Page 10 of Protector

“From now on, I need you to save everything, and if possible, don’t touch it. Let me look at it first.”

I nod, and he continues, “If for some reason I’m not with you, take pictures and leave it undisturbed. Okay?”

Now his stern tone is bordering on condescension, and my hackles rise. “You don’t have to lecture me like I’m a child. Besides, I thought you were my bodyguard, not a private investigator.”

His brows knit but only for a moment. “The more information I have, the more I can keep you safe. And if this is not some temporary hobby or harmless prank and this guy gets closer, more serious, then yeah, I will need to track him down.”

The thought sends chills up my spine while anger fills my belly. I can’t help but feel guilty, too, like this is my fault. “So you got any weapons? A gun?”

“My profession calls for it,” he says matter-of-factly. “I have the necessary permits if you’re worried about it.”

“No…not at all.” This whole thing is just…surreal. I hate this fear—especially that those feelings take me back to a place I don’t want to think about. “I have no problem with you taking care of this lunatic if need be.” The words blurt out before I can analyze them. I avert his assessing gaze and push away the emotions. I need to be more productive, more proactive, so I think back to when I first started getting odd messages. Then I startle and grab Brooks’s arm. His eyes shoot to my hand, and I remove it. “Sorry, sometimes when I’m excited…” I shake my head. “Anyway, I just remembered. There might be some DMs from Sam in some of my older social media accounts.”

“Sam?”

“Oh. Stalker Sam. That’s what we call him.”

I can’t read Brooks’s expression, but he passes on commenting and continues with, “I’ll want to see those, and we need to make sure they don’t auto-delete after a certain time.”

“Okay, we can look now if you want? Maybe he’s sent messages before, but I didn’t notice or read them.” I gesture toward the hallway, and he follows me. “Mom has been sharing her office with me while I’m here.”

“Nice,” he says, entering the study that also serves as our library.

I thought he was speaking generally about the large room, with a mahogany desk, dark brown leather sofa, and burnt orange drapes and accents.

But when I turn, he’s facing the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. I move over to him. “Do you read?”

“Some.” His eyes scanning left to right over and over say it’s more than just some.

“What do you like?” I expect him to say he likes psychological thrillers or war books. I can picture him on his back under an old car, a DIY book open next to him. Or maybe in his garage as he refurbishes some historic bayonets.

“I like non-fiction mostly.”

I knew it.

“Biographies mostly.”

Unexpected.

He turns to me with a half-grin, then notices my mouth slightly parted. “What? Too boring?”

“Not at all. It’s just… I sort of love biographies too.”

We hold a lingering smile between us, and the little spark he keeps giving me presents itself. But it’s different this time. I love when people surprise me, but it’s even better when you discover a shared experience or love. Like someone sees a real part of you and validates it.

When I feel my cheeks heat, I turn away. “Let me just turn on my computer.”

I move behind the desk and peek at Brooks as he wanders over to the shelf my mother has covered with photos.Great.

“Braces, huh? Guess that’s why your teeth are so perfect.”

I shrug and snarl my lip. Not that I’m so vain I have to look good in every photo, but I’m feeling a bit exposed at the moment, Brooks inspecting my home, dragging me on a trip down memory lane.

It takes me a moment to remember my password for my old account, especially with Brooks continuing his inspection.

“Where was this taken?”

I look up and find him holding a single print. My heart stops. “Where did you find that?”

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