“If Andrei gets within a hundred meters of the hotel, we’ll see him. You get a 911 from anyone on the team, you get Sloane somewhere safe. Immediately. We’ll take care of the rest.”On screen, Austin runs a hand through his hair, the exhaustion evident on his face. He and Ripper have been working Zurich time. Wren’s pregnant—three or four months, I think—and her husband, Ryker McCabe, called in Ripper for backup.
“Fuck, Austin. You look like death. What does Mik think about you being up at all hours. Have you slept at all?”
“You’ve been rubbing that shoulder the whole damn phone call. That and looking over at Sloane’s bedroom door.”He stares directly into the camera, frowns, and leans closer. “Fuck me.”
“What?” The impulse to turn off FaceTime and switch to a text only convo hits me like a sledgehammer, but that’ll earn me more shit than taking whatever lumps he’s about to give me right now.
“You do realize the assignment was topretendto be her boyfriend, right? Not actually fall for her?” When I can’t figure out what to say to him after a very tense few seconds, he starts laughing. “Guess I’m going to have to put that in the recruitment packets from now on.”
“I’m keeping it professional. You know I’d never fuck up a job.”
Not on purpose, anyway. Because this one? Totally fucked. Up, back, and sideways.
“Listen, Griff. This business? The stress, the emotional toll it takes on the protector and the target? It cuts through a hell of a lot of the crap you deal with in a ‘normal’ relationship. Forces you to zero in on what’s really important. If you feel something for Sloane—something real—don’t fuck it up. Her safety’s your top priority. Absolutely. That’s the job. But I’d be a Grade A hypocrite if I told younotto fall for the woman. That’s not my call. You’re the only one who can decide if she’s worth forever.”
With a quick glance behind him, Austin’s whole demeanor changes. The stress leaves his shoulders, and a smile tugs at his lips.
“Mik’s home, and I only have two hours with her if I want to stay on Zurich time. Keep your girl safe.”
“Not a girl,” I add, but Pritchard’s already ended the call.
Keeping her safe, I can do. Making her whole again? Not sure I have a chance in hell at that. But I’m going to try.
* * *
By the timeI remove the prosthetic, wash the liners, and hang them up to dry, the hour I promised Sloane is just about over.
I swap out my phone for its backup—keeping a phone charged in the field is damn near impossible, so I carry a couple of clones—and check in with Jacob. He sends me a picture of Marina dancing with some balding executive, having the time of her life.
Jacob: She is not sober.
As long as she’s not careless, Marina can drink as much as she wants. I snag a couple of the bottles of water from the large, silver ice bucket on the bar and tuck them under my arm before knocking on Sloane’s door.
The scents of honey and coconut rush over me when she answers, and her skin is practically glowing. The red rimming her eyes, though, worries me. “Can I come in?”
I left my glasses charging next to the spare phone, and her lips tremble before she steps back. “Did you find the guy? The one following us?”
“Pavel Andrei. Austin’s certain of it. Didn’t get a full facial recognition match, but close enough.”
The velvet bathrobe is already tied tightly around Sloane’s waist, but she double and triple checks the belt before sinking down onto the edge of the bed. “So he’s the one Dimitri is paying to threaten me?”
“He’s involved. Still don’t know who’s sending the messages, but they’re using burners, and Andrei, at least, hasn’t stepped foot into the hotel since the press conference. If he does, I’ll get an alert, and Austin will have this place locked down in under five minutes.” Offering her one of the bottles of water, I use what’s left of my arm to hold the second bottle so I can twist off the cap.
Sloane stares at me for a moment, then shakes her head. “I didn’t realize you’d taken off your arm. I would have opened that for you.”
“You…didn’t realize? It’s pretty obvious. Big void on the left side of my body?”
She’s so honest, so matter-of-fact some times, it’s almost unnerving. But also comforting.
Frowning, she shoots me a look that says, “Well, duh,”before taking a long drink from her bottle. “I was looking at your face, Captain Foot-In-Mouth.”
Fuck me. Even after tonight’s stress, after another threat from the man who made her life hell for—God, I don’t even know how long—she hasn’t shut down completely.
“You remember that?” I ask, leaning against the door jamb.
“I remember everything about last night in the bar.” Setting the bottle of water down, she nods at the bed next to her. “You can sit down.”
There’s nothing I want more than to be close to her, but that’s the problem. I want it too much. “I should let you get some sleep.”
