Chapter Five
Kayne swept the second-floor landing with a slow, practiced glance. It was an old building with a sound foundation, but there were too many blind corners. This was the type of place that could be secured if you had the training, the instincts, and the bone-deep readiness to assume the worst.
Thankfully, he came preloaded with all three.
What he didn’t know how to handle, not with any damn finesse, was the woman walking ten paces ahead of him with a tablet hugged to her, acting as a shield against the entire world.
Chloe Giordano.
She was optimism shaped by discipline. Soft edges wrapped around iron resolve. Hope stitched together with sheer stubborn willpower. A woman who radiated light without trying and made people lean in.
That light hit him in places he’d forgotten he had. It dragged his focus sideways in ways he hadn’t experienced in years.
She stopped to inspect a patch of wall the painters hadn’t touched. Her nose wrinkled as she made a note, the expression so small, so earnest, so guilelessly her that something in his ribcage tightened.
Chloe was beautiful but distracting. She was also potentially lethal—to his professionalism, anyway.
Because the more time he spent near her, the more his focus slanted toward her orbit.
Every swing of her ponytail was a gravitational pull he had zero defense against. It was a metronome ticking off the seconds of his self-control.
She turned to him. “Do you think this color is too bright?”
He blinked. The wall was an aggressive shade of yellow that hurt his retinas. “That color is committin’ crimes.”
Her laughter burst out, unguarded and bright, and cracked straight through his armor. It hit so hard he pretended to examine the railing just to hide the momentary punch to his system.
What was that?
“Okay, noted,” she murmured, tapping something on the screen.
She didn’t see it yet, not really, but everywhere she went, people tracked her. She had presence without effort. Ten million followers had figured that out. So had the stalker who didn’t know he’d just declared war. Leo knew it. Kayne knew it most of all.
He shifted his attention to the track circling the open gym. There were many angles. Too many places for shadows to watch her or for danger to slip in unnoticed.
Tension crawled across his nerves. “Needs privacy screening.”
“What?” she asked.
He pointed to the sheer office walls. “Anyone outside could keep eyes on you. You’ll need window film or switchable glass.”
She frowned up at him. “You really think someone would spy through a second-story window?”
His reply was quiet, but heavy. “I think people underestimate what danger looks like.”
She stilled a fraction, but it was enough. He noticed a quick tightening of her shoulders, her breath caught mid-inhale. It was a vulnerability smoothed away so fast he suspected she’d spent years perfecting the maneuver.
Kayne hated that she’d learned how to tuck fear away where no one could see it.
He stepped closer before he could talk himself out of it, but not close enough to cross a line. Just enough to feel the warmth of her and smell that delicate, flowery scent in her hair. To want things he had no business wanting.
“You’re not overreacting,” he said quietly. “Leo’s not overreacting.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper. “It’s probably nothing.”
“You don’t believe that.”
After two beats, she finally exhaled and leaned her hip against the railing as if the truth was heavier than she’d expected. “If I tell you I’m scared, will you promise not to use that against me?”
He froze. Not because she was scared, but because she trusted him enough to admit it.
“Cher,” he said softly, “fear’s not a weakness. It’s information.”
Her gaze lifted, surprise flickering like a candle flame. “You’re nothing like what I expected.”
“You were hoping I had BO,” he deadpanned.
She slapped a hand over her face with a groan. “Oh, my God. Did I say that out loud?”
“Just once or twice.”
Her laugh was muffled but real. God, he loved that sound. It made something in his chest unwind and tighten all at once.
“Look,” he said, shifting them back to safer ground before he did something catastrophically stupid, like run his fingers down her cheek, “I’m going to get you through this. That’s a promise.”
Her eyes softened. “Why?”
He almost told her the truth—that she’d slipped under his skin in less than an hour and he already felt calibrated to her presence. This wasn’t just an assignment anymore.
But that truth was too dangerous and too revealing. Not to mention it was much too soon. Instead, he chose survival.
“Because it’s my job,” he said. “And because nobody messes with the people I’m responsible for.”
Her lips parted, just a little. “So I’m someone you’re responsible for?”
