Page 21 of Devoted

“Why not?” I ask, mostly to get my mind off how crazy good he looks in his sweats and T-shirts. He’s worn them every day. Only the colors change. The styles are all the same. He’s in black sweats and a gray T-shirt today.

He gazes at the door as he answers. “When I gave up contractor work, I didn’t plan to bring the job home. I didn’t want that life. I did it to make money at something I was good at. My other career—what I did before I enlisted—isn’t feasible. I can’t go back.” He starts for the stairs.

Cannon’s older than me. He was in the military. He did overseas work related to what he did in the military. Before he was my bodyguard, he did private investigator work. Very loosely related to what he did before. All professions that helped people in their own way.

My frustrated growl doesn’t stop him. He’s going to disappear back into his office, and I’ll be left to watch more TV. I can’t watch dancing documentaries, otherwise I’ll start sobbing. I’ve binged shows already. Entire series. This would be a lot more fun with a friend, but I’d never wish this on someone I cared about either. If I had a death wish, I’d be free to leave. I’m not imprisoned, but I’m perpetually bored.

“Do you have a game I could play or something?” I call after him.

That gets him to stop at the base of the stairs. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. What did you play as a kid?”

He looks at the door, then swings his gaze back to me. “I didn’t play games.”

I fiddle with the ends of my hair. This is the most time it’s spent out of a ponytail or bun. “No cards? Or, like, board games.”

“No board games, swan. I didn’t have that kind of childhood.”

“Neither did I.”

He disappears up the stairs. I limp after him. He’s gone by the time I hit the base of the stairs. I go through the kitchen. Has he hidden himself in his office?

That man. If I were a swan, I could sail after him.

I sink into the couch. The cushion is going to have a permanent imprint of my ass before my ankle heals.

“I can order—”

I yelp. One day I might quit hollering when I’m startled, but today is not that day.

Is that a smirk? I narrow my eyes at him, but it’s gone. He’s overly innocent.

The man’s expressions are subtle, but they’re there. I’ve been seeing more of them each day.

“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You move so quietly. It’s more than a learned skill. You’re naturally graceful.”

And his gaze shutters again. “On the next grocery order, I can get cards and dice or something. Maybe a game.”

I gesture to my ankle. “As long as it’s not Twister.” The corners of his eyes crinkle. That’s twice today I almost got him to smile. “Have you learned anything new about Roman or his first wife?”

Serious Cannon returns. I hope he’ll tell me, but I’m not sure, and I asked more for conversation. He leans against the wall, his body long, his posture impeccable in even a casual stance. “Not much that’s useful, but we’re hopeful we’ll piece something together. Jake said it’s slow going trying to get past his security.”

“How could she be that hard to find?”

“Most people don’t have much on them. She lived before the social media explosion, so there’s nothing but a marriage announcement and an obituary. Raina Gale Hughes. She went to school for communication and wanted to be an anchor on the nightly news.”

With Roman’s pull, she could’ve done it.

“What about the accident?”

“There’s not much out there. He’s not famous. She wasn’t either. And there’re so many more newsworthy crimes.” He shrugs. “We found some of her early test tapes and when she did segments on her college’s news.”

“Can I see them?” Roman never talked about her. Was she stone cold like him or so full of life she siphoned it from him when she died?

His forehead furrows. “You sure?”

---