Chapter 2
I smell like the ocean.
Ben
Four months later.
“You can watch the security cameras from anywhere else in this house,” Annie sasses between bites. “It doesn’t have to be in the kitchen with me, let alone two feet away.”
I keep my focus on the computer screen in front of me while I answer. “Being in another room wastes valuable time getting to you if there’s an imminent threat, which means I do have to be two feet away.”
She sighs, and I know the girl well enough to know she’s rolling her eyes at me. More accurately, I know almost everything there is to know about her since I’ve been at her side for nearly four months.
“You’re making me nervous,” she lies.
“I’m keeping you safe.”
“I’d be just as safe if you were in the living room and not sitting across from me while I eat my Froot Loops,” she retorts.
Technically, she’s right. The safe house is impenetrable, but the worst thing I can do at this point is let my guard down, regardless of the fact that there hasn’t been any indication of a threat toward her since the initial stalking report.
Knowing someone had followed her, watched her every move, even zoomed in on her to snap pictures while she was sleeping in her own bed—that shit made my skin crawl, and my blood boil.
But now that I know her and care about her, after seeing the effects firsthand, I want to kill the bastard who’s causing her nightmares.
I’ve been in the security business my entire life, but it’s not surprising, considering that my dad started Lawless Protection Agency.
Both my two older brothers and I grew up with a protective streak in our blood and a need for justice in our souls.
Those instincts are what make us good at our jobs… really fucking good.
But with Annie, most days don’t feel like work, and she doesn’t seem like just a job. When she forgets to be scared, she’s funny and kind, curious and sweet, and in an odd way, she challenges me like nobody else ever has.
She’s also way too easy to mess with. Sparring with her has become a favorite pastime, so when I glance over the screen to find her glaring at me with those striking green eyes of hers, I tease, “You really should start your day with something other than sugar.”
“Oh my God, Ben.”
“Oh my God, Annie.”
“You’re so annoying,” she whines, and I bite back a laugh at how easy it is to push her buttons.
I look down at the screen, and something hits me square on the mouth. I run my tongue across my lips and taste artificial fruit.
That brat just hit me with a Froot Loop.
“At least I’m not annoying and immature.” I toss the piece of cereal in the air and catch it in my mouth with a crunch.
She pulls her shoulders back and raises her eyebrows smugly. “It’s good, huh?”
“No.” Froot Loops were my favorite as a kid, but I don’t eat that crap now.
She scoffs. “Liar. I know you like it. I can tell by that look on your face.”
“What look?”
“The one that says you’re too stubborn to admit I’m right, and you really crave a big, huge, ginormous bowl of fruity, sugary goodness all for yourself.”
I’m doing a shit job at being totally professional because she’s starting to know me better than I realize. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She shrugs. “More for me, I guess.”
I look at the time and tell her, “Finish up. We gotta go.” I have backup for a few hours every couple of weeks so we can go shopping, and we’re going to be late if we don’t get a move on.
She slurps another bite. “You should eat first.”
“I already had a protein shake.”
“Blah, gross.” She points her spoon at me. “I don’t know how you can drink that crap. Carbs aren’t going to kill you, ya know?”
“Annie, enough. We’re going to be late.” I raise my voice, but when she looks down and twists the ring on her finger, I check myself.
That gold band with a single amber stone was her mother’s.
It’s one of the only things Annie has of her mom’s, and it’s not only precious to her but it’s also like a security blanket.
It took a long time to get Annie comfortable enough with me to relax, let alone joke around and trust me, so the last thing I want is to make her feel like she can’t be herself.
“Sorry, but we needed to leave five minutes ago. Are you almost done?”
Her answer is to stomp her five-foot-four ass to the sink, where she drops her bowl so hard that milk droplets fly out. She hastens to the door that leads to the garage with her long blond hair swaying behind her, then stabs her arms into her sweater.
She’s smart enough to know she can’t just take off, so I double-check the front door locks first. I need to do a sweep of the garage, and she moves aside as I round the corner.
Her fingers brush over mine, and a strange, warm sensation zings up my arm, like the kind of shock you feel when you wear socks on carpet and touch metal.
Annie must feel it, too, because she inhales a harsh breath. Crap, did that hurt her? “You okay?”
She blinks once, twice, then a third time, and I’m about to repeat my question, but then she nods.
I clear the garage, and when I lift my chin, she gives me a wide berth as she climbs into the SUV and straps her seat belt into place. “Ready?” I ask.
She crosses her arms and turns her back to me as I turn the engine over and roll down the driveway. She keeps ignoring me even after I pull onto the country road and turn on the radio, which happens to be playing a new release by Andi Adams, one of her favorite artists.
When she doesn’t sing along, I sigh because, damn, is this girl stubborn. “Sorry I yelled at you, but I’ve gotta stay on schedule. You know that.”
Her shoulders raise a fraction, and the silent treatment continues for several miles, longer than I thought she’d hold out.
“Come on, Blue,” I use the nickname I gave her. “You can’t stay mad at me forever.”
That makes her cave. “Are you ever going to tell me why you call me that?”
“Probably not.”
“Whatever. I don’t want to know anyway.”
