Chapter 4
Dakota
I spread the auditorium blueprints across the table and feel despair creeping in. This is a security nightmare. Against my recommendations, Anna insists on participating in a climate change conference, and it seems the architect who designed the building didn't give a damn about security.
“That entrance is especially vulnerable,” Marcus notes, leaning over my shoulder to point at it. “And the underground parking with seven different access points to the building…”
“Can't we close some?”
“The organizers refused. Police will provide additional units, but it still feels too dangerous,” the security chief insists.
I let out a growl. Several protests have been announced for that day. Some supporting the fight against climate change. Others opposing changes to traditional industries, viewing them as a threat to their jobs. Coordinating protection for this event is a nightmare.
“Can we hire extra personnel for that day?”
“No problem,” he replies without hesitation.
“I'll talk to an old friend in the police. I want details on all attendees to evaluate the risk. If someone's grandma got a speeding ticket in 1962, I want to know. Why has Thorne Bishop requested thirty passes for the conference?” I ask, puzzled.
“He's on the board,” he responds, shrugging.
“And too connected to the traditional energy industry,” I remind him.
“We can't deny them.”
“I'll talk to Anna.”
“It's almost two AM.”
“She's still in her office. After what happened with the car, we can't leave any loose ends.”
The security chief nods slowly, letting out an involuntary yawn that reminds me how late it's gotten. These days with Anna have taught me one thing. She's stubborn as hell; if you want something done, you need to spin it until it seems like her idea. Push too hard, and she retreats behind those perfectly built walls with no way to convince her of anything.
I'm not surprised she's still in her office at this hour. What does surprise me is finding her asleep on her desk, cheek pressed against a stack of reports. For a moment, I just watch her. Like this, peaceful, without the need to be constantly defensive, she looks even more beautiful.
“Anna,” I whisper, squeezing her right shoulder gently. “Wake up.”
She opens her eyes lazily and suddenly seems to realize she fell asleep, straightening like a spring.
“Something wrong?” she asks, smoothing her blouse with her palms.
“Just wanted to discuss something about the climate change conference, but we should head home. You fell asleep.”
“I wasn't sleeping,” she argues. “I was reviewing the latest prototype figures.”
“You were drooling on those graphs,” I tease, pointing with my index finger, unable to suppress a slight smile.
To my surprise, Anna doesn't protest. She closes her computer and follows me silently through empty hallways until we reach the parking lot.
“About Thorne…”
“Don't start!” she cuts me off as we pull onto the road. “I know you don't trust him, but he supported me when my project was just an idea and everyone thought I was crazy.”
“Maybe he's a Godfather fan, you know: 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer.' Ever consider he might have a special interest in being one of the first to know if the prototype works?”
“That's bullshit,” she protests.
“I'm just worried about your safety, you know that.”
“It must be exhausting,” she sighs.
“What?”
“Living with that constant paranoia, always looking for threats that don't exist, seeing ghosts that are only in your head.”
“I'd say the threat is very real, we just don't know where it's coming from. Yet…”
Back at her mansion, she offers me a glass of whiskey before bed. It feels strange how natural this is; sharing a quiet moment in her library like two normal women, not a world-changing billionaire and her bodyguard.
“Tell me about your special forces days,” she says suddenly.
“What do you want to know?”
“Whatever you're willing to share. I imagine some is classified and some might be too painful.”
I pause for a moment. I study her expression carefully, but her interest seems genuine, not mere courtesy or gossip.
“It was intense. Beautiful and terrible at the same time,” I admit with a nostalgic sigh. “The friendship, the camaraderie… it took your breath away because you never knew if everyone would make it back to base at the end of the day.”
“Why did you leave?”
“Lost too many friends,” I whisper, staring at the ice cubes in my whiskey glass like they might hold answers. “And I started thinking I was just fighting other people's wars.”
“Isn't that what you do now? Fight other people's wars?”
“No,” I reply softly. “Now I protect what matters. I can choose my clients, at least for now. I took this job because if that thing you're building really works, you'll change the world. Forever. If something happens to you, they wouldn't just be hurting you, they'd be stealing humanity's progress.”
She opens her mouth to say something but stays silent. She fixes her gaze on me, but this time her eyes reflect something very different. Something I'm too scared to put a word to.
“I think you should get some sleep,” I suggest, trying to prevent anything we might regret later.
“Yeah, I guess that's a good idea,” she admits, though the disappointment in her eyes is obvious.
She rises from her chair while I stay seated, watching the sway of her hips as she walks away.
“Dakota,” she calls, stopping by the door. “Thank you for being here,” she adds with a somewhat sad smile.
Before I can respond, she's gone, leaving me alone with my whiskey and too many thoughts, though not all of them involve Anna fully clothed.
***
The morning of the climate change conference brings a biting chill. One of those days where the clouds hold their breath, undecided whether to unleash a storm or retreat.
I scan the auditorium hallways with precision, watching the crowd while Anna prepares to take the stage. She wears her signature black turtleneck, hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail that gives her that professional, untouchable air.
Marcus shared a disturbing theory yesterday. Killing Anna in what looks like an accident would serve little purpose. That would be relatively simple — attack her house, make it look like a robbery gone wrong, or just a sniper's bullet. But it's not just about killing her. More Annas will follow, new inventions, maybe even better and more efficient ones. It's about teaching a lesson, warning the world what won't be tolerated. And for that, they need attention. They need to make it big.
And that's precisely what worries me — that they might try something in front of every TV camera on the planet, at a major climate summit.
The message would ring loud and clear.
Someone pushes through the media section. I signal the security team and move to intercept. False alarm. As I get closer, I recognize him — he runs a popular tech podcast. His t-shirt sports a positive slogan about clean energy. An ally, or something close to it, not a potential threat.
On stage, Anna commands attention. She owns the room. She presents her vision of a world where clean, cheap energy is available to everyone. She describes potential breakthroughs, how it will change the game. How it will level the playing field between countries without fossil fuels. The passion in her speech draws constant applause from the crowd.
“This isn't about profits,” Anna concludes, “it's about changing people's lives, giving them back their power. Soon we'll light a flame that won't burn out, clean and cheap energy that will reach every corner of the planet. We'll know a better world is possible.”
The audience jumps to their feet, applauding hard. Anna waves, smiles. Pure joy radiates from her face.
Ten minutes later, in her assigned dressing room, she practically bounces with excitement. She's changed into something more comfortable, an oversized t-shirt that reveals a hint of cleavage.
“Did you see their faces? This invention will change everything.”
“You were amazing,” I tell her.
Without warning, she smiles and hugs me. I freeze for a moment. Anna Sinclair doesn't hug people, she barely shakes hands if she can avoid it. Yet here she is, pressed against my body, stroking my back, her cheek against mine.
And making me way too nervous.
She pulls back slightly, but it only gets worse. Her gaze drops to my lips and my heart races. I see the desire in her eyes. Unmistakable. Primal.
I sigh.
Inside, I pray she'll stop, because I know I won't be able to.
Anna moves closer, places her hands on my waist, her chest rising with each breath while her cleavage takes on a slight pink flush that I find irresistible.
I close my eyes and surrender.
A knock on the door shatters the spell and we jump apart. Dottie, her personal assistant, pokes her head in, hands over some papers… and the magic crumbles before our eyes.
Her professional mask snaps back in place in a split second, but her hands shake while signing the documents, carefully avoiding my gaze.
I return to my position by the door, trying to ignore the warmth between my legs or the dangerous tingle in my lower belly. I can't allow this. I'm here to protect her life, not to feel anything for her.