Page 58 of Enticing the Enforcer
When I think about him–the quiet way he waits for me after shows, the way he listens when I unravel the chaos of my day, the way he looked at me when he thought I might’ve been in danger–I know he’s not here for the publicity. He’s here forme.
That thought is both scary and comforting all at once.
“Jake knew the risk of this going public when he showed up at the concert. It’s not my problem.” I lean to the side, feeling my quads stretch. “We both know there’s nothing we can do to stop gossip, and if it’s not hurting anyone, then it doesn’t matter.”
I straighten, meeting Madison’s gaze, my voice steady. “For once, I'm focusing on my own happiness–and I’m not letting anyone make me second-guess that.”
A breeze blows off the water, lifting strands of hair from my face as I press deeper into a stretch on the yoga mat. My muscles burn in that good way, the kind that makes me feel present instead of scattered.
Madison’s phone buzzes. She glances at the screen, mouth tightening. “I need to take this.”
I finish the sequence on my own, trying not to watch her retreat inside. When my lungs are steady again, I roll up my mat and pad across the stone toward the French doors.
Just before I step in, voices stop me.
“I heard from the police. Their tech team got more details on the box found backstage,” Marv says, voice low and measured. “Turns out it was the sister of the delivery person. She convinced him to bring it in with the rest of the catering.”
“So, just a crazy fan,” Madison replies, clipped, like she’s already put the whole thing behind her.
“We’re still working on the online threats, but it seems like it was a coincidence.”
The wind shifts, carrying salt air and the distant hum of a boat engine. My shoulders stay tight, the relief never coming. All of this is part of the job, a part I hate, but one that comes with the territory.
Then Marv says something that makes me freeze. “The background check came through.”
Her tone sharpens with curiosity. “Oh, anything worth noting?”
“Overall the group is pretty clean. A skirmish at a frat house a few years ago, and a drunken disorderly on Rakestraw that was dropped. The girl, Nadia, is involved in a case with the police, but she’s the victim in that.”
“And Jefferson?”
What the heck?
“An underage drinking charge three years ago. Nothing big.”
“The media won’t see it that way. They’ll have a field day.”
My heart pounds, confusion twisting in my chest along with something dirtier–betrayal.
“He seems like a good kid,” Marv says. “And he makes her happy.”
“Well, it’s our job to keep her safe,” Madison answers, defensive. “And I had to check.”
Like hell, I want to shout, but don’t, because there’s instant conflict. In one way, she’s right. Someone did need to follow up. I was just too in my head to realize it. My usual circles are people who wear their sins in headlines and gossip columns, every misstep immortalized in print. Jefferson and his friends don’t live in that kind of spotlight, at least not yet.
Still, I think, waiting for the sound of their retreating footsteps, someone should have told me.
The next morning,the sunlight hits the patio just right, glinting off the pool behind the house. I step out, stretching, and find Mom already in her favorite wicker chair–the one that overlooks the garden–coffee cup in hand, with her legs crossed. A faint breeze ruffling her chestnut hair.
“Mornin’, sweetheart.” Her southern lilt has never completely faded, even after decades of living in other parts of the country, and it always makes me think of home; safe, steady, grounded.
“Good morning.” I circle the table. “Where’s Dad?”
“Already at the office.”
‘The office’ is code for golf.
“Ah, of course.” Neither of us mind. My father loves fresh air and exercise. I pull out a chair and sit across from her. My mother, Ruth Flockton, is tall, lean, elegant without trying, and there’s a sharp intelligence in the set of her jaw and the tilt of her eyes. That look had come in handy when she’d been a real estate agent when I was growing up, and later over the negotiating tables with record labels. She’s the central reason why manyof my investments are in property ownership, and why I have complete ownership over my masters.
