Chapter Eight
The morning dawned grey and rainy. We had quick showers and downed our coffees but chose to skip breakfast. No one felt like eating.
As I dressed, I noticed a small bruise over my heart that hadn’t been there yesterday. Owen must have tackled me harder than I thought. It didn’t hurt, but as I studied the bruise in the mirror, I felt oddly pulled toward it. Like it was calling me.
I shook my head. Clearly the lack of sleep was messing with my head.
When I entered the kitchen, both men were looking with consternation at the sword laid before them on the table.
“We can’t leave it,” Owen mused. “Those creatures might attack again.”
“We can’t take it, either,” Jace countered. “Hate to tell you, buddy, but it’s not the Middle Ages out there. Someone is going to notice a sword. Most likely a police officer.”
“Might need to take that risk.”
“You can’t walk around holding a sword.”
“No,” Owen agreed. “Maybe there’s a scabbard around here?”
“I saw one in the basement,” I said. “Hang on.”
A few minutes later, I re-entered the kitchen carrying a long scabbard made from thick, dark leather and reinforced with steel rivets. It glimmered as it caught the light, almost as if it was woven with silver threads. A small tree was etched into the leather.
Owen secured the thick leather straps over one shoulder and under the opposite arm and buckled it at the chest. When he sheathed the sword, it hung down his back. He looked like a heroic warrior from an ancient tale. Like he belonged in a realm of dragons and kings.
“Damn,” Jace muttered. “Now I want a sword.”
A second later, the sword winked out of sight. Jace and I gasped.
“What?” Owen asked.
“It’s gone,” I replied.
Owen glanced over his shoulder. “No, it’s not. It’s still there. I can see it.”
“Oh, this is too perfect.” Jace and I grinned at each other. Finally, luck was on our side.
Owen decided to stop at his office before Sylvia’s shop opened to handle the fallout from cancelling his trip. It was Sunday morning so the building would be mostly empty, but the security business never fully slept. Or so I was told.
Owen parked in the garage under Grant Protection Services, and we took the elevator to the lobby.
The foyer was open and airy with polished wood floors and tall floor-to-ceiling windows.
The architecture reflected its owner, I thought, as I looked up at the high ceilings.
The building was sleek yet functional with brushed metal and dark wood tones throughout.
There were no decorative flourishes here, only confidence and precision.
A motto behind the reception desk read prepare, anticipate, protect.
Owen had a quick word with the receptionist, and I took the opportunity while he wasn’t looking to sneak a glance at his broad-shouldered physique.
He stood with quiet vigilance, calm and controlled, yet undeniably powerful.
When he looked at me, I quickly glanced away, embarrassed that he had caught me watching him.
As we continued up the elevator to the office area, I was acutely aware of him standing next to me. Seeing Owen in his domain was giving me butterflies I couldn’t seem to quell.
As we wove through cubicles, Owen’s employees greeted him with affection and respect. No one gave any indication they could see the sword, and I breathed a sigh of relief that we would be able to take it with us as we searched for Charles.
“I need to see to a few things before we can leave. Shouldn’t be too long,” Owen said, leading Jace and me to a kitchen area. “Help yourself to a coffee or tea. There are muffins and fruit as well. I’ll find you when I’m done.”
I could feel the lack of sleep catching up to me, and I eagerly poured myself a coffee and took a banana. Jace grabbed a coffee and a muffin, and we sat at a table where I could see Owen making his way to a large, corner office.
“How long have you known Owen?”
“He and I go back to our elementary school days.” Jace smiled fondly. “We both come from military families. We’ve trained together. Fought together. At this point, we’re more like brothers than friends.”
“You’re a major?” I asked, realizing Jace had dealt with my ex and faced an otherworldly creature with me, yet I still knew next to nothing about this man.
“Sure am.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed an ankle over his knee. “Always knew I would have a military career. There’s no other job I’d rather have.”
“What do you do for fun? When you’re not rescuing people on dangerous missions.”
He smiled. “I mostly lead my unit in disaster relief and peacekeeping missions, but I enjoy hiking and trail running. I also like woodworking.”
“That’s neat. What do you build?”
“Mostly furniture whenever I have the time. I have a workshop in my garage. Right next to my motorcycle.”
“Oh! What kind? Cruiser? Sport?”
“Sport. I love the thrill. The adrenalin. Winding roads. There’s a freedom in it I’ve never found anywhere else.”
“Can I ask if there’s anyone special sitting behind you on that bike?”
He gave a low laugh. “No. I don’t believe in long-term relationships. It gets messy. Complicates things.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that.
“Can I ask you something personal about Owen?” I said, taking a sip of my coffee and wrapping my hands around the warm mug.
“Maybe. What do you want to know?”
“How did he get those scars? He said he was wounded in action about five years ago, but I know there must be more to it than that. Don’t tell me, though, if you think he would rather I not know.”
“It’s no big secret. He won’t mind if I tell you, but I can see him not wanting to talk about it himself.”
Jace took a bite of his muffin and a sip of his coffee like he was steeling himself to tell the story. I waited patiently.
“Owen grew up around the military, joined at eighteen, and rose through the ranks fast. Served for a few years in special ops. Operated in some downright shit places—Afghanistan, Somalia, Eastern Europe. Lost a lot of good friends along the way.”
“Is the loss of his friends why he won’t return to the military?” I asked, finding it hard to tear my gaze from Owen. He was on the phone, standing by a large window overlooking Toronto.