“Until this is resolved,” he said, his voice dropping low despite himself. “Yeah.”
Her pulse fluttered delicately at her throat. He shouldn’t have noticed. And he definitely shouldn’t have imagined tracing it with his tongue.
Kayne stepped back abruptly. “Let’s check the back corridor.”
“Right,” she said. Her cheeks were flushed, indicating she’d felt the shift too.
They walked side by side, close enough to feel the awareness crackling between them, but far enough that neither acknowledged it.
He tried to keep a respectable distance, not gravitate toward her like a man pulled by tide and moon and whatever spell she wasn’t even trying to cast. His body had other ideas.
A worker down below revved a sander. The intense burst of sound ripped through the space.
Chloe jumped.
Kayne’s reaction was instantaneous. He put a hand on her elbow, pulling her instinctively into his side and shielding her with his body before his brain even caught up. It was reflex and training and something deeper than both.
“You okay?” he murmured.
“Yeah,” she said, voice small, shaken despite herself.
His fingers tightened, not possessively, just unwilling to let go until he was sure she was steady. When he finally eased back, she looked almost disappointed by the loss of contact.
“Noise is all over the place in here,” she said, trying for breezy and landing somewhere near brave.
“Until we know who your threat is,” he replied, “everything is noise.”
She didn’t argue. That told him everything.
When they reached the far end of the track, they stopped at a plastic barrier sectioning off the construction zone. Kayne swept it with a glance and wasn’t thrilled with how easy it would be for an outsider to slip in if they timed it right.
“We’ll block this off,” he said. “And I’ll need the shift schedule for every contractor.”
Chloe exhaled. “Kayne?”
He turned. “Yeah?”
Her eyes openly searched his. It made his body stiffen almost painfully. “Thank you.”
He wasn’t sure if she was thanking him for honesty, reassurance, competence, or simply not leaving her fear hanging in the air. But the sincerity in her voice landed hard, hitting him deeper than he expected.
Kayne gave her a small nod. “Anytime.” Which, he suspected, was about to become very literal. Because for the first time since he’d taken the assignment, he wasn’t just protecting a client.
He was protecting her.
And that was a line he wasn’t supposed to cross.
But as she held his gaze—trusting, brave, hopeful, and a little afraid—he knew he’d cross it anyway.
#
Kayne followed Chloe downstairs and through the hallway toward the temporary office wing, keeping half an eye on her and half on the construction crew.
They weren’t doing anything wrong, just sanding, lifting, and hammering, but his instincts kept pricking anyway.
It was something about the static in the air and the way a few heads turned toward her, lingering a fraction too long.
She didn’t notice. Of course she didn’t.
Chloe drifted through chaos the way some people moved through sunlight, frighteningly unaware of the shadows watching her glow.
It was admirable yet terrifying. She had no idea how exposed she was, how easily someone like Talbot, or, God forbid, someone worse, could hide in a crowd and take her innocence for granted.
Chloe was too damn trusting for her own good.
“Okay,” she murmured, shuffling her stack of résumés, the edge of her lip caught between her teeth.
That little nervous habit was starting to feel personal.
“First candidate is a guy named Oliver Pearsall. He has a military background but also worked at a rec center. I think that’s a good mix, right? ”
He didn’t answer right away. A guy in a paint-splattered hoodie slipped down a side hall with quick, purposeful steps. He was headed in the wrong direction with no tools on him. Kayne tracked the movement, his body going still.
“Kayne?” she prompted.
He dragged his attention back to her. “Yeah. Military’s fine. Depends on the guy. Some vets are squared away. Some are squared-away nightmares.”
Her eyes sparked with amusement. “You’re not supposed to say that out loud.”
“I’m not supposed to say a lot of things out loud,” he replied, dry as gravel. “But here we are.”
Her half-exasperated snort hit him harder than it should have. He needed to get a grip.
They reached her temporary office, which currently consisted of a metal desk, two folding chairs, a scatter of paint cans, and a small jungle of plants arranged like sentries around the walls. It was a decent fortress for a woman who didn’t realize she needed one.
