Focus.
Pure concentrated focus.
All of it lasered firmly on her.
And not like he was annoyed either. More like he was struggling to understand something that eluded him.
Um, yeah. Probably trying to figure out what the hell possessed Cassie to hang out with you.
Bonnie held out her hand toward her backpack. “I got it.”
He stayed perfectly still, his study of her so intent it was all she could do not to fidget.
She reached for the bag and tugged it from his hand. Or tried to, for all the good it did her. “Seriously. I’m good.”
He nodded, though it looked like he was answering some internal dialogue rather than agreeing with her claim. A second later, he stepped back and motioned her forward, but kept her backpack. “After you.”
Two steps out from behind the truck door, the cold January air and a trio of curious stares hit her all at once. The men in particular seemed shocked and agog. Though, they schooled their expressions quick enough when Roman moved in closer to Bonnie’s side and pressed a hand to the small of her back.
Cassie noted the action, too, and a sly smile crept onto her face. She moved in close to Bonnie’s free side as soon as they were close enough. “You okay?”
“Depends. Does being embarrassed as hell count?” She slowed as soon as the backyard came into view. “Holy cow. That’s a whoppin’ sight if I ever saw one.”
The pool wasn’t an Olympic size by any stretch, but it also wasn’t a tiny thing either. Laid out in a simple rectangle, there were neatly trimmed hedges, fancy sculptures and flowers that probably shouldn’t even be alive this time of the year surrounding it.
“I know, right?” Cassie said, urging Bonnie toward the raised patio with its stone balustrade and fancy outdoor furniture. “When we get over this cold snap, we’re having some friends from Dallas down for a barbecue. You should come.”
Roman and the other men fell back a few steps and let the two of them go head.
Bonnie lowered her voice. “Ease up there, missy. I’m pushing my social quota just stepping foot in this neighborhood. Plus, I’m pretty sure your idea of a barbecue and mine are polar opposites.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Cassie paused long enough for Roman to open the door for them both. “If yours involve beer, a ton of food and men beating their chests for most of the afternoon, then we’re probably pretty close.”
Hmm. That did sound like a normal barbecue. They probably had those fancy IPA or imported beers and ate steaks instead of on-sale, pre-made patties from Walmart, though.
Rather than follow them in, the two men lingered outside on the patio. Which was kind of insane, because the kitchen that greeted them was big enough to house a whole football team without anyone touching shoulders. Warm taupe walls reached to at least a ten-foot ceiling and the granite countertops were thicker than any she’d ever seen before. The room was broken into two halves—a cooking area with an island in the center and a breakfast counter to one side with barstools tucked beneath it, and a dining area with a bay window that overlooked the backyard. A farmhouse table sat centered in the middle of the space.
A rotund woman just a few inches shorter than Roman stood near the island surrounded by stainless steel appliances more appropriate for a five-star restaurant than a house. She looked up from whatever she was stirring, a wisp of gray hair falling from her tight bun. She locked onto Bonnie first, then Cassie behind her, and finally on Roman. The sharp declaration that followed held a Russian accent even thicker than Roman’s. “You brought guests.”
Heat blanketed her back a second before Roman’s hand settled on her shoulder. He answered back with just as bold of a reply, but every word was in Russian.
The woman’s shrewd gaze cut to Roman’s hand and up to Bonnie’s face. A tiny smile tugged one corner of her mouth, a fact Bonnie was pretty sure rarely happened given the deeply etched frown lines on her forehead. She gave her attention back to Roman. “As you say. Now introduce us.”
Bonnie murmured to Cassie. “I don’t get it. What did he say?”
“Beats me,” she whispered back. “I only know the sexy stuff and the dirty words so far.”
Roman shifted to her side and motioned to the woman. “Bonnie, this is Olga. She came with Sergei from Russia and manages his kitchen.”
“Yeah, I kinda gathered that from the accent and the chef’s clothes.” Bonnie hustled forward and held out her hand over the counter-height bar that separated them. “I’m Bonnie Drummond.”
For a moment, Olga stared at Bonnie’s outstretched hand like she’d offered a pig’s foot instead of a handshake. She got herself in gear pretty quick, though, and returned the gesture. “Welcome to our home. You will stay for dinner. Tonight, we have gumbo.”
Oh, she’d picked that up the second she walked in the back door. Any native Louisianan could pick that dish up on scent alone. And what was it with people telling her what to do instead of asking? Maybe it was a Russian thing. “I appreciate it, but you don’t need to do that. I’ll head home just as soon as Roman gives me the all clear.”
“You will stay,” Roman said, his tone a little lighter than Olga’s, but still formed as a directive. He shifted his focus to Cassie behind her. “I have calls to make. You will not leave without your guards.”
Cassie gave him a mock salute and an even sassier, “Yes, sir!”
He looked to Bonnie and held out his hand. “Give me your phone and your address.”
“My phone?”
“It’s a security thing,” Cassie said, moving in closer. “First order of business is shutting down tracking options. Trust me. Been there. Done that.”
“But what if my dad or Kev try to call me?”
“Then I will answer,” Roman said. “You will not.”
“Geesh.” Sighing, Bonnie motioned to the bag still in Roman’s hand. “Side pocket.”
Roman lifted it like it weighed nothing, snatched the ancient device she’d bought secondhand from a bar customer and stuffed it in his coat pocket. “What else do you have?”
“Come again?”
“Other electronics. What else do you have?”
She dipped her head toward the bag. “Just my laptop, but I’ve got the location services turned off already. So it’s good.”
Ignoring her completely, he unzipped the backpack and slid the shiny Mac free. “Better not to assume. I will check it. Now your address.”
“Is please in your vocabulary?”