Page 47 of Devastated

CHAPTER12

Cannon

Another week goes by.Penelope arranged for Juan Pablo to take a couple of her classes, and Pierre’s partner Myles will instruct what Pierre can’t cover. It’s not a permanent solution but it should be enough to keep the studio going without the need to close its doors and lose all the students and income.

For the last week, I’ve slept next to her on top of the covers. I wake up with her ass pressed into me each morning. But we haven’t touched each other, and I should be teaching her more self-defense. I might get an F in my bodyguard duties, but I can’t put my hands on her again and stop there if she’s willing to do more than learn how to junk punch me.

Penelope keeps herself busy helping her mother plan products targeted to various age groups and athletes. She does yoga and I try not to spy. She swims and I try not to spy. She takes conference calls with Pierre, and I can hear from my room.

I’ve gone from bodyguarding to being a legit stalker under the same roof. I don’t know how much longer I can take it before I storm into Roman’s office and torture him for answers. I’d love to do just that, but I wouldn’t get enough time with security on the ball.

My phone rings. I expect to see Jacobi’s or Kase’s number to get a status update.

It’s an unknown number. My pulse jumps. Fucking finally. Penelope’s disappearance forced Roman’s hand.

I go through the sliding door to the pool. Penelope’s on the phone with Juan Pablo. I can’t risk her or her mother overhearing what this call is about.

“Cannon Lannister?” a garbled voice says on the other end.

A voice changer doesn’t change anything, jackass. But he’s covering his bases. If things go south, he wants to be as clear of the problem as possible.

I answer, “Did you finally realize that you’re not getting close to her without me?”

“How much?”

I wander to my car and lean against the hood, staring at the big house. “Depends what you’re asking. Do you need me to get out of the way? Or do you need me to take care of everything? I can tell you what I think you need. Those street kids you hired aren’t going to do the job without leaving a shitload of evidence behind.”

“You can take care of everything?”

“No one’s going to find her.”

Silence. What did I say wrong? I run the convo through my head. Shit. Of course. “Unless you need her body found. Is that the case?”

Is it life insurance? Why would a guy like Roman care about a life insurance policy? He’s got to be worth a hundred times whatever Penelope is insured for.

The voice responds, “Yes.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

“Ten million.”

Silence again. I can’t give in easy. He’ll think I’m not serious, or that I’m too much of a fool.

“Look, man. She’s quit the studio. She’s parked her pretty little ass in her mother’s house. Getting to her is going to be a problem for anyone, but even harder for me to make it look like I’m not involved.”

“Five.” I bite back a triumphant grin. The bastard is hooked, but he can hear it in my voice. And I can’t readily accept. Mr. Minimal Response shouldn’t be trying to bargain basement a hit on his wife. But he is. What does that mean?

“Eight. Final offer.”

“Six.”

“Eight. You’re free to do it yourself. Maybe by the time you find someone who can get past me and leave your name out of it, you’ll have spent eight.”

“Fine. Finish her by the end of next week.”

I imagine finishing Roman instead. He gave the order with no inflection. “Any preferences?”

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