Page 8 of Hunted Hearts
“No,” she said curtly.
He kept going. “Step on the wrong toes? Steal someone’s boyfriend?”
“Seriously?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes these things start off personal. A fan, an ex. Could be jealousy, could be revenge.”
She stared him down, mouth tight. “What’s next? Sleeping with a conductor to get my solo?”
He didn’t flinch, but something in her tone made his shoulders knot. She’d taken the question as a jab. Hell, maybe it was.
And then she pushed to her feet, fire sparking in her eyes. “Are you trying tovictim shameme?”
That stopped him cold.
He met her glare, trying to dial back the edge in his voice. “I’m trying to understand why someone would come after you. You’re not exactly high-profile, and threats don’t usually pop out of nowhere.”
She was breathing hard now, her body rigid with offense. But it wasn’t just anger—it was something deeper. A flicker of pain beneath the defiance.
He watched her turn away, her spine straight as a blade, like she needed distance to settle. And damn if it didn’t twist something in his gut.
He didn’t know who she really was yet. But he saw enough to understand she wasn’t someone to underestimate.
“For the record, I don’t want you to be here.” Her tone was soft but terse.
He grunted. “For the record, I was on a family vacation, and I didn’t even get to go fishing.”
She swung to meet his gaze. From her stance and the spark of irritation in her eyes, he guessed they were at a standoff.
He had to defuse the situation. Had to do better.
He stood to face her and tugged on the brim of his cowboy hat, the old battered one he’d found in the back of his closet in his old bedroom. A relic from his days before boot camp. Atsome point, he’d stuck a crow’s feather in the band and he hadn’t bothered to remove it when he reclaimed it as his own.
He wasn’t the young kid who grew up on a ranch, running barefoot through the fields or riding horses bareback, but he did know he wasn’t a special operative anymore.
“Look, I didn’t mean it that way. I’m not insinuating that you’re the problem.”
“Good. Because I’m not.” There it was again, the jut of her chin as she met his gaze with a direct one of her own.
He opened his mouth to say more, but a knock on her door made him jolt into action.
He threw out his arm, shoving Juliette behind him. In the back of his mind, he was aware of her quiet gasp and the fact that she didn’t even weigh as much as his rucksack. In three strides, he reached the door.
Turning his head, he tossed her a pointed look. “Don’t move.”
Then he cracked the door to see a man with a swoop of brown hair across his forehead and chunky, black-framed glasses.
“Yes?” Theo prompted.
Juliette jumped in front of him and yanked the door open before he registered that the woman hadn’t heeded his order to stay put.
“Camden. Come in, please.” For this man, she was all warm smiles, and Theo got all the glares.
His hand connected with the guy’s chest, stopping him in his tracks. “Who are you?”
A look of confusion and amusement played over his face as he looked between Theo and Juliette. “You’re joking, right?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” He gave him his best rendition of a pissed-off SEAL—or bodyguard. Whatever the hell he was now.