“Your attempt at reverse psychology is cute.”
She shoots me a look. “So annoying.”
I huff a laugh and stay alert as we make our way to the store.
A few minutes later, I park and spot my backup.
Shep keeps his distance, but stays close enough that I feel comfortable not looking over my shoulder every two seconds as I trail behind Annie and shop for my own food.
She takes her sweet time reading labels and throwing stuff in her cart, but I don’t blame her.
It’s one of the very few opportunities we have to venture outside the safe house, so I secretly appreciate her lack of urgency.
Shep follows us through checkout until I turn down the driveway, but he stays at the apron until I do a sweep of the house and give him the all clear.
Annie is in the kitchen putting groceries away, and when she sees me, she announces, “I’m gonna go take a shower.”
“Good, you stink.”
“So do you.”
“Bullshit.” I lift my shirt to my nose. “I smell like the ocean.”
“Maybe an ocean shore filled with garbage.” She mutters as she disappears up the stairs.
I plug in my computer, and as soon as I hear the water turn on, I call my older brother, Drew.
He picks up on the first ring. “Yo. You good?”
“Yeah. Everything good at home?”
“All’s well, except it’s been way too long since you’ve been here. I can’t believe how long this case is dragging on.”
No shit. This assignment was not supposed to take this long. Eight weeks, tops, not more than double that. But apparently, when the governor’s son is on trial for murder, things have a way of getting delayed and rescheduled. “It is what it is.”
“What’s up, Ben?”
“Nothing.” I open the screen and type in the password. “Just had a minute and wanted to check—”
“Ben!” Annie yells. I spin around, have my foot on the second step, and my fingers wrap around the gun holstered at my waist before my phone hits the floor.
“I know it’s my turn to make dinner, but I’m kind of…
” She goes rigid at the top of the stairs when she spots me, and I freeze at the bottom when I see her—safe. “…craving your spaghetti.”
Christ, I’m on edge. “That’s fine. I’ll make it.” I try to play it cool, but my heart is still lodged in my throat.
She tilts her head and asks apprehensively, “Are you sure?” Her eyes dart to my hand.
I’m always armed, but it’s clear that seeing me reach for it makes her nervous. I unlatch my fingers so I can cross my arms and draw her attention away from my gun. “Yes. I’ll cook. Any other requests?”
She taps her finger on her chin, considering. “Just make sure you grate a plethora of cheese.”
I cock a brow. “Is that your word of the day?”
She pulls her shoulders back and holds her head high. “Plethoric. Adjective. Going beyond a normal or acceptable limit in degree or amount. P-L-E-T-H-O-R-A Plethora.” She does a little curtsy before twirling away.
I can’t help but laugh, and when I turn around, something crunches under my boot.
“Shit.” My phone. I pick it up and put it to my ear. “Drew? You still there?”
“Oh yeah,” he rumbles. “I’m still here after hearing that little exchange.”
I tense at his tone. “And…?”
“And, I’m gonna send in another man to take over.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Ben, that was…I don’t know what the hell that was, but I’ve never heard you like that. I don’t like it.”
“It’s fine. I’m good.”
He grunts. “So good you got distracted flirting with—”
“I wasn’t fucking flirting. Jesus, Drew.”
“Okay. Let me rephrase.” There’s a long pause. “You were so distracted discussing dinner plans that you forgot I was even on the phone.”
“I didn’t forget.”
“Bullshit.”
He’s right.
I know it, and he knows it.
And that is not a good thing. It’s a very, very bad thing.
It’s my job to protect her, not be her friend or her roommate. But lately, she’s been happier, more talkative, and I don’t want to be a dick when she’s finally content, so I’ve been getting complacent.
Shit. I’ve been getting complacent.
If something happens to her, if someone harms her, especially because I’m distracted, I’ll spend the rest of my life seeking vengeance—I’ll become my father.
“Dammit, Ben. I knew this would get personal for you.”
I grab a pot from the kitchen cabinet, glance at the feeds, then go to the sink. “Of course it got personal. I’ve been alone with the girl since July.”
“She’s seventeen.”
“She is…” Although I don’t need the reminder.
A heavy silence stretches between us before Drew finally says, “Do I need to repeat myself?”
I close my eyes and suck in a big-ass gulp of air so I don’t punch a hole through the wall or say something I can’t take back. His implication is something I absolutely refuse to let myself even think about. “This conversation is over.” And it’s insulting as hell.
“Don’t make me regret keeping you on her, Ben. The last thing she needs is—”
“You don’t know the first thing about what she needs.
Ya know who does?” I poke myself in the chest. “Me. And you know why I do? Because I’ve spent every day, every fucking hour for the past four months learning everything about her.
I know what her favorite movie is, and I know when she’s on her fucking period.
I’ve heard her cry herself to sleep more times than I can count, and I’ve seen her tremble when a fucking deer makes noise outside. ”
“All right.”
I roll my shoulder and lower my voice. “I’ve seen her smile, Drew, but not once have I heard her laugh.”
“I get it.”
“No, I’m not sure you do,” I grind out. “She trusts me. She’s my client, my responsibility. I’m all she has until this shit is over, and no one’s taking me away from her. She’s mine.”