I didn’t even know these were a thing. “Can’t say I do.”
Over the next thirty minutes, we see a same-sex couple trying to choose a new house in Phoenix. At the end, we both agree house two is the better option, even though it’s a bit of a fixer. But the couple on the show picks house one because it’s move-in ready.
“I don’t get that.” She gestures to the TV. “A little elbow grease can be fun, and you get to make the place your own.”
I shrug. “Yep. Besides, the house they picked seems way too small.”
“Totally.”
Another episode starts, this time starring a single woman buying her first place after a divorce. She wants to be in the heart of Chicago, close to all the restaurants, bars, and her friends. Option number one is astronomically expensive, and when I look down to say something to Mandy about it, her eyes are closed. Her breathing is deep.
She’s fast asleep.
I smile at her, then lift her into my arms, haul her against my chest, and head for the master bedroom. She doesn’t weigh much, and it seems even more mind-blowing that she fought off a knife-wielding intruder alone.
Inside the cool, dark space, I tip her onto her feet and steady her. “Time for bed, Mandy.”
“Wha…?” she mumbles, barely opening her eyes.
I’m not shocked she’s exhausted. Sure, she napped earlier, but not nearly enough to make up for the six hours of sleep she missed last night.
Banding one arm around her waist, I pull the covers back, then peel off her silky-soft robe. Underneath, she’s wearing that champagne nightie I saw earlier that reveals at least as much as it covers. Forcing myself not to gawk, I lay her down, head on the pillow, then cover her.
“Good night, Mandy.” I kiss her forehead.
She doesn’t even stir.
Smiling, I back away, then follow the faint golden glow of the nightlight into the walk-in closet. Oliver is sprawled on his back in the middle of the crib, his stuffed toy train cuddled in one lax palm.
He really is a cute kid. If Mandy decides to give us a chance, I’ll be spending a lot more time with him. Even twelve hours ago that would have terrified me because what do I know about kids? But now I don’t mind. In fact, I kind of like it.
On my way back out of the master bedroom, I glance at Mandy one last time. She’s already grabbed the spare pillow and rolled to her side. I draw the black-out drapes, hoping the darkness will keep her asleep come sunrise. Then I double-check both the interior and exterior of the house, tightening locks as I go, before retreating to my makeshift bedroom to scan my phone. It’s still early. I’m not quite tired, and nothing on the device is holding my attention.
What about Mandy’s phone?
I shouldn’t snoop or pry, but I need to make sure her location services are turned off. I don’t know if her father or anyone else can ping her device and view her whereabouts. I fucking should have thought of that earlier, but the last time I did any bodyguarding work, tracking phones wasn’t a thing.
With a sigh, I manage to work my way upright from the floor and find her device in the kitchen. It’s not password protected, which is a bonus for me now…but I’ll need to persuade her to correct that later. A quick scroll proves she doesn’t have much on the phone except pictures of Oliver. Her emails are scant and mostly informational—news headlines, bills, bulletins from her alma matter, and the like. True to her word, she has no social media loaded. In her settings, I see her location services are turned on. Cursing, I press the button to shut them off. But if her father or anyone who’s had access to her phone has already seen her current whereabouts, she’s compromised.
If that’s the case, I’ll need a quick Plan B.
When I’m back at the home screen, I settle my thumb over the button to darken her phone when a text appears. It’s from Bruce.
Please tell me where to find you. I’m worried.
“Motherfucker.” I wish this guy would go away.
But he won’t, and neither will her father—unless and until she tells them to.
I shouldn’t do it. I know I shouldn’t, but I start reading their text string, which started a few hours ago. And I get pissed.
I just heard from your dad that someone attacked you last night. Are you okay?
Fine. Thanks.
Let me protect you. Tell me where you’re staying. I need to see you, to talk to you about us. You shouldn’t have to protect Oliver alone. I’ll be there for you.
We’re friends, Bruce. I’m not ready to talk about more. I’ve hired a bodyguard, so I’m safe. Don’t worry. We’ll talk when I’m home.
I’m not giving up on you.
Mandy didn’t reply after that, and this asswipe is texting her again. Doesn’t he know when to quit?
She may not be cynical enough to question whether this jackhole is being paid to care so damn much, but I am. Sure, I understand why a father may want to make sure that his daughter finds a good husband. But Douglas Lund is going about this like a controlling bastard who didn’t like Mandy’s previous decisions so he’s decided to make her future ones for her.
It’s not going to happen, pal.
I darken her phone, traipse back down the hall, and after a pause to ensure she’s still sleeping peacefully, I grab some clean boxers and find the bathroom on the other end of the villa. After a short, scalding shower, I arrange my Glock beside the mattress, within easy reach, then fall onto the inflatable again, lace my fingers across my stomach, and stare at the ceiling, wide awake. I’m hyperaware of Mandy in the next room.
It’s going to be a long night.
Somewhere after midnight, I finally drift off and have a few weird-ass dreams I barely remember. I don’t know why I’m suddenly awake. Then I hear footsteps in the hallway just outside the room. I tense and reach for the weapon, pointing it at the doorway just in time to see a shape emerge from the shadows toward me.
“Tanner?”
“Mandy,” I breathe and shove the gun aside. “Something wrong?”
“I can’t sleep.”
Despite her exhaustion? I get to my feet and grope unsuccessfully for my T-shirt and shorts. “You afraid, baby? Don’t be. You’re safe. I’m making sure of it.”
She fumbles through the dark until she grabs my hand. “I…I need you.”
Given how independent she’s had to be since Oliver’s birth and how difficult it is for her to trust, admitting that couldn’t have been easy.
“Sure.”
“Thanks.” She tugs on my hand and leads me toward her bedroom.
“Let me grab my clothes.”
“No. Now. Please.”
There’s a note of need in her voice that pulls at me. I grab my Glock. “Would you feel better if I checked all the doors and windows again? Went through the house, top to bottom, to make sure we’re alone?”
“I’m not afraid of an intruder right now.” She reaches the side of the bed and flips on the nearby lamp. She’s looking right at me. “I’m afraid of how I feel.”
Tears sheen her eyes, and I can’t resist setting my weapon down and cupping her cheek. “Why?”
“I swore I’d never fall for anyone again, and in one day you’re about to make a liar out of me. I feel so close to falling…”