Technically, she’s right. The safe house is impenetrable, but the worst thing I can do at this point is let my guard down, regardless of the fact that there hasn’t been any indication of a threat toward her since the initial stalking report.
Knowing someone had followed her, watched her every move, even zoomed in on her to snap pictures while she was sleeping in her own bed—that shit made my skin crawl, and myblood boil. But now that I know her and care about her, after seeing the effects firsthand, I want to kill the bastard who’s causing her nightmares.
I’ve been in the security business my entire life, but it’s not surprising, considering that my dad started Lawless Protection Agency. Both my two older brothers and I grew up with a protective streak in our blood and a need for justice in our souls. Those instincts are what make us good at our jobs…really fucking good.
But with Annie, most days don’t feel like work, and she doesn’t seem like just a job. When she forgets to be scared, she’s funny and kind, curious and sweet, and in an odd way, she challenges me like nobody else ever has.
She’s also way too easy to mess with. Sparring with her has become a favorite pastime, so when I glance over the screen to find her glaring at me with those striking green eyes of hers, I tease, “You really should start your day with something other than sugar.”
“Oh my God, Ben.”
“Oh my God, Annie.”
“You’resoannoying,” she whines, and I bite back a laugh at how easy it is to push her buttons.
I look down at the screen, and something hits me square on the mouth. I run my tongue across my lips and taste artificial fruit.
That brat just hit me with a Froot Loop.
“At least I’m not annoyingandimmature.” I toss the piece of cereal in the air and catch it in my mouth with a crunch.
She pulls her shoulders back and raises her eyebrows smugly. “It’s good, huh?”
“No.” Froot Loops were my favorite as a kid, but I don’t eat that crap now.
She scoffs. “Liar. I know you like it. I can tell by that look on your face.”
“What look?”
“The one that says you’re too stubborn to admit I’m right, and you really crave a big, huge, ginormous bowl of fruity, sugary goodness all for yourself.”
I’m doing a shit job at being totally professional because she’s starting to know me better than I realize. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She shrugs. “More for me, I guess.”
I look at the time and tell her, “Finish up. We gotta go.” I have backup for a few hours every couple of weeks so we can go shopping, and we’re going to be late if we don’t get a move on.
She slurps another bite. “You should eat first.”
“I already had a protein shake.”
“Blah, gross.” She points her spoon at me. “I don’t know how you can drink that crap. Carbs aren’t going to kill you, ya know?”
“Annie, enough. We’re going to be late.” I raise my voice, but when she looks down and twists the ring on her finger, I check myself. That gold band with a single amber stone was her mother’s. It’s one of the only things Annie has of her mom’s, and it’s not only precious to her but it’s also like a security blanket. It took a long time to get Annie comfortable enough with me to relax, let alone joke around and trust me, so the last thing I want is to make her feel like she can’t be herself. “Sorry, but we needed to leave five minutes ago. Are you almost done?”
Her answer is to stomp her five-foot-four ass to the sink, where she drops her bowl so hard that milk droplets fly out. She hastens to the door that leads to the garage with her long blond hair swaying behind her, then stabs her arms into her sweater.
She’s smart enough to know she can’t just take off, so I double-check the front door locks first. I need to do a sweep of the garage, and she moves aside as I round the corner. Herfingers brush over mine, and a strange, warm sensation zings up my arm, like the kind of shock you feel when you wear socks on carpet and touch metal. Annie must feel it, too, because she inhales a harsh breath. Crap, did that hurt her? “You okay?”
She blinks once, twice, then a third time, and I’m about to repeat my question, but then she nods.
I clear the garage, and when I lift my chin, she gives me a wide berth as she climbs into the SUV and straps her seat belt into place. “Ready?” I ask.
She crosses her arms and turns her back to me as I turn the engine over and roll down the driveway. She keeps ignoring me even after I pull onto the country road and turn on the radio, which happens to be playing a new release by Andi Adams, one of her favorite artists.
When she doesn’t sing along, I sigh because, damn, is this girl stubborn. “Sorry I yelled at you, but I’ve gotta stay on schedule. You know that.”
Her shoulders raise a fraction, and the silent treatment continues for several miles, longer than I thought she’d hold out.
