tell them I'll be right down.”
The elevator deposits me in the underground garage. Three bikes are parked in the visitor section, engines still ticking as they cool. Rex leans against his Harley, arms crossed. Next to him, a man I haven't met. Tall as me but built like a wall, shaved head, tattoos crawling up his neck and disappearing under his cut. The patches mark him as Sergeant at Arms.
Rex straightens when he sees me. “Rhodes. Figured we'd save you the trip.” He nods toward the bigger man. “This is Tank.”
Tank doesn't offer a handshake. Takes me in with a slow, assessing look. The kind that's measuring threat level, not making friends. Whatever he sees, he gives a short nod.
“Rex says you've got a situation.”
“My girl has an ex. He showed up at her apartment last night. Put his hands on her.” I keep my voice level. “I need someone who can make sure that doesn't happen again.”
Tank's jaw tightens atput his hands on her. “He still breathing?”
“For now.”
Something shifts in his expression. “Tell me about him.”
I give him the short version. James. The history of abuse. How he found her in a new city.
Tank listens without interrupting. When I finish, he nods slowly. “I'll need her schedule. Workplace, home, anywhere she goes regular. I'll get a feel for the layout. Vulnerabilities.” His eyes meet mine. “She won't know I'm there unless she needs to.”
“That's what I want.”
Rex pushes off his bike. “Tank's the best we've got. Doesn't spook. Doesn't ask questions that aren't his business.” He tilts his head toward me. “He’s doing this as a favor to the Prez.”
“I appreciate this.”
Tank is already on his bike. “She's covered, Rhodes. You have my word.”
They ride out, the rumble of their engines echoing off the concrete. I watch them go, feeling something loosen in my chest. Emma has protection now. Real protection.
My phone buzzes. Dylan.
Reminder: Lunch with Mrs. Hammond. Le Vallois. 12:30.
I'd forgotten. My mother's quarterly check-in, scheduled weeks ago. The dutiful son performance she requires to maintain appearances.
I check my watch. If I leave now, I can make a stop first. I take the Ducati. I need the wind and the roar to drown out the noise in my head.
The phone store takes fifteen minutes. I pay cash for a new device and pocket it before heading to the restaurant. Dylan doesn't need to know about this one. No one does. Until I figure out who's feeding my father information, I'm keeping a line open that can't be traced back through my assistant.
I weave through traffic, park on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, still wearing my leather jacket over my dress shirt. Helena will have to deal with it.
She's already seated when I arrive. Immaculate in cream-colored silk. She offers her cheek for a kiss before gesturing for me to sit.
