My brain screeched to a halt. "He's staying at my apartment?"
"You got shot at two days ago. Someone's watching you. They know where you live." Morty's voice softened slightly. "Charlie, come on. Be smart. For once in your life, be smart instead of stubborn."
I hated this. Hated that he was right. Hated that I'd been looking over my shoulder for three weeks, jumping at shadows, sleeping with a baseball bat next to my bed. Hated that someone had made me feel afraid in my own home.
But I hated the idea of a babysitter more.
I looked at Dominic Knight—former-Marine intensity packed into tactical gear and judgment.
"If you blow my covers or scare off my sources, I'm firing you."
"You didn't hire me. You can't fire me."
"Then I'll make your life so miserable you'll quit."
The corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Close enough to be infuriating. "Looking forward to it."
MY APARTMENT FELT SMALLERwith him in it.
He'd followed me home in a black SUV that screamed federal agent or mob boss—I wasn't sure which. I'd unlocked the door, half-hoping the sight of my disaster-zone studio would make him reconsider.
No such luck.
He stepped inside, closed the door, and locked both deadbolts without comment. Then he moved through the space like he was conducting a search, checking the windows, the closet, the bathroom. Checking. Scanning. Never still.
"Do you mind?" I tossed my bag on the couch, suddenly aware of how exposed everything was. My unmade bed in the corner. The wall of disguises that made me look like I hada personality disorder. The empty takeout containers I hadn't thrown away. "I already cleaned up the crime scene, thanks."
"Your locks are decent. Windows are a weak point. Fire escape access is a problem." He moved to the window with the new glass—the one that had caught a bullet two days ago—and tested the latch. "You need sensors. Cameras. Better lighting in the alley."
"I'll add it to my list of things I can't afford."
He turned to face me, expression giving nothing away. "Heartline will cover security upgrades. That's included."
"How generous."
"It's practical. Can't protect a client in a space that's already compromised."
Client. Right. That's what I was. Not a person. A job.
I grabbed a blanket from the closet and threw it at him. "Couch is yours. Bathroom's there. Don't touch my stuff."
He caught the blanket without flinching. "I'll need access to your files. Case details. List of people who might want you dead."
"That'll take a while."
"Then we'll start tomorrow."
"Great. Can't wait." I headed for my bed, then stopped and turned back. He was still standing there, watching me with those cool gray eyes. "One rule."
"What's that?"
"Try to keep up, Marine."
This time, he definitely smiled. Small. Dangerous. The kind of smile that made my stomach do something stupid.
"Yes, ma'am."
I crawled into bed, pulled the covers over my head, and tried not to think about the fact that a man who looked like walking danger was sleeping fifteen feet away.
