Page 14 of Protector

I’m sure it’s going to take me a while to figure out this relationship they have, but hopefully, I won’t be here long enough for that.

“Very funny, sweetie.” Adele’s gaze travels over to me, and she gives me a tight smile that I return. “Brooks.”

I nod even though I sense Adele and I should clear the air, at least at some point. Maybe she’s still smarting about the whole thing, but in order for this to work, she needs to be on board.

Adele sips her red wine. “Are the contractors almost done?”

“Well, it doesn’t look like it, but by the time we got there, everyone was gone for the day, so I couldn’t ask.”

Adele huffs. “So much for doing whatever they can to finish up.” She sets her glass down and opens a drawer next to the stove. “The casita should be all set. I had Anna help me get it ready, change the sheets, put some stuff in the fridge…” She reaches toward Shay with what looks like a single key on a keychain with a metal sun on it.

“Thanks for doing that, Mom.”

Shay’s tone has me turning, catching her face drawn, her gaze on the key as she holds it in her palm.

“Something wrong?”

She shakes her head. “No… it’s just, we built the casita for my nanna. She was going to move here and stay with us, but she never got the chance.”

As she hands me the key and our fingers brush, an ache in my chest makes its presence known, and I have a strange urge to clasp the hand of this young woman I barely know. Instead, I take a step closer and lean against the counter. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” She shrugs. “Anyway, at least you’ll have a place to stay that’s like new.”

“Speaking of…” Adele says, and we both turn to look at her. “If you’re planning to go back to your place when it’s ready, then where’s Brooks going to stay?”

I should be used to fading into the background, having people talk about me and around me, but this feels so deliberate, as if she refuses to acknowledge me.

“Oh, yeah…” Shay says and looks to me.

Staying with the client isn’t typical; actually, I rarely do it unless we’re traveling or, like in this case, there’s a threat at home. Each case has its own nuances, and sometimes, that requires being flexible and fluid. When Shay doesn’t continue, I jump in with, “We can cross that bridge when we come to it, but I’m going to do everything I can to find this guy and fast. Until then, I should stay as close to Shay as possible.” I pass a glance over to Adele, who nods, and then back to Shay, who does the same but with a small smile forming on her full mouth.

“I suppose the two of you can keep staying here…” Adele adds.

Shay’s brows meet in the middle. “I have extra rooms… It’s not like we need a chaperone.”

Adele doesn’t respond, just turns to stir the contents of her pot.

Shay goes to her mother, wraps an arm around her shoulder. “Thanks, Mom. I appreciate all this.”

“Well, I do have more room…and the casita.” She leaves the spoon in the pot to smile at her daughter. “If you’re up for chicken spaghetti, it’ll be ready in less than half an hour.”

“Ooh, yay.” Shay executes a single clap that seems to take years off her age before turning to me. “Let’s get your bag, and I’ll show you to the casita so you can get settled.” She walks past me, and I follow, trapped in the scent that trails from the swaying of her hair. Instinctively, my gaze travels down her back to the firm set of her ass in those damn yoga pants. I’d better get my head straight about why I’m here, or this is going to be a long-ass assignment.

* * *

After a quick shower, I set up my laptop on the small desk in the one-bedroom casita. It’s obvious by the décor this was for an older woman, but I don’t mind; actually, I find it rather homey, comforting, and better than a lot of hotel rooms I’ve stayed in while on assignment. Once, I had to stay in a minivan on the set of a movie because my client—who, of course, had a luxury trailer—was filming in a remote location in Vermont. Come to think of it, I swore after that I’d never take another client in the entertainment industry.

I huff at myself, then tap into my email. I answer a few messages, reply to a text from Jade, and then spend about twenty minutes doing research on Shay. She’s definitely visible, and her following is huge. From what she’s told me, she’s done the whole catwalk thing, but most of her success has been as a print model for commercial products. Without knowing all her accomplishments yet, I could almost put her in the category of being famous for being famous. But when I stop and think about that, she’s far too smart and capable to let herself sit in that scenario.

The farther back I scroll through her feeds, the longer the posts take to load. At fourteen months back, I call it quits and decide to delegate this to someone else. But something has me staying at my computer; my curiosity gets the best of me, and I find myself searching fashion show videos until I locate a show in Athens with Shay’s name attached to it.

I let it play from the beginning. The models strutting with that bored look on their faces is a struggle to keep my attention. Then she’s there, wearing a silver dress, cut into a low V in the front, flowing short skirt that makes her legs look a mile long. They’re toned and a nice light caramel color, and how the hell does she walk in those shoes? As she approaches the end of the catwalk, the camera zooms in on her. Damn, she is one stunningly beautiful woman.

I look away from the screen. “Son of a bitch.”

For some reason it’s in this moment I make a decision—no a promise, a covenant—that I will not look at Shaythat way. She’s a client. That’s it. Nothing more. I’ll treat her like any other person under my charge.

“Is everything all right?”

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