Chapter 3
ETHAN
“Fine," Jade Sinclair says, her voice barely above a whisper.
Not exactly a ringing endorsement.
She winces slightly as she stands, her hand unconsciously moving to her ribcage before dropping away.
The bruising from CPR, most likely. Having been on the receiving end of chest compressions myself after a mission gone wrong in Afghanistan, I know exactly how it feels.
Like someone took a baseball bat to your sternum.
She brushes an errant strand of copper hair from her face, revealing a dark bruise at her hairline that she's been carefully hiding.
The sight sparks an unexpected surge of anger in my chest. Someone put their hands on her, tried to end her life.
The thought bothers me more than it should for a client I've just met.
I'm still processing my own words. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Not like this. Not with me strong-arming a client and dragging my team into a living arrangement none of us had planned for.
Did I really just suggest that all three of us move into her home? That wasn't the plan. It wasn't my plan until the words came out of my mouth. Typically, we establish a rotation, maintain professional distance, and set up proper protocols.
We don't just... move in.
I run a hand over my face, stubble scraping against my palm. What the hell was I thinking?
"Gloria will show you around. You can stay in the pool house, I guess..." Jade says with dismissive coolness. "I have work to do." She turns to leave, her shoulders stiff with what I recognize as pain she's trying to conceal.
"Miss Sinclair," I call after her, "we'll need to discuss security protocols and your schedule..."
"Tomorrow," she interrupts without turning back. "I've had enough surprises for one day."
With that, she disappears down a hallway, leaving an uncomfortable silence in her wake. A light floral scent lingers in the air where she stood.
Gloria sighs deeply. "Well, that went better than I expected, honestly."
Mateo runs a hand through his hair, looking genuinely remorseful. "I really put my foot in it, didn't I?"
"Up to your knee," I confirm, but without real heat. We've all made first impression mistakes. Though Mateo's might be a record.
Gloria gathers herself. "Let me show you gentlemen where you'll be staying. The pool house is fully equipped: kitchen, bedrooms, living area. You'll have access to the main house as needed."
"Ms. Hayes," I say as we follow her through the house, "I'd like a full briefing on these threats. When they started, any patterns you've noticed, and particularly anything about this 'Little Doll' reference that seemed to upset Miss Sinclair."
Gloria's steps falter slightly. "That's... not my story to tell. If Jade wants you to know, she'll tell you herself."
"We can't properly protect her if we don't know what we're protecting her from," I counter.
"You're protecting her from whoever sent those messages and attacked her in New York," Gloria says firmly. "The rest is personal."
I recognize the protective stance. I've taken it myself many times for people I care about. Pushing won't get us anywhere right now.
We follow her through the house. I keep my steps measured, my breathing even. My eyes move automatically, cataloging exits, blind spots, sightlines. It comes naturally now, part of the job.
The main house is a textural paradise: reclaimed wood beams contrast with smooth plastered walls, plush hand-woven rugs laid over cool stone floors.
Every room bathes in golden California light filtering through strategically placed skylights and tall windows.
The place feels both rustic and luxurious, lived-in yet meticulously designed.
Gloria leads us through sliding glass doors onto a stone patio overlooking a resort-worthy backyard.
Lush gardens with blooming bougainvillea cascade down terraced levels, vibrant magenta blooms stark against whitewashed walls.
The scent of sage and eucalyptus hangs in the air, carried by a gentle canyon breeze.
A sparkling infinity-edge pool seems to float above the canyon.
A guesthouse nestles among mature olive trees, promising privacy for days.
"Does someone monitor the security system remotely?"
"Yes, through a service. Basic motion sensors and door alarms."
I make a mental note to upgrade everything immediately. "We'll need to enhance that significantly."
The pool house is more modern than the main structure: clean lines, lots of glass, and minimalist furnishings. It has more than enough space for the three of us, with three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a compact kitchen, and a comfortable living area.
"You'll find everything you need here," Gloria explains, showing us around. "Clean linens, basic supplies. The gym is through there." She points to a glass-walled room off the pool area.
"And Miss Sinclair's schedule?" I prompt.
"I'll email you her calendar. At the moment, the scheduled photoshoots have been postponed, although at this stage we didn't provide the reason why.
We thought it would be best to keep the information contained.
" Gloria pauses. "She's been advised to rest, but she's not particularly good at following that advice. "
"Noted," I say. "We'll need access codes, a list of approved visitors, staff schedules..."
"I'll have it all sent over today," Gloria assures me. She hands me a set of keys. "These are for the pool house and the main house. There's also a gate remote for the driveway."
After Gloria leaves us to get settled, Mateo immediately claims the largest bedroom with a dramatic flop onto the king-sized bed.
"Well, this is definitely a step up from our usual accommodations," he says, staring at the ceiling. "Though I think I might have blown any chance of our client not hating me."
"You think?" I raise an eyebrow as I set my bag down in the second bedroom. "We're professionals. Act like it next time."
Heading to the nearest window overlooking the main house, I notice something useful: from this vantage point, you can see the kitchen, part of the living room, and the edge of what appears to be Jade's studio.
