Chapter 14 Devon #2
I grinned, hoping it would ease any lingering nerves. “Leo was giving me shit, things got heated, it’s what we do. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“What was he giving you shit about?”
You. This. And my utter inability to keep any semblance of professionalism.
“Just some work crap. Paperwork, billing hours, nothing for you to worry about.”
She nodded, color finally returning to her cheeks.
I jerked my chin toward the other side of the room. “Go back and hang with your friends. Everything’s cool.”
“Actually, I think we should call it a night. It’s getting late.”
I sighed, acrid guilt souring my stomach. “Lofton, seriously, everything’s good. No reason to leave.”
She smiled, forced and fake, but no less beautiful. “I know, but we gotta be up early. I was planning on making biscuits and gravy in the morning.”
“Woman, you know that’s my weakness,” I teased.
She giggled, soft and sweet.
“Fine, go say bye to your friends. Chris will make sure they get home after we leave.”
“Can I go to the restroom first? I think I drank an entire bottle of wine by myself.”
“Of course.” I winked, not giving a fuck what Leo thought about that one.
As we headed to the back of the restaurant, Chris passed us, fluidly switching places with me in order to cover the front door.
The bathroom was empty, but I still went in first and cleared the room before walking out to stand guard at the door.
And what a fucking mistake that was. Standing there alone, after the scene I’d caused, I might as well have hung a neon open sign around my neck.
Brittany materialized in front of me like she’d been waiting for the opening all night. Arms crossed, chin up, a pleasant smile that didn’t fool me one bit.
“So,” she said. “What exactly are your intentions with my girl?”
I kept my eyes aimed over her head, scanning the room. “To keep her alive.”
“And that’s it?” She spoke with a ferocity that told me she’d been going to bat for Lofton her entire life and had absolutely no plans to stop.
Wonderful. I was getting shit from Leo and Lofton’s pocket-sized pal.
“That’s what she pays me for.”
“I guess the head-fuckery is free then?”
I violently cast my gaze down at her. “Come again?”
“I never saw her hug Marty like that.” She arched a thin blonde brow and held her ground.
I exhaled slowly through my nose. Leo had already stomped on my last damn nerve, so I didn’t have much patience left to offer her. But if she loved Lofton, she deserved better than me biting her head off.
“Personal security isn’t one size fits all. Marty was incredible, and he and Lofton had fifteen years to figure out what worked best for them. We’ve had weeks.”
“Exactly. Which is why I find it strange that Chris was so close, and she almost trampled him to get to you.” She let that sit for exactly one second before adding, “That’s not nothing, Devon.”
“She trusts me,” I clipped, my tone rougher than intended.
Francine drifted over, quieter than Brittany but no less pointed.
“I think what my friend, who has approximately zero volume control and even less of a filter, is trying to say is that we’re worried.
Even before all this happened and she lost Marty, Sebastian put her through hell.
And sometimes, when everything is scary, people gravitate to the things that make them feel safe.
” She tilted her head, her green eyes gentle with understanding.
“Nobody is questioning whether she trusts you. That’s obvious.
The question is whether that trust is coming from a healthy place or if she’s just latching onto something steady in the middle of the worst chapter of her life. ”
The words crashed over me like a tsunami. Pain that had absolutely no business existing in my chest exploded throughout my body. I carefully steeled my reaction, even as my stomach rolled.
I hadn’t considered that whatever the hell was growing between me and Lofton was some kind of fucked-up trauma bond, because I wasn’t present for any of the trauma.
Everything that had happened between us had been because of her plotting and choosing.
Her hands on me.
Her eyes on me.
Her body on me.
However, just because I wasn’t the bad guy, making moves on a woman I was supposed to be protecting, didn’t automatically make me the good guy either.
And wasn’t that just the entire fucking story of my life.
Before I could respond, the bathroom door swung open.
Lofton emerged, smoothing the front of her dress, her eyes bouncing between the three of us.
“What’s going on?”
“Say your goodbyes,” I ordered.
She shot an accusatory glare at Brittany. “What did you say to him?”
She shrugged like an innocent cherub. “We were just chatting about how gorgeous you look tonight.”
Francine wasn’t as quick with the bullshit until Brittany elbowed her. “Mhm. So pretty.”
And yeah, she was, not that I could think about that anymore.
Fuck.
I felt her eyes searching the side of my face.
But I didn’t give her anything to find.
“We’re leaving in two minutes.” I stated, somehow pulling off a halfway convincing smile. I guessed it was enough because she dragged Brittany into a long hug. Francine whispered something into her ear, causing Lofton to giggle, and then she was with me, moving toward the door.
Ignoring the way she felt at my side, I kept my eyes forward and shoved open the door. Main street was quiet with only two parked cars and a couple walking a dog half a block down. Chris jogged ahead of us to the SUV with his eyes up and ready.
Ten steps to the car.
We only made it five before the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.
Movement in the darkened doorway across the street caught my attention. A person in the shadows wasn’t necessarily a threat, but the camera in his hand gave me all the information I needed.
“Dammit,” I hissed, just as the flash detonated.
Lofton’s whole body locked, her feet rooting to the sidewalk.
I turned, placing myself between her and the lens. “Keep walking. It’s paparazzi. You know how to do this. Head down, get to the car.”
Muscle memory overruled her nervous system, and she tucked her head and matched my pace without another word.
Chris had the door open before we reached it.
I loaded her in, rounded the hood in four strides, and slid behind the wheel.
The paparazzo darted across the street, camera held high, angling for a shot through the rear window.
The satisfying thud of Chris tackling him on the sidewalk put a brief smile on my face.
As I peeled off the curb, my headlights dragged across the far side of the street, snagging on something that didn’t belong.
A man standing at the mouth of the alley.
Black sweatpants. Dark hoodie pulled low. Hands in his pockets like he had all the time in the world. His mouth curled into a slow, satisfied smile as we passed.
Sebastian.
My hands tightened on the wheel, my knuckles turning white.
Every interaction with that prick replayed in my mind.
Him showing up unannounced. The very public lunch at the café before coming to the farm, making sure he was seen, knowing that shit would be shared.
And now this—hovering in the shadows of a street he had no business being on, smiling like a man who had gotten exactly what he came for.
I said nothing.
Lofton was already fragile, and I had nothing concrete. Though a decade of gut instincts had never failed me.
Keeping my voice barely above a breath. I activated my earpiece. “Chris.”
“Go ahead.”
“Alley. East side of the street. Dark hoodie. You see him?”
A beat of silence. “Negative.” Another pause. “You see another camera?”
“Not quite.”
My eyes cut to the rearview mirror. Lofton was staring out the window, knee bouncing a mile a minute, still scared, but thankfully oblivious.
I kept my jaw loose, every muscle in my face working overtime not to betray me. “Just make sure the ladies get out of there before you let up on the photographer.”
“Copy that.” Chris paused one more time before adding, “Devon. I had eyes on that alley. I didn’t see anybody.”
I said nothing.
Just stared at the road ahead.
Oh, he’d been there.
Watching. Lurking. Just far enough out of scope to maintain deniability.
The police had cleared Sebastian as a suspect in the break-in that had cost Marty and Derrick their lives. Airtight alibi. Different continent. Thirty days of production receipts and witness accounts that put him nowhere near California.
But the most dangerous men in any room were rarely the ones pulling the trigger.
Just because Sebastian hadn’t been there didn’t mean it couldn’t have been his hand stirring the pot.
Powerful men with enough money and enough motive rarely had to do their own dirty work.
They just had to make a phone call, point someone in the right direction, and then lie low while someone else set the house on fire.