Chapter 6
Cameron
The idea of Lacey going back to Atlanta and into a dangerous situation, sets my teeth on edge.
But at least she’s agreed to my going with her.
I don’t know when I felt so protective over a woman since my fiancée died.
I barely know Lacy, but I can’t sleep at night without knowing whether she’s all right.
“Now that we’ve got those questions settled, let’s hook up with Beckett and the sketch artist,” I say and gesture toward the path that leads to the training center. “After we get that done, we’ll pack up and go to Atlanta.”
“Sounds good.”
As we go to the command center’s offices, the cool mountain air sharpens my focus. Lacey walks beside me, her arms crossed tightly and a slight furrow in her brow.
Something in me shifts, and I want to draw her into my arms. Not because I crave her, but because I like her. I like her strength, her determination.
Even though she’s in way over her head.
I resist the urge to cross the line.
When we reach the building, I pull the door open for her, catching the faintest whiff of her shampoo as she passes—something light and citrusy that reminds me of sunshine.
“After you,” I say, then follow her inside.
After we check our cell phones in the lockers outside the main control room, we enter the SCIF—a state of the art electronics and computer equipment facility.
I spot Beckett waiting in the middle of the room checking the multiple screens depicting the Select Protectors’ teams out in the field all over the world.
He turns to me, a tablet balanced in one hand. “Sketch artist is ready for you in the briefing room.”
“Thanks,” Lacey says.
I catch the way her hand trembles as she tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Nerves. Understandable, given everything she’s been through.
I touch her elbow lightly, steering her toward the room. “I’ll be right outside,” I say. “Take your time.”
She glances up at me, and for a second, I see the doubt in her eyes. “Okay,” she murmurs before walking into the room.
While she’s in there, I pace the main command room, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios. Beckett approaches me and shakes his head. “Dude. You’ve got to chill.”
“How the fuck am I supposed to chill? Her friend’s murderer and the people behind the hit are smart. Without security camera footage, she’s the only one who can tie the criminal to the scene.”
“True. She’s a liability. Which means it’s only a matter of time before they come after her.”
“I won’t let them get within an inch of her pretty head.”
Beckett nods. “I figured as much.”
“Yeah. I’m taking her back to Atlanta today. She’s got to go back to work tomorrow morning.”
“Sounds good,” he says. “I’ve got a group of recruits to run through the obstacle course in ten minutes. Check in with me after you get settled.”
Beckett leaves and after what feels like an eternity, the briefing room’s door finally opens. Lacey steps out, looking worn down but resolute. Her gaze meets mine, and I can see the frustration lingering there.
“How’d it go?” I ask.
She gives me a faint smile. “I feel like I should’ve remembered more.”
The sketch artist, a slim, dark skinned man with kind brown eyes follows her out.
“You remembered enough,” he says. “We’ve got a starting point now, and that’s more than the cops had this morning.
I’ll get this circulated within our agency in addition to y’all getting copies to investigating officers in Atlanta. ”
He nods to me before heading down the hall, leaving us alone.
“You ready to head back?” I ask, falling into step beside Lacey as we return to the lodge. The sunlight outside is bright, almost too much after being inside the command center.
“You okay?” I ask, keeping my tone low. No sense in making her more on edge.
“Yeah. Just thinking.”
“About?”
“Everything,” she says. “The sketches. Work. Going back to Atlanta… just trying to wrap my brain around all of this. My life has been turned upside down in a matter of days.”
“You’re handling it better than most people would.”
She huffs a quiet laugh. “Barely.”
“Plus, you’ve got me, Lacey. I won’t let anything happen to you until the murderer is arrested.”
“Why are you helping me? You don’t have to. Plus, you’ll have to return to your real job soon enough.”
“My shoulder is still healing. I’ll go back when I’m ready.” And I won’t be ready until I can guarantee she’s out of harm’s way. “I’ve got the time, and you need me.”
After we return to the lodge, she packs up while I grab my gear.
When I see how dilapidated her car is, I insist on driving back to Atlanta in one of my agency’s SUVs.
As we get closer to the city, the traffic thickens, the clean mountain air replaced by the haze of urban life.
I can feel her energy shift, her posture stiffening as we cross into familiar territory.
Before making our way to her condo, we connect with the police and give the investigation team the cover artist’s sketches of the three suspects.
By the time we pull into her apartment building’s parking lot, it’s early evening. I park the SUV, kill the engine, scan the area out of habit. Nothing looks out of place, but that doesn’t mean I’m letting my guard down.
“Home sweet home,” she says quietly, looking at the three-story structure with balconies. There are multiple buildings and units all around hers.
The air is filled with the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers from the landscaped areas surrounding the structures. The distant sounds of traffic fill the air, accompanied by the occasional honking of a car horn or the revving of an engine.
I grab our bags from the back and follow her to the stairs, staying close without crowding her. When we step into her unit, the space is exactly as I imagined—stylish and well-organized, but with a cozy warmth that’s uniquely hers.
She drops her bag by the door and turns to face me. “You can take the couch. It’s a sleeper.”
“Thanks,” I say, setting my bag down beside hers. “First, I’m checking the place. Just to be sure.”
“All right.”
I systematically move through the apartment, checking windows, locks, and any potential entry points. Everything seems secure but make a mental note to talk to her about upgrading her security system.
When I return to the living room, she’s standing by the window, her arms wrapped around herself, staring at the view of her complex with its winding paths and carefully landscaped green areas.
“It’s safe,” I tell her.
She turns, her expression guarded. “For now. But for how long?”
“Until this is over, I’m not going anywhere.”
Her gaze lingers on mine, and for a moment, the air between us shifts.
There’s something unspoken, something we both can name…
the tension crackles, electric and undeniable.
She takes a small step forward, her lips parting slightly as if to speak.
The scent of her perfume, crisp and citrusy, washes over me.
My fingers itch, aching to reach out and brush a stray strand of hair from her cheek. And do a whole lot more. Like pull her into my arms and lock my mouth onto hers, explore those perfect, lush lips with mine.
I don’t act on the impulse.
But hell. I fucking do want to act on the heat flaring between us. And when she closes the distance between us and we’re standing toe-to-toe, I see the desire in her gaze and more. A mixture of trust and longing that makes my chest tighten.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to keep my arms at my side instead of dragging her into them and finally giving us what we’ve both craved for days.