Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
The garage door closed behind the Range Rover borrowed from Drew Hudson, and Colton’s shoulders relaxed for the first time since leaving the estate.
Seeing Riley reach for her door handle, he put his hand on her arm. “I got it.”
Her grin matched the teasing glint in her eyes. “Is this Colton the bodyguard talking or the gentleman in you?”
He shrugged as he stepped out of the car. “Both?”
The sound of her laughter faded behind the closed door, and he walked around the front of the vehicle to her side.
“Thank you,” she said as she took his hand and stood. “To both of you.”
He dropped her hand, returning her smile. “You’re welcome. From both of us.”
He led her into the house, through the immaculate kitchen, and into the family room. “I’ll be right back.” He scanned his orderly home, kept the way he liked it, even if he hadn’t spent more than an hour there in the last two months. “Make yourself at home.”
As she gazed around the room, furnished in leather and warm wood tones, her smile brought a warmth to his chest. Did she like what she saw? After being raised in such opulence?
Leaving her there, he hurried upstairs to the master suite, where he threw a few sweatshirts, tees, two pairs of jeans, and socks into an extra suitcase, then pulled out a couple of suits to place in a hanging bag.
He considered the laundry piled in the closet for a few seconds before stuffing it all into a duffel bag.
He’d go through it later to determine what he needed and what could wait.
He didn’t want to keep Riley out any longer than necessary.
He appreciated Mack’s faith in him, but with Riley waiting for him downstairs, the second-guessing had begun. Not that he couldn’t keep her safe. Of that he had no doubt. His head had been on a swivel, focus constantly moving from the road to his mirrors and back again the entire drive over.
But having her here, in his home, this place he retreated to when he needed to refuel, felt a little too familiar. Friendly. He’d never once let himself get close enough to a principal to call them friend. Yet here he was, with Riley. In his house.
After a last perusal around the bedroom, he toted the duffel-turned-laundry-bag, his garment bag, and suitcase down the stairs to his family room.
Bless Irene. She wasn’t having it when he’d asked if he could use their laundry facilities.
Insisted he bring back to the estate whatever he needed done and the housekeeping staff would take care of it.
The Hudsons had certainly surrounded themselves with loyal employees. It said a lot about the family that most of their staff had been with them for a decade or more.
At the foot of the stairs, he set his bags on the wood floor and ambled over to Riley, standing in front of the built-in bookshelf beside the limestone fireplace.
“Your family?” She pointed to a framed photograph. “I recognize Lisa.”
He drew his focus to the photo of the people smiling—no, laughing—into the camera with the familiar landscape of Disney World behind them.
“Vacation. Summer before last.” He pointed to the older couple.
“My parents, Fred and Evelyn. Lisa, her husband Micah with their three—my nieces Autumn and Quinn, and nephew little C.J. Best kids ever.”
And probably the only children he’d ever have in his life, as he’d never have his own. The old pain threatened to rear its ugly head again before he tamped it down. No use wallowing in old mud.
“C.J. For …?”
“Colton James.” His face warmed. “Named for me with Micah’s middle name.”
“What’s your middle name?”
“Brooks. My mother’s maiden name.”
“I like that. Sounds distinguished.”
“Yeah, I was misnamed.”
Her laugh brought a smile to his face, as it always did. Seemed he’d been doing more of that lately.
“How nice that you have a little namesake.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “You and your sister must be close.”
“Since we were kids. She’s five years younger than me and, of course, I always thought I had to watch out for her.”
Turning away from the shelf, she scanned a grouping of pictures on the wall, her eyes coming to rest on an eight-by-ten of him and a striking blonde, their cheeks pressed together as they smiled into the camera.
His heart squeezed as she stared at it for a moment before moving on.
Seemed very un-Riley-like of her not to ask, but he welcomed her restraint.
He never relished dredging up those memories.
“You know, we’re not altogether different, you and I.” She spoke while still perusing the photographs, mostly of his family, some of trips he’d taken with friends. Many with their golf bags standing next to them.
“How’s that?”
“We both care about people … enjoy taking care of people. Our lives revolve around it, and we’d never even consider doing anything else. It’s what we do. Who we are.”
