Page 9 of Target Me
“There are clean towels in the bathroom. Second—”
“Second door on the left. I know.” He hesitated at the door and glanced over his shoulder, face softening as we made eye contact. “Thanks. I’ll just be a minute.”
I stared at the closed door long enough to hear the whoosh of water start on the other side. I imagined seeing that chest and back, and maybe more of him covered in the fall of shower water.
“Stop it,” I snapped, pulling my attention back to the kitchen and the cold plate I had promised to heat.
The hissing of the shower cut off just as the microwave called job done, and I pulled out some cutlery, setting up two spaces on the counter to eat.
The fragrant spices of the curry made my mouth water, and I turned expectantly when the click of the bathroom door signaled time to eat.
“That smells amazing,” he said, sliding onto the stool beside me.
I nodded, distracted by the way his shirt clung to his chest. He’d obviously been in a hurry to eat. Water still beaded on the side of his neck, and he’d left his hat and sunglasses in the bathroom. His hair was a sandy blond, slicked back and still wet from the shower, and his eyes… a sherry red-brown color that looked far too warm on his strong face. No wonder he covered up so much. He could be mistaken for a nice guy otherwise.
“What?” he asked, his lips quirking at the corner as I continued to watch him.
“Just thinking you look nicer without your hat.”
“Is that a compliment?”
I laughed. He acted like the answer didn’t matter, but it hadn’t escaped my notice that his fork had stopped halfway to his mouth.
“Not at all. Just that you could lull someone into a false sense of security if they didn’t know better.”
He grunted, biting down on his fork and speaking through his mouthful of food. “And let me guess. You know better?”
“Of course.”
We ate in silence, which was surprisingly companionable, and I wondered what kind of information Logan was feeding my father. It couldn’t have been much. General Walker had far more important things to worry about than his daughter. Even a stalker couldn’t slow him down.
“Has there been any sign of the guy who sent the key?” I asked as casually as I could.
We had confirmed the key I found in the envelope the night before fit the front door, and Logan had replaced the lock with a biometric system that only he and I could access. Not even my father could get into the house at the moment. I had advocated for Luciana to have access, but he insisted we would control her access until the threat was “neutralized.”
“Nothing so far. I’ll continue to monitor things and see if we can’t flush them out. Speaking of protective measures, are you ready to tell me where you went today?”
“Nope.”
“You realize I need to know where you are to be able to protect you, right?”
My temper flared, and it took a considerable effort to keep any reaction from my face. I didn’t need protecting. I wasn’t some stupid damsel who couldn’t look after herself.
But it’s not about you, remember?
Taking a couple of deep breaths, I pushed chickpeas around my bowl as I considered my reply.
“When you enlisted, you were given a contract to sign. You knowingly and willingly signed away your freedom in order to fight for your country. You signed up to take orders, and in return, you became part of something bigger than yourself. The people you work with bond through shared experience and come to know you better than your family. Sometimes better than yourself.” I paused, glancing over to see Logan was watching me closely with his brow furrowed. Maybe I wasn’t making sense, but I needed him to understand.
“I never signed that contract. You don’t get my secrets because you want them, and you certainly don’t have my permission to report my life to your employer for the sake of something that has absolutely nothing to do with me.”
“You’re the one under threat here. You’re the target—”
“No. I’m not. I’m an unwilling pawn in a bullshit game of politics. If I had anywhere else to go, I’d be there. If this little stalking matter were unlikely to reflect poorly on my father, he wouldn’t care either. In his perfect world, you would be his son and I wouldn’t exist, so excuse me if I’m not inclined to follow the rules of his game. Turns out, I’m not hungry.”
Before he could react, I pushed away my bowl and strode toward the stairs.
So much for starting over.
