Page 4 of The Price of Forever

Maybe the tea was the sexiest part so far.

The possible robot retreated to the far side of the café and sank into a seat at a table for two. He uncapped the drink, blowing gently on the liquid. I watched intently—if he drank it instantly, that would confirm his Terminator status. If he didn’t, well, maybe he really was a mere mortal. People crisscrossed the shop, obscuring my view. After a moment, Mitchell began clearing his throat. Loudly.

“Ahem! Earth to Jordan. I said two small drips black, thankyouverymuch.” Mitchell’s annoyed tone was overridden by the humor in his eyes. He knew who I’d been staring at. And I hated that he knew.

“Heard. Making.” I busied myself, vowing to forget about the coffeeshop hottie. I saw any number of attractive men each day in here. Sometimes even a celebrity or two. But none of them came close to affecting me the way Close-Enough-Sven did.

And that meant I needed to stop looking at him and never think about him again.

As if on cue, a big family came into the shop. Raucous, clearly tourists, bickering amongst each other as they drifted toward the menu boards and fretted over who paid for the last coffees. I smiled as I overheard them but tried not to let myself get sucked in.

Families that like only reminded me of what I didn’t have. I’d fought this tightening in my chest my entire life. I needed to be happy with what I actually had, which was myself, an apartment, and enough money to feel like I was making it. My coworkers at both jobs were the closest thing I had to family. And between all those factors, it felt a lot like stability.

The one thing I’d wanted my entire life. I had it.

And I didn’t need any other goddamn thing.

Especially not my brothers.

CHAPTER TWO

SEVEN

There was one thing I liked less than onboarding a new protection client after I’d vowed to step back from personal close protection.

Onboarding a new client who wasn’t even fucking aware that she was my client.

I checked my watch, almost finished with my third root beer of the night. Sitting at a bar for six hours and only drinking root beer wasn’t exactly my definition of fun, but on day three of tailing Jordan, I needed to get creative about staying in the shadows.

Her strip club was across the street. I had a perfect view of the long, black awning lining the front door that she went into around seven p.m. Now, at almost one a.m., I was dying for her shift to end. You could only drink a root beer so slowly and use the restroom so many times before the bartenders started to wonder. From my initial scope of the property, the only back entrance led to an alleyway accessible from the front of the building. I should have seen her if she’d left. But there was always that possibility she was long gone already and I’d somehow missed her.

This is why setting up formal security checks with a willing client is preferred.

I knew this. Axel knew it. Damian knew it.

But Jordan didn’t exactly want a relationship with her brothers. And her brothers weren’t exactly willing to let their recently discovered sister wander the streets of New York without someone looking out for her.

After spending the past ten years thinking she was dead or had been abducted, discovering her mere miles away from their home base had been the surprise of their lives. Of course I had to say yes when they asked me to check things out and make sure she was safe.

I just wasn’t sure how much longer I could remain undetected. Jordan didn’t seem like the type of little sister to take kindly to an unwanted close protection officer.

“You need anything else?” The buzzed-head bartender jerked his chin toward my drained glass. I liked root beer, but not this much.

“I’m good. Just gonna hang out here for a little bit longer, see if my friend shows up.” I slid him another hundred dollar bill. His eyebrows arched, and he quickly accepted it, nodding.

“Sounds good to me. Take your time.”

The Fairchilds paid well. Handsomely, even. Especially for a job like this, for someone so loved.

A sister they thought was dead or missing, resurfacing alive and well.

I couldn’t even fathom. There’d been a time in my life I wished for such a surprise discovery. But my loved one—not my sister, but my fiancée—remained dead. Life didn’t have a miracle in the cards for me. Eight years later, I could think about it without emotion stirring. Sometimes I worried that meant I’d become an unfeeling monster. But then I remembered that had been the plan all along.

I kept an eye on the strip club across the street. She had to be coming out soon. She worked eight to two at the coffee shop, and now seven to after one at the club. The girl’s schedule was intense. I’d know, because I’d been trailing her to every activity and planned to continue until I could identify all the security risks in her daily life.

I’d already identified enough for a goddamn multi-page list. I knew where she slept, where she worked, the times she transited, the routes she took. Her apartment complex could win a gold star in subpar security—I’d walked right into the foyer the other day while she was at the coffeeshop, and then into her actual fucking apartment. Everything was unlocked. Not a single set of eyes or camera to see me.

Abysmal. And already highlighted in my report.

---