Page 51 of Come Back to Me

“Sure have. But we got what we need and I picked up a dress for a date I’m going on tonight.”

“You’re going on a date?!”

“The wonders of technology.” She waggles her phone. “Figured while I’m in Saskatoon, I could kill three birds with one stone.”

“Three?”

“Oh, yeah.” Another waggle of her phone. “Just composing a song for Colt’s album.”

“His album?”

Why does she speak in English, yet I never know what the hell’s coming out of her mouth? And why does that enchant the ever-loving shit out of me?

“As a thank you for letting me move in, I’m creating an album for him.”

“You said EP,” Zee hollers from one of the cubicles. At least, I assume that’s where she is. “Hi, Cody!”

“Hey, Zee,” I call back. “So, it went from an EP to an album?”

“What can I say? My muse is on red alert right now.” She peers at me from under her lashes. “So, you’re on babysitting duty?”

I sit back in my seat. “It’s no hardship.”

It certainly isn’t now.

“Is she going to need a driver full-time after Callan’s PR spectacle?”

“He talked to me about it, yes. So did Colt. And Mum. And Mrs. Abelman. So I’ll tell you what I told them. This plan is stupid.”

She surprises me by snickering.

“The best security is anonymity.”

“How well do you think your family is at keeping under the radar?” she asks, fingers tapping on her cell.

“Very good, I’d say.”

“It isn’t that I don’t agree with you because I do. Yet, I also see the smarts in controlling how she’s rolled out. Your family’s like Canadian royalty?—”

“Hardly,” I scoff.

“You can say what you want, mister, but look at this.” She shoves her phone in my face, and I gape at the screen.

“What the fuck?” I snap, snatching it as I find picture after picture of me in my marshal uniform. Not only that, but worse—of me in a jet. Zoomed in so far you can see part of the goddamn cockpit.

“Where the fuck did they get these?” I sputter.

“Photojournalists have very long cameras.”

“I don’t think it’s the camera that’s long,” I insert grimly, mostly grateful that those long lenses didn’t show my call name that’s painted onto either side of my jet.

“My point is that you guys think floating under the radar happens by attending the local school, but it doesn’t work.” She leans over and taps her screen. “They started uploading pics of Callan when he turned eighteen.”

“What?!”

As I scroll down and find my baby brother in chem class handling a petri dish and then him in the gym, I grit my teeth.

A text bubble pops up on her screen from the man in question:

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