“Partly. About five years ago, he was involved in a high-stakes hostage recovery mission that went south.” Jace rubbed his hand over his face as if he, too, hated the memory.
“I was there,” he continued. “Absolute shitstorm. Combination of bad intel and command refusing to call it off. Owen lost two of his men in the fallout. He finished the mission, but as he was getting the hostages out, a bomb exploded and…well, you can see the damage. I dragged him out of there, and he spent months in the hospital then years in physical therapy trying to avoid losing mobility in his left arm.”
Jace looked around the office. “He left the caf and opened this place. Mostly employs veterans, and he’s made quite the name for himself.
Got people lined up to use his services.
Word has gotten around that Owen is ruthless when it comes to protecting his clients, and he’ll do everything in his power to keep them alive… ”
Jace’s voice faded into the background, and all I could do was nod as I fought to calm my racing heart.
I felt the quiet yet steady pull of Owen. I had been trying desperately to ignore it, but it had been growing stronger with every minute. It was there in the way my pulse quickened when I heard his voice, the way my thoughts drifted toward him even when I was trying to focus on something else.
He couldn’t possibly feel the same way about me. He might feel duty-bound to protect me—Charles had told him to take care of me, after all, and Owen was a good man—but did he want to? He probably wanted to keep things professional, and I needed to respect that.
My feelings for him needed to end. Now.
I stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor, and my coffee sloshed as I set the mug down hard.
“Be right back,” I said, not waiting for Jace to respond. I weaved through the cubicles and approached Owen’s office as he finished his phone call. He waved me in.
“I’m almost done. Everything okay?” he asked, filing papers in a drawer.
“Yes. I mean, no. I mean…can we talk?”
He looked up at the tone of my voice. “Sure.”
I closed the door behind me but stayed pressed against it.
He came around his desk and leaned against the front of it, hands gripping the edge of the desk on either side, ankles crossed before him.
To an outsider, his stance might have looked casual, but there was nothing relaxed about Owen Grant.
He was alert, his eyes were sharp, and I knew he didn’t miss a thing.
“Thank you for your protection, Owen. I really appreciate you taking on the role of bodyguard.”
He nodded ever so slightly.
“But we need to keep things strictly business between the two of us,” I blurted out.
Owen’s eyebrows shot up, and my face turned beet red. Great start. Just perfect.
I tried again. “What I mean is that maybe I’ve been giving you the wrong impression…and, well, I’m not looking for a relationship right now. I can’t. Not again.”
Silence.
“Not that I think you’re looking for a relationship,” I stammered. “But friends…friends is good. We can be friends.”
Based on Owen’s continued silence, I decided that perhaps even the suggestion of friendship had been too presumptuous. Could my face get any hotter?
“Not friends. That’s okay. We’ll stick to bodyguard and client. Maybe only acquaintances. Until we find Charles.”
Owen’s brow furrowed.
“Clearly, that’s all you ever thought we were, which is perfect. Just perfect. Okay, I’m going to go now and pray you forget we ever had this conversation.” I whirled around to open the door, but his deep voice made me pause.
“Kira.”
I looked over my shoulder.
“In my company, there’s a strict policy prohibiting romantic relationships between bodyguards and their clients. Everything gets messy when emotions are involved and, in this line of work, I need my employees to be one hundred percent focused on their jobs. And that policy includes me.”
He pushed off the desk and walked toward me. As he got closer, I could see a strain around his eyes that hadn’t been there earlier. Had I hurt him? The thought made my stomach turn.
“So, you have nothing to worry about. Ours is strictly a business relationship. We’ll find my grandfather, and then we’ll go our separate ways. Okay?”
He reached around me and held the door open in a clear dismissal.
A sudden thought occurred to me, and it made me sick. Did he think I wasn’t interested because of his scars?
“Owen…I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I’m not hurt, Kira. I understand. I’ll be out shortly.”
But he didn’t understand. Not at all. How could I fix this? “Owen—”
“I still have a lot of work to do. Please.”
It was his pleading tone that finally made me move.
“Okay,” I said, hating myself. “I’ll wait with Jace.”
His smile never reached his eyes, and he closed the door firmly behind me.
I returned to Jace, my shoulders slumped.
I had ruined everything, all because I panicked and didn’t think things through.
How could I convince Owen—a man who was used to the rejections of women based on his appearance—that my hesitation had everything to do with my own insecurities and past traumas and nothing to do with him?
If I was to give my heart to anyone again, it would be Owen.
“Ugh.” I fell into my chair and took a long swig from my mug, forgetting that it was hot coffee and not the stiff drink I was hoping for. I burned my tongue and spluttered. Served me right.
“All good?” Jace asked, looking up from his phone.
“Peachy,” I muttered, swallowing the lump in my throat. “No. That’s a lie. I hurt Owen, and I have no idea how to fix it.”
Jace regarded me for a moment before speaking. “Owen keeps his feelings well guarded and for good reason, but he’s the best, most loyal friend I’ve ever had. When he cares, he cares deeply. Fiercely. Don’t give up on him, Kira, and don’t give up on yourself.”
I nodded and promised myself that I would find a way to fix things with Owen. I wouldn’t leave him hurting, but as much as I could imagine a future with him, that path would only lead to heartache. Already I had wounded him. I was a mess, and he deserved more than what I could offer.
The sooner we found Charles, the better. Then Owen and I could part ways, hopefully amicably, and never think about each other again.