Page 38 of The Rebel King

“Um, good morning.” I offer a tentative smile to the grim-faced giant guarding my hallway.

“Good morning, Ms. Hunter.” His words roll out hard and rough like bits of gravel.

I walk to the elevator and am peeved when he gets in with me.

“You don’t have to come,” I say, smiling even as my brows pinch together in a frown. “I’ll be fine, but thank you.”

“We have our orders, ma’am.” He pushes the button for the lobby.

I press the button to hold the doors open. “Your orders don’t come from me.”

“Youaremy orders, Ms. Hunter.” Now he starts frowning and presses the lobby button again.

I stab the doors open button and hold my finger there. “Get off. I don’t want company on my run.”

The elevator buzzes, signaling that the doors have been held open too long.

Apparently unbothered by the annoying noise, he folds his arms and leans against the elevator wall like he has all day.

“I’m serious,” I snap, losing patience. “If you follow me, I’ll call the cops and tell them you’re harassing me.”

“My job is to protect you.”

“Then you need a new job. I’ll tell Mr. Cade so when I return from my run, which I plan to take alone.” I nod to the hall beyond the open elevator doors. “Off.”

With a shake of his head and an exasperated huff of breath, he steps out of the elevator.

“And tell your buddies downstairs to back off, too,” I say, remembering Mena mentioning more guards in the lobby. I’ve lived my whole life without security. I had a close call in Costa Rica, but it was an isolated incident, extenuating circumstances. I don’t need to spend the rest of my life under guard.

When I exit the elevator, a man speaks into an earpiece and tracks my progress past the lobby desk and out the door. Hopefully, the bridge troll upstairs informed him I’m free to leave my own building unaccompanied.

The bite of the cold January air invigorates me instantly, stinging my cheeks and snapping at the little bits of skin my thermal running clothes leave exposed. Swift steps carry me to the park not far from my building, and I nod and smile to the other runners out this morning. DC has been voted the fittest city in America for several years, partly because we have so many great running trails and options. I was in a runners’ group that met a few mornings a week, but my schedule ate that ritual up and spat it out when we managed a few tough campaigns back-to-back. I’d forgotten how good the community and camaraderie of it feel. Still, nothing compares to the deep kinship I had with my fellow students when we ran across the country raising awareness about water crises in Native communities and on protected lands.

In the park not far from home, I stretch for a few minutes, my breath forming little puffs in the chilly air while I start gentle exertions to ease my body into the demands of the run ahead. I begin at a moderate pace, waking my muscles and stirring my blood. The trees decorated with cherry blossoms in the spring are stripped bare, their spindly branches reaching out like bony fingers when I jog past.

My favorite section of this path lies ahead, a picturesque cobblestone bridge that provides just a moment of shelter from the sun overhead in the summer. In the fall, leaves wallpaper the stones, and in winter, they are sometimes kissed with snowflakes.

Today there are no autumn leaves, no blanket of snow. Just an archway to break the monotony of the path. I cross under it and yelp when a tall figure stands from a nearby bench. I automatically reach for the mace I left behind, but he steps out onto the path so I can see his face.

“Maxim?” I press a hand to my heart and bend over to palm my knees. “You scared me to death.”

“Sorry.”

It steals my breath, how beautiful he is this morning. Dark, amber-dusted hair slumps forward in silky chunks over his forehead, like he rolled out of bed and came straight here. A smile barely moves his lips, and there’s a somberness to his expression that gives me pause.

“What are you doing here?” I ask. “How’d you even find me?”

He watches me for a few moments and then nods to the bench where he sat waiting. “Let’s talk.”

“Let’s talk?” I glance at my Fitbit. “Baby, you’re literally breaking my stride. Can’t we talk when I get back to the apartment?”

“Well, that’s what we need to talk about.” He sits and gestures to the empty space on the bench beside him. “Please.”

I let out a choppy breath, my heart still racing from the run and the fright, but take the seat.

“Is this about your goon? Because he was mistaken if he thought I needed him to run behind me through the park. And you’re mistaken if you think I’ll have a cohort of security guards trailing me around the country during the campaign. It’s unnecessary and impractical.”

“Okay. We can discuss…modifications, but you do need security.”

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