The Alpha Bodyguards Books #4-6

Chapter Twenty-Eight

J ust as I didn’t answer her question, she didn’t answer mine.

She stiffened under my arm. “You’re putting out mixed signals, Preston.”

Inhaling her scent—clean, floral, warm spice, woman—it was all at once powerful and soft, like her. “You didn’t wait for me.”

“You took a phone call,” she accused, biting the words out. “Right when—”

“I know.” I wanted to hold her tighter. “Let me take you and Nash somewhere.”

“Perfect. Just fucking perfect.” She pushed my arm away, but she didn’t move away from me. “Don’t answer my question. Keep your secrets. Be your cryptic self.”

Needing my mouth on her, I kissed her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Some of the tension left her body, and she exhaled. “Goddamn it, Preston.” She turned.

Reluctantly, I stepped back to give her some room. “Is that a yes?”

She crossed her arms, but her eyes, her expression, they’d softened. “Are you going to tell me where?”

“I’m going to show you.”

Nash walked up and tugged on her shirt. What’s wrong, Mommy?

Her hands flew through a response. Nothing, sweet boy. I’m fine. Preston wants to take us somewhere this morning.

The boy looked at me.

I winked.

His hand went to his mouth to cover a smile, and he nodded conspiratorially. Then he signed out a response. I think we should go, Mommy.

She sighed. “Of course you do.” She kissed the top of his head. Clear the dishes, then get your backpack. We’ll see what Preston’s up to.

The boy raced back to the island, grabbed his nearly empty plate and glass and brought them to the sink before going back for mine. Then he skipped toward the bedroom area.

“You’ve done a great job with him.” I put the dishes in the dishwasher.

“Thanks.” Watching my movements, she stared at my hands. “Did you learn to sign for him?”

I hesitated with the last glass. Then I carefully placed it in the top rack. “Yes.”

She studied me a moment longer. “Why did you take that phone call last night? It could’ve waited.”

I stepped closer to her, forcing her to look up at me. “Your safety is my top priority. Yours and Nash’s. Maybe the call could have waited. Maybe it couldn’t have. I wasn’t going to know until I answered. There was no choice.”

Nash came running back into the kitchen. His too-big backpack bouncing with his every step, he came up to me with a wide smile. I’m ready!

Aware of his mother watching me, I signed back to him. What about shoes?

Rolling his eyes, he slapped his hand to his forehead and took his backpack off. Rifling through it, he came away with a pair of sneakers and socks. Sitting down right in front of me, he put them on, but then he fumbled with tying the laces.

I started to squat to help him.

Mercy’s hand landed on my shoulder. “Give him a second. He can do it.” She walked to the bedroom area to get her bag.

Fascinated, I watched her son try three times before he got the first shoe tied without pulling the laces too far through the final loop. With nothing except determination on his face, he moved to the second one.

I didn’t remember if I knew how to tie a shoe at his age. I didn’t even remember what shoes I had at six. I wondered if he would remember this when he was thirty-two. Or if he would remember being here at all—coming to a converted warehouse away from any sort of residential neighborhood, sleeping in a stranger’s bed, eating eggs with cheese made by a man who kissed his mother on the shoulder.

I didn’t have my own bed at six. I slept in a closet, on the floor with a sleeping bag and one pillow. The smell of the sleeping bag still disgusted me. I’d never had eggs with cheese at his age.

Mercy came back. “You ready?”

I blinked away the past.

The boy’s shoes were tied. She had her bag. Her son had his backpack, and I had second thoughts. “Ready.”