Page 4 of Imminent Danger

"Fine, but I'm going with Dolores," Gilbert said firmly.

Ryder shook his head as his eyes scanned the room. "Nope. Every single one of you are too conspicuous. I've already discussed it with her. She goes alone. No one suspects the 60-year-old woman traveling alone." Ryder clearly already had his mind made up.

“Just give us our assignments so we can go home. It's almost eight.” Tank didn't disguise the irritation in his voice this time. This mission was a nice break from the constant hours they’d all been putting in trying to unravel threads within the Syndicate. But that didn’t mean he wanted to be here all night.

Kaylie had been at his house today, which meant he had a real home-cooked meal waiting for him. And he'd been looking forward to it all day. His phone vibrated on the table next to him.

Kaylie: Dinner tonight is chicken pot pie. And I left you meatballs and mashed potatoes for tomorrow night.

His mouth watered at the thought. He’d look forward to it even more if there was someone there to eat it with him, but that was an entirely different problem.

It was probably dangerous how much the woman and her little princess sidekick occupied his mind since the day he'd met them. Before that day, he'd been careful not to meet his housekeeper in person. And since that day, he'd mostly been anticipating the message letting him know she was quitting. Because every other housekeeper had done the same thing. Once they met him, suddenly the job wasn't so desirable.

Which was why he'd tried so hard not to let Kaylie meet him. If he'd known she was there, he would have turned back around and sat in his car until she left. Except that Cecilia had been the one to greet him at the door. And she hadn't been scared of him in the least. That was a feeling that Tank would give almost anything to feel again.

When the entire world viewed you as a monster, it was remarkable to find someone who saw you as human. It was exhausting–constantly being given a wide berth in the store or watched with a suspicious gaze while walking down the street, as though everyone was simply waiting for him to grab an innocent bystander and break their limbs.

Cecelia hadn't hesitated to reach her tiny arms up to him, and when she'd clung to his neck, he'd felt a lightness like never before. At least, not since he was a kid himself. Of course, that had been almost three months ago, and he hadn't seen Cecelia or her mother again. He'd made sure of that.

Because the last thing he wanted was to scare them away. Even if it meant watching the security system so he knew when they left each day and didn't accidentally surprise them again. He could tell she needed the job, and he had never been happier with a housekeeper than her. So, he wouldn’t cross any lines. Even if he desperately wanted to.

It would only backfire, anyway. Their first meeting had been a fluke, because everyone was scared of him. That was his superpower. Always had been, ever since he’d suddenly bulked up his lanky pre-teen frame and his father, Mario Olson, had roped him into the fold of the Olson family business.

Yes, that Olson family. Also known as the ringleaders of the Chicago mob.

He’d been raised as a monster, using his size and strength to intimidate and enforce whenever his father needed him to. He’d been so desperate to believe those actions would finally bring his father’s approval. But instead of his father truly looking at him, all it had done was make Tank unable to even look at himself.

Some days, he wasn’t sure this job was all that different. At least here though, he knew he was fighting on the right side. He would gladly use his skills to hunt an assassin or find a kidnapping victim. But he’d never break another kneecap of a struggling father just trying to make ends meet while paying for protection from the neighborhood gangs.

Maybe it was just semantics, though. He was still a monster, and Kaylie and her little princess didn’t need the nightmares he’d bring them.

Tank shook his head to clear the ghosts as the meeting was dismissed and his team stood around him, breaking into clusters of small conversations.

Without a word to anyone, Tank left the sleek meeting room. He took the steps two at a time and tucked his belongings into the steel locker in the lower level before walking across the secure underground garage to his Range Rover.

He sat in the dark interior, letting his eyes adjust. His fingers hovered over the keypad on his phone, wishing he knew how to reply to Kaylie’s message. As though a handful of typed words could push them from this place of employer/employee to something different. Something more.

But that was impossible.

He shoved the phone in the cupholder and started the engine. The house would be empty when he got home tonight. But at least it would smell like flowers and lemon.

CHAPTER

THREE

After over four years, Kaylie thought she would have been able to relax. When she'd first run away, she hadn't slept through the night for two years. And it was only partly due to the newborn she'd had six months in.

No, it was the fact that every car door slamming made her jump and the quietest hoot from an owl had her wide awake in an instant, on alert and ready to jump out of bed. She had reached for her go bag almost nightly in that first six months, sometimes fingering the sturdy canvas strap as she drifted off to sleep, letting the rough texture ground her before the nightmares could take her away.

But too often, they still did anyway.

Sleep was a luxury Kaylie didn't have. Between her own nightmares, the sounds outside the small trailer she rented, and eventually, the newborn-turned-toddler sleeping with her, she'd given up on sleep long ago.

That didn't stop her from letting her eyes slide to the enormous bed through the closet doorway. The dark-blue sheets were the only thing the owner of this house seemed to be in the habit of tidying. The kitchen could be overflowing with dishes, the laundry piled up in the corner, and the dust an inch thick.

But the massive bed in the primary bedroom was always made, with impressively sharp corners.

If it were hers, there would be more than the two lonely pillows lying flat near the headboard. A bed like that needed fluffy oversized pillows like the ones she saw on the decorating shows she used to watch.

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