“Of course. I’ll make sure nothing happens to either of you. What does this mob want?”
She shrugs. “Revenge, I guess. Barclay’s oldest daughter, Bethany, worked as his right hand. She didn’t know anything, either. She’s already returned all the money to his former clients since she recovered it, so these people aren’t after cash. And I don’t have any information to give them. They assume that Barclay’s secrets were our pillow talk, but he told me almost nothing. And the few things he did say were lies. I shared what I thought I knew with the FBI. When they were done laughing, they dismissed me.”
Every word carries a brittle edge. She made some bad decisions. The man she trusted betrayed her. Then life chewed her up and spit her out. I’ve had a shitty few years, too, but hers have been far worse. I’ve also got a dozen years more experience handling bullshit. She was barely a young adult when her world blew up in her face.
“I’m sorry.”
She softens and shakes her head. “I apologize if I seem bitter.”
“How do you think the angry hoard found you?”
She sighs. “I should have guessed this was the first place people would look. Nia is my half-sister; we share a father. Long story. But that’s not the only connection. Evan, her husband, and Oliver are both Barclay’s illegitimate sons.”
Not only was the thief a habitual cheat, but her own father couldn’t keep it in his pants, either? Nice. “Since you have connections to both Mr. and Mrs. Cook…”
“People assumed I would come here after leaving California.”
I make a mental note that any safe house for Amanda can’t be with family—on either side. “We’ll get you to safety soon.”
“Thank you. But I can’t hide forever. I won’t. I hear you’re a firearms instructor.”
“Yeah. I owned a range in Colorado for about ten years. I’ve taught for longer than that.”
“You don’t own the range anymore?”
I shake my head. “Sold it when I filed for divorce awhile back.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. My soon-to-be-ex and I are both much happier. And I’m thinking about opening a range in Maui soon.”
“When did you move here?”
“I really haven’t yet, but I think I’m going to.”
A little furrow appears between her brows. “Maybe I should consider a move, too. I can’t go back to LA. And I won’t go to New York, where I grew up. My father still lives there. I don’t need his meddling. Hell”—she tosses her hands in the air—“maybe I’ll stay here, too. My brother, Stephen, just relocated to the island for his wife, Skye.”
“You two close?”
“Yeah. He’s always been there for me, especially when my dad wasn’t.”
“Did your dad travel a lot or something when you were a kid?”
I should stop asking irrelevant personal questions. It’s none of my business, and has no bearing on how I protect Amanda. But they keep slipping out of my mouth. I can’t deny I’m curious.
“I suppose, but that wasn’t really the problem. He can be a real bastard, which is probably why he and Barclay were friends. Stephen assures me Dad has mellowed with age. Maybe.” She shrugs. “Anyway, while we’re together, I was hoping you could teach me to shoot. I’ll pay you.”
“Sure.”
“If it wasn’t clear, I’ll pay you for all your time.”
“I appreciate that, but I can only stay a few days.”
Amanda shakes her head, and it’s impossible not to notice the way her pale waves skim over breasts that I’d bet a hundred bucks aren’t restrained by a bra.
“Then you should go. I need someone who’s willing to commit a bit longer.”
Maybe so, but… “Who else are you going to find at barely six a.m. on a Sunday morning?”
“I don’t know, but I need someone for more than a day or two.”
“And I need a steady, long-term job. You’re going to want someone with more experience, anyway. But I’ll be here until we can find you that guy.”
“Fine.” She doesn’t sound happy about it. “How much would it take to entice you to stay for the week?”
“We’ll work it out.” Normally, I wouldn’t let a negotiation go. It’s stupid and irresponsible to agree to work before coming to financial terms, but Amanda, despite holding her own and standing up for herself, looks exhausted. And I feel like shit for wondering what she looks like under those pajamas. Even now, I’m picturing her. I have no doubt her body would both take my breath away and kick my libido into overdrive.
Stop being a lech, dude. Do your job.
“Why don’t you go back to sleep while Oliver seems to be out?” I suggest. “That will give me time to figure out where I can take you that’s safe.”
She shakes her head. “I’ll need to pack and find a crib or playpen for my son. I can’t take Nia’s. She’ll need it soon.”
Probably not in the next few days, but I sense Amanda hates imposing on anyone, even her own family.
“All right, if you change your mind…”
“I won’t. Coffee?”
“Sure. Black, please. I’m going to walk the perimeter and find Trace.”
She nods my way, then shoulders past me and pads down the hall. I try not to notice that the top of her head only reaches my shoulder or that she’s got a lush, round ass, visible even under the too-big pajama pants. I definitely try to ignore my ill-timed erection.
Note to self: Find someone else to bodyguard her ASAP. She’s a distraction I don’t need.
Easier said than done. Who the fuck else do I know on Maui? I’ve only been here eight days.
Cursing under my breath, I head out the back of the house, glimpse more evidence of the angry crowd, then head for Trace. He’s still talking to Harlow and Nia when I stroll up.
“How did it go with Amanda?”
“Fine.” What else am I supposed to say? Why didn’t you tell me she’s so gorgeous it would fuck with my head?
“Good.” Trace nods. “I’ve been giving the safe house situation some thought. I have an idea, but I need to talk to someone. Give me a couple of hours?”
“Sure.” I figure no one will come back in broad daylight. Bitching mobs are usually made up of cowards who prefer to slink under the cover of dark. “We just need to get out of here before sundown.”
Trace grimaces. “You think that’s soon enough? The guy who broke into the house last night—”
“What?” That’s the first I’m hearing of an intruder.
“Yeah.”
Nia adds her two cents. “He cornered Amanda in the hall and threatened her. He had a knife. If she hadn’t—”
“Knife? Fuck! We need to leave—now.”
“And go where?” Trace asks.
No idea. “I’ll think of something.” I turn to Nia. “I need a connection for a crib or playpen. She won’t take yours.”
“I figured. I’ll make some phone calls. I think Griff and Britta have a spare.”