Page 19 of After We Fall

“Then what are you expecting to accomplish this week?”

“To check off all the boxes. To keep you guys safe.” He takes a sip of tea. “Then move on to the next job.”

When I tighten my hold on my mug, I burn my hand. But the pang that shoots through my chest sears far worse.

Right. Check off all the boxes.

This is a job for him with defined parameters.

Then he will move on. Of course.

Absolutely. Hadn’t I wanted that just yesterday?

To my detriment, I allowed myself to appreciate working with someone. Sharing the burden of a migraine today. Partnering tonight for the safety of the girls. But this is just a job for him. A job for me.

I shake my head once, ridding myself of the regret passing through me. I always work alone, and I always do a fine job by myself. Excellent, even. “Well, Bianca will be pleased that your time here is short. Yelling at her earlier really set her back.”

He winces. “About that. A little heads-up would have been nice.”

“I apologize.” I place the hot drink on the counter. “But it wasn’t like I could hand you their files.”

“In my experience, observation reveals much more pertinent intel than a piece of paper.”

I clasp my hands in front of me, holding my body taut and my eyes directly on his.

“But considering how little I get out of you, I might welcome a look at your file,” he says, his solid stare holding mine with an intensity that warms me from the inside out.

No. No way.

He’s leaving like the rest of them. He does not get the luxury of knowing me and leaving me. “You don’t need a file on me, Mr. Granger.”

He rests his cup on the granite and stands straight, expression alert. “Mr. Granger?” he asks in a low, unhappy voice.

“The girls have an activity tomorrow morning and will be available for interviews at ten o’clock.” I pour the remainder of my tea down the drain and rinse out the mug while I give directives. “I’ll attend your meeting with them. We can convene in the living room.” Leaving the cup in the sink, I turn sideways to slip by him.

He touches my arm. “Penelope.”

Without looking at him, I strain to maintain a level tone. “Thank you for your help today. And this evening.”

“Penelope.” His growl is almost a plea.

My stare remains forward. Always forward.

Looking behind me is too painful. And I sense that looking to the side at Luke will only compound the anguish.

So I focus ahead. Because there’s always something to do next. Someone to help. Something to fix.

I can’t fix anything behind me. I can’t depend on the man beside me. I can only move forward. And when I do, he releases my arm.

6

My cell phone rings, offending the peaceful atmosphere of the at-home yoga class. The noise bounces off the walls of the empty room, lands on the scuffed-up hardwood floors, and dies in the four foam mats.

Natalie, the long-haired, fluid-moving, fabulous-bodied instructor, shoots me a glare. It’s a peaceful glare, causing no wrinkles in her porcelain, blemish-free skin, but a glare all the same.

The noise can’t surprise her. This scenario happens most Saturday mornings when she visits the ranch to teach her class.

I make no apology, exit the room, glance at the screen, and take the call.