She followed him up the stairs, and after he dropped the two equipment bags on the balcony, she tugged on one of the straps. Grimaced when it didn’t move then glanced at his biceps.
“Kind of heavy,” she said.
He didn’t bother to respond. They hadn’t weighed any more than usual. Walking to the left, he showed her the two bedrooms on that side of the balcony then steered her to the hallway on the other end of the house.
“All the bedrooms have en suites, plus great views of the Gulf. Mine’s the first door.” He motioned her toward the next one. “Your room is right next to mine. Makes things convenient.”
“Really? What kinds of things?”
Chapter Seventeen
“Oh my gosh.” Liz stepped into the aqua- and cream-colored bedroom with splashes of emerald green and silver, orange and red.
The room was complete with a king bed, dresser, and overstuffed chair. A sleek yet graceful chaise lounge faced the balcony where, through the clear railing, the beach and Gulf view stretched out like a painting, even in the dark of night.
An arrangement of fresh bird-of-paradise flowers mixed with orange Asiatic lilies and yellow alstroemeria sat on a side table. Three bamboo stalks completed the display.
The room was beautiful, and she couldn’t help but smile, then she glanced at the bed. “Look, there’s one of those seahorse pillows I told you about at the airport gift shop. The one you said would take up too much room. See? I ended up with one anyhow. And, there’s even a starfish on the…”
She whirled to face him. “You made this happen, didn’t you? You made everything perfect.”
“I figured… Well, I’m glad you like it. Might as well be happy while you hide out.” Shrugging, he walked to the patio door. “If you go outside, be sure to use the security pad, in and out.”
Her insides fluttered, unsure if she should be happy he cared enough to arrange everything, or leery everything seemed too perfect. The more she and Mitch were together, the more complex he seemed to be. The more complex, the more she wanted to understand what made him tick. There had to be a story there.
Caught for a moment, she had to remind herself this was not some assignment. Not even a vacation. This was serious business. He was her protector for a reason. Her life was on the line. All their lives were on the line.
“Hey, you okay?” He’d moved back beside her.
“Yes. I’m trying to take everything in. This room is more than I could ever hope for in my life. It’s beautiful.” She swept her hands in an open expanse of the room. “I love the flowers. Did you know that bamboo is supposed to be lucky?”
He nodded. “They say it brings energy to the house.”
“That’s right. So, what color, what style is your bedroom?”
Quick as anything, his expression reverted to the same panicked look he’d had in the kitchen searching for dishes. He was on defense again. Why?
“You’ll see it once I get the security communications set up in there.” He pointed to a connecting door. “As a precaution, I’ll unlock my side of the connecting door. You’ll want to keep your side unlocked, too.”
“Why?”
“I can get to you faster if there’s a breach.”
She realized he was talking about Coercion Ten. “I thought we were safe here.”
“Should be. That’s why I have double security set up in this house. If they get through the obvious one, the secondary system will sound an alert. Gives me time to get us the hell out of here. Or make a stand.”
Neither one sounded like something she hoped to experience. “Maybe you should put a gun in here. I may not be the best shot in the world, but I do know how to handle one.”
“I thought Cat gave you a weapon before we left the beach house back on Captiva.”
“She did, but when I fell in the water, the gun slipped out of my pocket and sank.”
He motioned her to follow him, and they walked back to the bags waiting on the balcony landing. After a couple of unzips and zips, he popped a clip into a small Glock, checked that the safety was on, then handed it to her along with a couple of clips. “That’s loaded. Don’t use it unless you have to.”
Balancing the pistol in her hand brought back a memory of her first target practice at a shooting range in Los Angeles, about a week after graduating from UCLA. She’d been heading off on her first journalist assignment when her dad had suggested she learn how to shoot. Since then, she’d made it a habit to stop in a gun shop for target practice at least a couple times a year. She’d never bought a gun, though. No reason to—her keychain mace was her main line of defense.
On the other hand, her hand-to-hand self-defense training that she updated yearly had been put to use on a few overly interested men. Ones who didn’t know how to take no for an answer and seemed to be immune to her mace. But she’d never had to use a gun.
