Page 82 of Cougar

“Not for much longer,” she mutters under her breath.

Who the hell replaced my sweet, honest little girl with this mouthy teenager?

“Excuse me?”

She tips her chin. “When I’m eighteen, I’m not being followed by a bunch of tattletales.”

I raise my brows. “We’ll see about that.”

“Um,” Harper interjects, “may I ask… is there a reason for the bodyguards?”

I look back to Jay. “I thought you filled her in?”

She shakes her head. “Not yet. She just got here.”

Pinching my lips together, I exhale harshly through my nose.

Jay rolls her eyes. “I’m Jayla Mackenzie King,” she begins. “My dad is Marcus King.”

Harper gasps, which turns into a coughing fit. “TheMarcus King, of Royal Mayhem?” she asks incredulously. “You’reJaybird?”

A pained expression crosses Jay’s features before she offers a sad smile.

“I’m sorry.” Harper covers her mouth.

“No, it’s okay.” Jay sniffs. “I’m just not used to other people calling me that.”

She’s right.That’s always been Marcus’s thing.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Harper. It’s really okay.”

“Harper, I would appreciate it if you would keep this information to yourself,” I say kindly, but with enough edge to get my point across. “Only a few people know, and we’d like to keep it that way, at least until she graduates.”

“What about your Project Mayhem class?” she asks Jay, her brows pinched in confusion.

Jay shrugs. “They don’t know anything. I’m just another student.”

“I appreciate you letting me stay here,” Harper says to me, then turns to Jay. “And your secret is safe with me. Just as I hope my secret is safe with you.”

“Of course.” Jay wraps her in a hug.

“You can stay here as long as you like,” I offer. I truly don’t believe Harper is going to be a problem.

Bass, Troy, and Levi drop off Harper’s things, and she, Jay, and I go to work getting her unpacked.

We’re halfway through one of the boxes when Harper’s phone rings. She walks over to the nightstand, picks it up and points to the bathroom. “I’m gonna take this.”

I turn to Jay just as she scoops up an armful of clothes. “You and I will be having a discussion later.”

She frowns. “About what?”

“The list is growing by the minute,” I grit out and point toward the walk-in closet. “Go hang those up.”

Leaning over, I collect the last of the contents in the box. A small black book that looks like a diary or a journal and a wrinkled piece of paper with a crease through the middle, as if it’s been folded. It probably fell out of the book. It’s when I start to fold the paper that a wave of unease engulfs my entire body and I begin to shake as I stare down at the name Cole Matthew Mackenzie scribbled across the top in what looks to be Cole’s handwriting. I scan the paper and realize it’s a copy of Cole’s patient information sheet from two years ago.

What the hell is going on?

---