She flipped on the light. It buzzed like an irritated hornet before settling.
“Please ignore the chaos. And the smell. And the,” she waved a hand, “everything.”
Kayne took up a position near the door. He leaned casually but was ready to move in a heartbeat. “I’ve worked in worse.”
She arched a brow. “Really?”
“I once did recon from a swamp latrine with fire ants in my boots. This is the Ritz.”
Her pleasant, unguarded laughter snapped something low in his gut taut. He’d do a lot to keep that sound around.
A knock at the door sliced through the moment like a warning bell.
Oliver Pearsall entered. He was compact and fit, in his late forties, with good posture and quick eyes. He took in the entire room before choosing where to sit. Kayne approved.
He shook Chloe’s hand. “Ms. Giordano.”
“Chloe,” she corrected, smiling warmly. “Please, sit.”
Oliver chose the chair that didn’t expose his back. Another point in his favor.
The interview started smoothly with questions about staff management, gym operations, and conflict resolution.
Oliver answered in clear, even sentences.
He was confident without being cocky, had solid leadership qualities, and no obvious red flags.
He even smiled when Chloe did, which Kayne chalked up as good social instinct.
Then the shift hit. There was a flicker in Oliver’s gaze, slicing toward Kayne. Recognition. A fraction of a pause. Kayne’s muscles tightened.
“You were Navy?” Oliver asked.
Kayne stayed still. “Yeah.”
“What unit?”
The question wasn’t small talk or curiosity. It was a coded inquiry from someone who knew exactly what he was asking.
“Teams.”
Oliver nodded respectfully. Not prying or hostile. But that flicker? Kayne archived it neatly, filed under revisit.
Chloe missed all of it. She was outlining the manager’s responsibilities, hands shaping the air with enthusiasm so lively it filled the entire room. Oliver listened attentively, asked smart follow-ups, and took copious notes.
He was a solid candidate.
Still, something in Kayne’s instincts whispered: Watch him.
When Oliver left, Chloe dropped into her chair with a dramatic groan. “He was good, right? Please tell me he was good. I need at least one adult in this building.”
“He was good,” Kayne repeated dutifully.
“But?” Her head tilted.
“I’ll need to run a deeper background check if you decide to hire him.”
Her fingers tightened on her pen. “Why? Did he say something weird? Do you think he’s dangerous?”
He softened his voice. “No danger. Just standard protocol. We’ll double-check anyone who’ll be around you this much.”
Relief melted into her shoulders. “Okay. That’s fair.”
Before she reached for the next résumé, a soft scrape echoed from the hallway. It was barely a sound. A shoe dragging once against concrete. Kayne’s entire body went alert.
Chloe didn’t hear it. She was rummaging through her bag.
Kayne slipped into the hallway, senses sharpening as the light dimmed.
It was empty but not untouched. There was a smudge low on the fresh plaster at hand height. The dust had been clean earlier. He’d noticed. It was part of his job to notice.
Someone had stood there. Recently. They had leaned, watched.
Kayne crouched, touching nothing but reading everything: oil residue, the faint pressure curve of a palm.
He straightened, jaw ticking once. It was too close.
He stepped back into the office.
“You okay?” Chloe asked, tightening her ponytail, completely unaware that danger had been within arm’s reach.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, pulse steady only because he forced it to be. “Next candidate?”
She instantly perked up. “Robin Day. She ran a yoga studio and two wellness retreats. I think she’d be great for our class schedule.”
Kayne returned to his post by the door, posture relaxed, and expression unreadable. He could’ve passed for bored.
But something shifted inside. The part of him forged from SEAL training and fieldwork knew danger didn’t kick down doors or announce itself with fireworks. It lingered quietly at the edges, leaned against walls, and waited to see who noticed.
Someone had been watching her, close enough to touch the plaster outside her office and test their boundaries.
It wouldn’t happen again.
His gaze slid back to Chloe. Her head was bent over the papers, soft features creased with concentration. Trust was written into the line of her posture, and she was oblivious to the shadow tightening around her life.
Yeah, they weren’t touching her. Not while he was breathing.