“Were you?”
She held his gaze, and despite the anger on her face, he knew he’d hurt her. “Fuck you, John.”
That was the second time he’d heard that in three days, and he didn’t like it any more this go-round. “Can you blame me for thinking that? You used information you saw in that letter in your ‘Lost Platoon of Team Nine’ articles.”
“Five yearsafterthe fact. And onlyafterI was convinced that my brother was dead and the navy wastrying to cover it up, andafterI heard about Team Nine from a few women at a certain bar in Honolulu.” He must have looked surprised. “Your secret team wasn’t as secret as you thought it was—or those women weren’t as deaf and dumb as you thought they were. But some people had figured it out and heard things. And I’m not the only one stirring things up. There’s a woman in Iowa who claims to be pregnant by a SEAL who’s suddenly disappeared.” John grimaced. He’d heard about Travis’s ex from the LC. “To my point: you can’t keep things secret forever.”
“Maybe not, but I don’t want you anywhere near this when the shit hits the fan. God, you were nearly killed less than an hour ago. Someone could be targeting you. I’m not going to stand by and let you get hurt.”
She didn’t respond right away. She was studying his face in a way that made him uncomfortable. It was as if she was looking for something. “Why?”
“What do you mean, why?”
“Why do you care so much?”
“How can you ask that? You’re...” What? What was she? “Brand’s sister,” he finished.
She was a little too quiet, her gaze intense. “I don’t need a big brother, John. I haven’t had one for a long time.” She was wrong about that. “I’ve been fine on my own for a lot of years.”
“Maybe so, but I’m not going to let anything happen to you—not on my watch.” Brand had loved her more than anyone in this world—far more than she realized. John owed it to him, and watching out for her was one promise he would keep. “If you won’t go home, then I’m afraid there is only one solution.”
Her dark eyebrows darted together. “What’s that?”
“I’ll have to stay with you. Consider me your new bodyguard.”
•••
Brittany stared at him, a lump of dread settling slowly to her gut. He had to be kidding. Please tell her he was kidding. “Bodyguard?”
John nodded. “As in never-leave-your-side, up-close-and-personal, twenty-four-seven, stick-to-you-like-glue.”
She got it, and that dread started to slide toward panic. John Donovan in her face all day and... night? No way. He’d drive her crazy. And not an annoyed “you’re bothering me” kind of crazy. A “you are way too good-looking, too overwhelming, and put too much testosterone in the air” kind of crazy. A “you make me think and do stupid things” kind of crazy.
God, she’d actually been wondering if the reason he’d been so upset—the reason he seemed to be so insistent—was because he cared about her. Instead it was some sort of misdirected sense of duty.
For the sake of self-preservation, she needed to get rid of him. She might not be worried about falling in love with him again, but she couldn’t say the same thing about falling into bed with him again. The guy was sex on a stick. “Don’t you think you are overreacting just a little? That guy could have been anyone. There is no reason—”
She was interrupted by the sound of her phone blasting the theme song fromHawaii Five-0. It had seemed like a good idea when she’d done it, but that famous riff had quickly lost its charm. She was too busy—or lazy—to pick a new ringtone. “Sorry. I’d better check this.”
Grateful for the reprieve to clear her head (a common issue when John was hogging all the airspace around her), she dug around in her bag until she found her phone. Pulling it out, she frowned, seeing that it was from her coworker Nancy. She’d given her the number for emergencies.
“Hey,” she said, answering it. “What’s up?”
“I just had a call from the police,” Nancy said, clearly upset. “They were trying to find you, and the landlord told them where you worked.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Your apartment was broken into last night and ransacked.”
Brittany forgot how close John must be watching her and paled. “Ransacked?”
“Badly,” Nancy said. “Cushions and mattress torn apart with a knife. That kind of thing. And...”
Brittany could tell she was trying not to alarm her, but the hesitation wasn’t helping. “And?”
“There was a message on your bedroom mirror written in lipstick. It said, ‘Stop or die.’”
Ten
