"What's that?"
Her eyes twinkle with mischief. "When you figure out what you want, take it with both hands."
She winks and slips out the door, leaving me alone with possibilities I'd never dared to imagine before tonight. Possibilities that simultaneously terrify and exhilarate me.
Outside, the night deepens. Somewhere in the house, I hear distant footsteps, one of the guys switching shifts or checking doors. Even that small sound makes my pulse slow, like my body recognizes safety before my mind does.
24
DECLAN
The air at the botanical gardens smells like damp earth, crushed leaves, and distant roses. It should be peaceful. It isn't.
The sun beats down on my neck, but I don't move from my position. Hours I've been standing here, watching Jade pose among exotic plants and ornamental ponds of the Botanical Gardens. Hours of maintaining my vigilance while fighting the knowledge that soon, I won't have the right to protect her anymore.
The stalker's been caught. The threat neutralized. My job, our job, is technically done.
Ethan hasn't said as much yet, but I know my oldest friend. He's already fielding calls about potential new clients, high-profile politicians needing security for upcoming campaigns. It's good business sense. Cross Security can't afford to keep a three-man team on a single client when the danger has passed, especially when that client only hired us for a specific threat.
Mateo slouches against a nearby tree, scrolling through his phone, occasionally scanning the perimeter. His casual posture belies the alertness I know he maintains at all times. He's been different since Bali. Quieter. More focused.
I know why. The same reason Ethan's been brooding more than usual. The same reason I've barely slept these past few nights.
And that reason is now standing at the center of an elaborate flower display, copper hair gleaming in the sunlight, her slender body draped in some flowing green fabric that matches her eyes.
Even after weeks of guarding her, I still find myself caught off-guard by her beauty. Not just the obvious physical perfection that's made her famous, but something deeper. Resilience. A hidden strength most people never see beneath the polished exterior.
I've seen it, though. Witnessed her quiet determination, her hard-won independence, her careful kindness to those who work for her. Noticed how she remembers the names of every staff member, asks after their families, ensures they're treated with respect.
And I've seen her vulnerability too. The nights she doesn't sleep. The way she tenses when men stand too close behind her. The careful walls she's built to keep the world at a distance.
I understand walls. I've built plentyof my own.
The photographer calls for a break, and Jade steps carefully off the platform, accepting a bottle of water from her assistant. Her gaze drifts across the gardens, finding me in my position by the Japanese maple. A small smile curves her lips, there and gone in an instant, but enough to make something twist in my chest.
I don't deserve that smile. Not after the things I've done. The mistakes I've made. The time I've served.
She kissed Ethan. Nearly broke him with it, from what I could tell from his haunted expression afterward. And Mateo, something happened between them in Bali too, something neither of them has spoken about but that hangs in the air between them like electricity before a storm.
I don't feel jealousy about this, which surprises me. If anything, I feel... understanding. Of course she'd be drawn to them. Ethan with his steady leadership, his unwavering moral compass. Mateo with his easy charm, his open heart. They're good men. Whole men.
They know how to handle beauty and softness. I'm not built like them. I'm not made for easy affection.
Not someone with my past, my darkness, my hands that have done violence I can never fully atone for.
The shoot resumes, stretching through the afternoon. I maintain my position, alert to every movement in the surrounding areas as visitors wander through the gardens. Most recognize Jade, stopping to stare or whisper behindtheir hands. Some brazenly take photos with their phones. I glare until they move along.
Finally, as the sun begins its descent, the photographer calls it a wrap. The crew begins packing equipment while Jade slips behind a screen to change back into her own clothes, simple black pants and a white t-shirt that somehow looks more elegant on her than designer gowns do on most women.
Jade thanks the crew, gracious even in exhaustion, and starts walking toward me. Her posture relaxes the moment she's in my orbit, like she knows she can stop performing.
Before she reaches me, a man steps into her path. Mid-thirties, khaki shorts, tourist-looking, with a little girl, maybe five or six, clutching his hand.
Instantly, I'm moving, crossing the space in long strides.
"Excuse me, Jade," the man is saying as I reach them. "My daughter's a huge fan. Could we possibly get a quick selfie?"
"Ms. Sinclairdoesn't do selfies," I state flatly, stepping slightly in front of Jade, my bulk creating a barrier between her and the stranger.