“Hmm. I guess you’re right. And speaking of helping people, we need to get to your place, then back to the estate, where you’re the safest.”
“Okay.” She followed him back through the kitchen to the garage. “I like your house, by the way. Did you do the decorating?”
“Sort of.”
“Sort of? Did somebody else do it and you just paid for it?”
“Yeah.” He avoided her eyes as he walked around to the passenger side of the Range Rover. “Pretty much.”
“It’s nice. But isn’t this place a little big for you? What is it, four bedrooms, three baths?”
“Three-and-a-half baths.”
“And your kitchen is to die for. Do you use all that space?”
He threw his bags in the back, then opened her door. “Secret?”
“Oh, yes, please.” She rubbed her hands together like a cartoon villain. “I love secrets.”
He chuckled. “I enjoy cooking.”
“You do?” The delight on her face made his pulse skip. So, it was definitely her and not something medical he could fix. Not good.
“Picked it up in college. I got so sick of fast food that I finally broke down, got some cookbooks, some pots, pans, and started cooking. Found I really liked it.”
“I’m not great at it, to be honest. Mom cooks with Hilda quite a bit and handles the cooking whenever Hilda’s off. And although I’ve hung with them a few times in the kitchen, I’ve never really caught on. I’d make someone a horrible wife, I’m sure.”
“More to being a wife than being a great cook, Riley.” And any guy fortunate enough to be with her the rest of his life probably wouldn’t miss the cooking.
He closed her door and walked around to his side to climb behind the wheel.
A quick click of the garage remote brought the door up, and he backed out slowly, searching for any out-of-place vehicles or people.
No people that he could see on this frigid, cold day, and the only cars still on the street or in driveways had been there when they arrived.
On the way out of the neighborhood, he again kept a watch on the rearview mirrors and traffic around them to determine if they were being followed.
While Paul was without a doubt the best driver at Petersen, Colton’s thorough Secret Service training had included high-speed maneuvering and braking techniques, attack recognition, and defensive positioning.
Mack also made sure his operatives went through their paces behind the wheel every two years to keep their skills sharp.
Hopefully, they wouldn’t need to take advantage of it today.
“Beautiful.” Riley gazed out the side window as the car meandered through the tree-lined subdivision.
“Like something from one of those TV shows, where everybody on the block knows one another, and you can run to a neighbor’s house to borrow eggs or sugar.
Or let your littles play while dishing with the other moms over a cup of coffee. ”
Smiling, he glanced over at her. “It’s a friendly neighborhood. I’ve enjoyed living here. My next-door neighbors take care of my house when I’m on an op where I can’t be home for a while.”
“How long have you been here?”
“About six years.”
“It’s lovely.”
She watched the rows of upper-middle-class homes go by, wisps of smoke rising from almost every chimney. Why was she so mesmerized by this humble neighborhood? Had she grown up in that vast house longing for the simple pleasures of American suburbia?
Could she really be happy living in a place like this?
Not that it mattered if she would be or not. He’d certainly never find out.
He cleared his throat. “Where to?”
“Head back toward River Oaks. I’m a little west of my parents.
” She gave him directions to her house, and they spent the forty-minute drive talking about his work, her work, current affairs.
The detours around flooded roads and the drizzle of sleet still coming down made for slower going than usual.
She pointed to an entrance leading to curving rows of private luxury townhomes on the other side of a decorative wrought-iron gate. “Five, two, seven, nine.”
Once he’d punched in the numbers, they made their way inside, meandering along the curved lane until she gestured to a two-story, white, Mediterranean-style home on their right. He parked next to the curb and came around to let her out, both hunkering down into their heavy coats.
They hurried up the walkway, passing through another gate that led to a courtyard on the way to her front door. “This is nice.”
“Thanks. I love living here. It might sound prideful, but it’s the first home I’ve called my own.” She pulled a set of keys from her jacket pocket. “It was a blast dec—”
He grabbed her by the arm, pushed her up against the wall. Shielding her body with his, he stared at the door.
Her brow creased. “What’s—”
“Shh.”
“But—”
“Hush, Riley.” He reached under his jacket for his gun and held it up against his shoulder.
“Colton …” she said on a breath.
He peered down at her upturned face mere inches from his. “Don’t. Move.”