Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
“But we’ll be busting our ass on this end to find these people and shut them down,” Kynan replies with confidence.
Barrett sets her fork down, not having touched a bite of her food. Giving a reluctant smile, she pushes up from her chair. “I understand. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m not feeling all that hungry. I’m going to lie down.”
I start to stand, but she waves me off. “Joslyn showed me your apartment. I’m going to go hang out there… be by myself for a while.”
“Are you okay?” I ask, finding the odd mixture of worry and empathy swirling within me a bit disconcerting. I don’t develop ties with my protection details. It muddles things.
Another thin smile. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
We all watch in silence as she moves down the hallway before disappearing into my apartment.
“This has to be so hard on her,” Joslyn murmurs.
“It will all be a distant memory soon enough,” Saint offers, choosing to look on the bright side. “For now, at least she’s safe.”
Agreed. I force myself to start eating again, fighting against the need to check on her.
Pull her into my arms and comfort her.
Not part of the job description, yet I want to do it all the same.
CHAPTER 9
Cruce
It’s late by the time I make it to my apartment. I need to get some sleep. After dinner, I’d checked on Barrett. I’d brought her a plate of lasagna and salad, but when I found her sleeping on the couch, I put it in the refrigerator for later. While I’m worried about the lack of food she’s had today, if she’s tired and needs to sleep, then that’s what she should do. I’ve always been taught to listen to the body’s needs.
There was no way I was going to leave her on the couch, so I went to my bedroom and pulled the bedding down to make room for her. Back in the living room, I was able to get her Chucks off without waking her up. She stirred slightly when I lifted her in my arms and carried her into the bedroom, but she didn’t wake up until I laid her down.
“What’s going on?” she’d murmured sleepily.
“Go back to sleep,” I’d ordered softly.
She didn’t question me, eyes sliding closed again. I watched her a moment, sure she was deeply under by the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. She never felt me move a lock of hair off her forehead with my fingertips.
After I went back to the communal area, we worked on a plan late into the night. Joslyn contacted Brad Murdock, who was more than happy to give up his island for a matter of “national security”. He wasn’t told who was involved, and his staff will be told Barrett and I are nothing but filthy rich honeymooners with important connections. Their instructions will be to give us our privacy as much as possible and to tell no one we are there.
Saint worked his connections, so Barrett and I will fly via private charter to Virgin Gorda under fake names. From there, we’ll take a boat to Marjorie Island, which was named after Brad’s mother. Such private transportation will allow me to carry on weapons and other equipment—like an encrypted satellite phone and advanced security cameras.
I’m ready to call it a night, but I take a moment to peek my head into my bedroom. Barrett’s still fast asleep, though at some point, she changed into sleep clothes. I can’t see her bottoms, but she has on a comfortable-looking t-shirt. The clothes she’d been wearing are in a pile at the bottom of the bed.
As I exit, I leave the door open a few inches so I can hear her if she needs anything. I quietly move into the living room. These apartments are small, but they are beautifully appointed. The floors are hardwood with thick crown molding. It’s furnished with masculine leather furniture that speaks to my tastes. Other than the master bedroom and bath, there’s a living room, small kitchen, a guest room, and a half bath. I would sleep in the guest room—except I’m currently using it to store around thirty boxes I’d moved from D.C. a few months ago. I haven’t had time to unpack them, and I don’t feel like wrangling the dozen or so stacked on top of the bed.
The couch will do fine for tonight.
I pull a spare fleece blanket out of the coat closet by the door. After I strip down to my boxers and flop onto the couch, I pull the blanket over my lap. I don’t want to give Barrett an eyeful if she gets up before me, but that’s unlikely. I’m a light sleeper, and I rise early.
♦
It’s a soft, hesitant cry, sounding slightly muffled. It still wakes me as if it were shouted in my ear, and I sit up, fully alert. I bolt off the couch, making my way swiftly to my bedroom.