Light streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating photography equipment and a large desk.
Good. Visibility is crucial.
Declan silently takes the third room, depositing his duffle on the bed before rejoining us in the living area. He moves to the windows, assessing the sightlines and security vulnerabilities with the practiced eye of someone who's survived by being vigilant.
"So," Mateo says, following me back to the main room, "are we going to talk about what just happened in there?"
"You mean you insulting our client before meeting her?" I deflect, opening my laptop to begin a security assessment.
"No, I mean you suddenly deciding we all need to live here," Mateo counters. "That's not protocol. That's not how we usually operate."
He's right, of course. I typically maintain strict boundaries between personal and professional. Staying in a client's home, especially one as private as Jade Sinclair, crosses those boundaries before we've even begun.
"The property is isolated, the existing security is inadequate, and she's already been attacked once," I explain, not looking up from my screen. "Round-the-clock protection makes the most sense."
"Sure, and we could have done shifts like we always do," Mateo presses. "One of us on site, the others at a nearby hotel. So why the full live-in approach?"
I don't have a good answer. At least, not one I'm willing to share.
Something about the fear that flashed briefly in those green eyes when she read the note, so quickly masked that I might have missed it if I hadn't been trained to notice such things. It triggered a protective instinct I thought I'd buried after Diane.
Diane. My ex-wife. The woman who swore to love me forever, then decided my commanding officer would be a better option. Two years since I walked in on them. Since I found them tangled together in the bed we'd shared for five years. The memory still burns like acid in my veins.
It taught me a valuable lesson: trust your head, not your heart. Logic, not emotion. Systems and protocols, not instincts.
And yet here I am, breaking my own rules for a woman I just met.
A few hours into this job and Jade Sinclair is already messing with that balance.
I can't explain it. Maybe it was the way she fought so hard to appear unbreakable.
Maybe it was the flash of fear I'd glimpsed beneath the anger. Maybe it was the bruises.
I only know that the idea of her facing this threat alone makes something primal and furious roar to life inside me.
"The security situation warrants it," I finally say, pushing thoughts of Diane away.
"Her home is practically indefensible with the current setup: multiple access points, minimal surveillance, isolated location.
Plus, we don't know enough about this threat yet.
The 'Little Doll' reference clearly means something significant to both her and Gloria. "
"That was weird," Mateo agrees, sobering. "You saw her face? Whatever that means, it scared her."
"Fear makes people unpredictable," I note. "If she's scared, she might become erratic. More than what she already seems to be. Having us on-site reduces those risks."
"So this has nothing to do with the fact that she's beautiful, vulnerable, and clearly hiding something interesting?" Mateo asks with a hint of his usual teasing tone.
"This has everything to do with the fact that she's a client who's paying us to keep her alive," I reply flatly. "Nothing more."
"If you say so, Boss." Mateo doesn't sound convinced, but he drops it, moving to unpack his equipment.
I return to my security assessment, trying to focus on the technical aspects rather than the woman in the main house.
The property needs a complete overhaul: upgraded motion sensors, additional cameras, better entry point security, panic buttons.
I start compiling a list, grateful for the distraction.
Two hours later, I've mapped out the entire property, identified all security vulnerabilities, and created a comprehensive upgrade plan. Mateo has set up our communications equipment, and Declan has done a thorough perimeter check.
"We'll need to brief Miss Sinclair on protocols tomorrow," I tell them as we reconvene in the living area. "In the meantime, I want regular patrols, especially during the night. Six-hour shifts."
"I'll take first watch," Declan offers, as he always does.
"Then I've got mid," Mateo says. "Which leaves you with the dawn patrol, Boss."
I nod, opening the file on Jade Sinclair that Gloria had emailed over. The professional information is comprehensive: contracts, schedules, contacts. But the personal section is sparse, as if Jade Sinclair the person barely exists beyond Jade the model.
"Did you notice the bruise on her head?" Declan finally speaks from his perch near the window. "And the way she was favoring her right side," he adds. Not surprising. He notices everything.
"Someone really did a number on her," Mateo says, his earlier flippancy completely gone.
"Which means our job is serious," I emphasize. "Whatever our initial impressions, she needs real protection."
"You think it's connected to her past?" Mateo asks. "That 'Little Doll' thing seemed to really shake her."
"Possibly," I concede. "But until she shares that information, we work with what we know. Someone physically attacked her once and is sending threatening messages. That's enough."
I close the laptop, feeling an unfamiliar tension in my shoulders. This job is already different. I'm already reacting differently than I should.
"You sure about this, Boss?" Mateo asks as he prepares to head out for a property check. "Living here, I mean. Seems... complicated."
"It's just a job, Mateo," I echo Jade's earlier words. "Don't make it complicated."
Declan, who's been characteristically quiet throughout our discussion, finally speaks up from his position by the window. The setting sun casts half his face in shadow, the scar on his cheek catching the light.
"Some jobs change you," he says, his deep voice slicing through the room. "And this one's already changing you, Boss."
His words hang in the air between us, uncomfortably perceptive and impossible to dismiss.