Page 83 of Protector

“Jamie,” she whispered a few minutes later. “Are you awake?”

I chuckled as the concrete dug into my spine. “This ain’t exactly a bed we’re layin’ on, princess.”

Her palms moved to the floor and she pushed herself up into a sitting position, a sly grin playing on her lips. “I can’t believe we did it.”

“You, darlin’.” I brought my hand up over one of her breasts and squeezed. “It was all you.”

“And we got a confession!”

I frowned, fighting to get the blood back up to my brain. Manny hadn’t given us one goddamn thing. “Think you and I might be rememberin’ things a little differently.”

She shook her head, her grin widening. “No, he said I’d know where to find them. He was right, I do.”

“How?”

“The same way I did before… at the blackjack table.”

Chapter Sixteen

Celia: 2006

Islammed the car door shut and jogged up the front porch steps with a wide grin.

“What do you think?” I asked, doing a little twirl under the porch light for the biker on the swing.

Jamie leaned back against it and looked me up and down before blowing a stream of smoke toward the yard. “I don’t like it.”

My grin faded. “The dress?”

“The fuckin’ plan, Celia. We been chasin’ underground games for over a year; danglin’ you in front of their faces like bait. I can’t fuckin’ do it anymore.”

“But I feel like we’re getting closer—”

He shook his head. “No, we ain’t. All we’ve managed to do is make your attacks worse. You tell me how you fightin’ to take a goddamn breath in the middle of a game is us gettin’ closer.”

I wanted to believe that I’d left all of the fear and hurt from that night out in the middle of the orchard, but I hadn’t. He was right. The brokenness had only risen to the surface, rearing its ugly head at the most inopportune of times.

The faintest whiff from a cigar at the first game had left me hyperventilating in the bathroom, forcing the prospect-turned-bodyguard to call Jamie in.

During the games I managed to sit through, I found myself easily distracted and restless, convinced that I was being watched.

It was obvious that whatever card skills I’d possessed before were long gone now.

“What are we supposed to do then?” I snapped. “Let them get away again?”

He patted the empty seat next to him on the swing, but I stayed by the railing, keeping my arms crossed over my chest.

“Celia, your head ain’t in the game. You’re sloppy and unfocused—”

“I’m doing the best I can right now!” A small part of me was relieved that he was calling it off; that he was doing what I couldn’t, before I remembered my anger.

“Who has the girls tonight?” It was impossible to miss the irritation in his voice, but it was laced with something else too.

Worry.

“Angel. He was already planning on stopping by for dinner, so it worked out.”

He took a long drag and gnawed on the corner of his lip before admitting, “There ain’t a game tonight.”

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