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Chapter One
Luna
The first time it happened, I brushed it off, certain I was imagining things.
When it happened a second time, a few weeks later, I convinced myself that kids had been playing ding dong ditch for longer than I’ve been alive. Everyone knows the game, where a group of kids go on the hunt in a neighborhood and decide which house would be that evening’s target. One of the kids inevitably was talked into running up to the front door, knocking or ringing the bell repeatedly, and then the entire group would scatter like ants. They would almost always give themselves away, laughing so hard they couldn’t contain themselves as furious homeowners would open the door to find no one there.
I live in an apartment, so it’s a little different, but there are a ton of teenagers in the building.
At least, that’s what I try to tell myself.
The third time is tonight. I’m still awake, reading in bed, and I sit up when I hear it, putting down my e-reader and grabbing my phone. For some reason, it hits different tonight. The knock isn’t loud or frantic. Instead, it’s a light, consistent rapping that goes on for about thirty seconds. And I just sit there, holding my phone and dialing 9-1-1 even though I don’t hit the button to make the call.
Finally, it stops and I slowly get out of bed, tiptoeing through my apartment to peer out of the peephole.
Nothing.
Just darkness and an eerie silence that makes my chest tight and my stomach hurt.
It has to be stupid teenagers being funny, right?
I don’t sleep a wink but by the time I get to work the next morning, I’m calmer. Still, I have to mention it to my boss because anyone in the witness protection program has to be cautious. Aware. The fact is, I’m always looking over my shoulder. Even though I feel relatively safe, I can’t help but worry. Probably more than I should.
Daniil Gustaffson, together with his wife, owns the company I work for, Shadow Security. It’s an elite bodyguard and security firm that caters to the rich, the famous, and the titled. He himself is a non-working prince for the royal family of Limaj, a small, eastern European nation.
He looks up when I knock on his office door and I note the way his brows knit together almost immediately. “What’s wrong?” he asks.
I chuckle. He’s intuitive this way, keenly aware of everything going on around him and with the rest of us.
“Do you have a minute?” I ask.
“For you? Always.” He motions to the chair across from him.
I sink down and tell him about the three times someone has knocked in the middle of the night. How the first two times seemed ridiculous but now this third time has given me pause.
“I can’t put my finger on it,” I say carefully. “But it feels off.”
He nods. “Always trust your gut.”
“What should I do?”
“Let’s get you a doorbell cam and better locks. I also want you to work with Grim on your firearm training.”
Ugh.
I hate guns.
With a passion.
But knowing how to use one is mandatory to work here and it’s not like I have to carry one.
Or do I?
“Does that mean you think I need to buy one?” I ask, trying not to sound horrified.
“I do.” He meets my gaze. “Look, you don’t have to carry it around. You don’t have to use it. Unless…” He pauses, letting the sentence hang in the air.
“Unless someone actually tries to break into my apartment.” I sigh. “I know. I just—that feels like someone else’s life. I’m supposed to be nothing but some boring receptionist.”
