I nod and burrow down in the quilts, shivering. The guys crowd around me. I fall asleep fast, with my head tucked into someone’s shoulder, and somebody else gently stroking through my hair.
Fifty-Two
Briar
?
I wake up in a tangle of arms and legs. Glen is sleeping with his chest against my back, his lips brushing the inside of my neck. Matt is on my other side, his heavy arm slung over my waist. Something stings in my chest when I realise Kenta isn’t here, but I guess it makes sense. He must be on the morning shift.
I wonder what’s going to happen now the threat has been eliminated. Will the guys loosen up? Will they move onto another job? Of course, I’m still going to need some kind of security, but as long as I’m not being stalked, three ex-SAS soldiers probably won’t be necessary. I could hire a regular close protection officer.
The idea makes my stomach turn. If the guys take on other jobs, they’ll be in danger again. They almost died yesterday, and I know this is far from the most dangerous assignment they've ever had.
But I know I can’t keep them here with me, either. They’d get bored, chaperoning me on shopping tips and keeping the paps at bay while I head to brunch. The last thing I want is for any of them to get bored.
So I don’t really know where that leaves me.
Matt grunts as I carefully extricate myself from his grasp, slipping out of the sofa bed and padding across the thick carpet to the kitchenette. I’m pouring myself a coffee when I see movement on the balcony. Kenta’s sitting in the sun, a book in his lap. I pour a second cup, then go out to join him.
It’s a shockingly beautiful day in LA. The sky is burning blue, completely cloudless, and the city sprawls out beneath us like a movie backdrop. I can already see the morning gridlock starting, tiny coloured cars backing up in long lines filling the roads. It’s hard to believe that the rest of the world is still trundling along, as if the most horrific event of my life didn’t happen last night. It’s kind of comforting. Life goes on.
I touch the top of Kenta’s head. “Morning,” I say, setting his coffee on the table by his elbow.
He puts down his book. “Morning. How do you feel today, sweetheart?”
I roll out my shoulders, considering. Every muscle in my body is sore, and my stitches are painful and itchy. The sticky nausea from last night is finally gone, though, and my headache isn’t too bad, even under the glaring sunlight. “Hungry,” I decide, and he laughs, pulling out his phone.
“I can get a full English here in twenty minutes.”
“Wow,” I drawl. “you reallyarean angel. Budge.” I gently push aside his hands and climb into his lap. He looks surprised for a second, then wraps his arms around me, letting me curl up against him like a cat. I turn my face into the soft fabric of his linen shirt, breathing in the scent of spice. “How areyou?” I mumble.
He looks out over the view. “I’m doing well,” he says lightly. “Just glad that everybody’s okay.”
I glance up at him. There’s something different about him today. Kenta is always reserved, but he seems more distant than usual, like he doesn’t want to look me in the eye. I catch his face and bring his lips to mine for a quick kiss, but he pulls away too soon. It’s like there’s a wall between us.
I snuggle into his chest, reaching for my coffee, and decide not to push it. I’m not the only one who has a terrible event to recover from; he almost got blown up twice, yesterday. He’s probably trying to process that.
We’re silent for a while, watching the city move beneath us. I feel his heart beating steadily under my ear, and fiddle with the buttons on his cuffs.
“What happens now?” I ask eventually. “Will you guys move on to another job?”
“Well, we’ll all have to discuss it together. We would usually stay with the client for a cooling-off period. You’re going to be at the centre of a media frenzy, and events like this can encourage copycats.”
“Copycats?”
He nods. “Unstable people who see how much attention the stalker has attracted, or how close he got to actually killing you, and are inspired to do the same.”
My heart sinks a bit. “Great,” I mutter. “I thought I was finally done with this.”
He strokes a hand tentatively down my back. “Trust me, the threat is much, much lower than actually having a confirmed stalker. It’s all just a precaution, really.”
“Mm.” I take his hand, and he looks down at his rough fingers tangled with mine. His sigh tickles my hair against my cheek.
“After that—I don’t know. I feel ready for a break. I could do with a holiday.”
I frown. “You don’t have to do that for me. If you want to move on to protecting someone else… well, I’m not going to lie, I’ll be a bit jealous, but I’ll get over it.”
He shakes his head. “It wouldn’t be for you. We’re all tired. And if Matt is finally going to do some trauma processing, it would be smart for him to not be holding a gun while he does it. These things often get worse before they get better.”
