Page 15 of Protector

My head snaps over to the door.

Her long lashes wave over her blue eyes. “I’m sorry, I should have knocked.”

I close my laptop and stand. “Is there something you need?”

Her expression falls, and I shake my head. “You probably shouldn’t spend too much time outside. Well, at least not more time than necessary.”

It’s a short, straight pathway, lit and with video surveillance, from the main house to the casita, but I’d rather not have to turn to video footage to see what happened to Shay when some lunatic snatches her up.

“Right.” She drops her chin. “It’s going to take some getting used to—making so many deliberate decisions and being careful.”

“Look, I know it’s not fun, but just remind yourself it’s temporary. We’ll get this guy, or we’ll discover it was nothing, and you’ll never hear from him again.”

“Let’s hope it’s the latter,” she says with a half-grin.

“Of course. But we need to be prepared if it’s not.”

“Okay. Next time I’ll call…or text…” She laughs. “Or at least knock before I barge in.”

We stare at each other for a few awkward beats before I finally give in. “So…what can I do for you?”

“Oh.” Her brows go up, and she pulls her arm from behind her back. “In case you’re not big on TV, I thought you’d enjoy this.” She reaches out to me with a worn paperback, a biography, I think at first look.

I stand and take it, examine the cover as she speaks again.

“It’s a fascinating story of this man, a war hero, who ended up saving a bunch of people in this hostage situation when he was like seventy-five.”

I can’t help the grin that takes over my face. “Have you read this one?”

“Well, no. I like to read about female heroes and strong women.” She leans against the doorframe.

“That makes sense.” But my curiosity gets the best of me. “Your mom doesn’t seem the type to read this,” I say, holding up the copy.

She shakes her head. “No, I think my brother left it behind. He’s the one who got me into reading.”

“I didn’t know you had siblings.” I set the book down and fold my arms.

“Just him. He and my dad moved to Greece like…wow, ten years ago probably.”

If I was imagining the longing in her voice, I can clearly see the sadness in her eyes. “You miss them.”

“I do. They used to visit more but…” She looks away.

I can’t tell if she’s ready to share more about this situation. “I’m sorry…and thank you for the book.”

“You’re welcome.”

We stare at each other a few beats, but it’s not awkward at all.

“Also, I wondered if you’d like to eat with me and my mom. It’s actually kind of rare, so…”

I rub my jaw, stalling my answer. I’d probably rather be strung up by my ankles or waterboarded than sit at a family dinner table with a client. “You usually do what? Go out to fancy restaurants? Attend formal dinners in mansions?”

Surprisingly, she doesn’t take offense, instead laughing while saying, “Sometimes, yeah.”

“And other times…?”

“Adele loves to entertain… Sometimes it’s friends, or a man or both. She does what I call home-cooked catering.”

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