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“You have a new personal chef who will move in tonight,” I announce over her head. “Her name is Kina Platt, a Marine vet who has worked our undercover assignments with great success. She’ll keep me up to date until we make our relationship public knowledge, at which point we can officially share residence.”
“You’re completely out of your mind,” she mutters in a daze.
“I’ll be over at seven to pick you up tonight.”
“Oh good, you’ve made plans!” Sergei says from the door where he caught the end of my statement. “I’m needed back at home.”
“No, we have not made plans!” Ana blurts.
“Give my regards to Maeve and the kids,” I tell Sergei before walking out and closing the door behind me.
It’s a good thing Ana’s office is tucked at the back of what is currently an empty conference room. Her furious curses waft past the door. They’re music to my ears.
For the first time in ages, I’m thinking of Anastasia Petrov with something other than regret or dread. By the time I get to her assistant’s desk outside the conference room, I’m whistling.
Kina Platt is waiting outside my house, leaning on the car door of a black Suburban with tinted windows.
How do I know it’s Kina Platt, security agent working for the most infuriating man in the world? By comparing the woman standing in the rain to the picture and profile Bryce sent me via text.
She’s probably a few years older than me, fit as can be with cropped blonde hair and dark green eyes. Despite her pleasant appearance, there’s something, I don’t know, coiled about her. Like she’s tight yet elastic, poised to leap into action if provoked.
“Hello, Ms. Petrov. I’m Kina from MacElroy Security Services. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she says warmly when I drive up and lower my passenger window. She’s wearing a waterproof, military-grade parka. She removes the hood, allowing the rain to pelt her face.
“Kindly use Bryce’s text to scan my face.”
“I see your picture right here,” I declare, lifting the phone so I’m looking at her side by side.
“It’s protocol. Hair and features are easy to counterfeit. Micro facial analysis is not.”
She looks ready to stand there blinking away the rain for as long as it takes me to scan her face. I pull up the link Bryce sent. The facial recognition technology is impressive. Whatever app they’re using isn’t readily available on the market.
“I’m not sure what Bryce told you, but this isn’t necessary. I’ll be happy to cover your, um, expenses and fee for today, but I expect you to leave immediately.” I’m trying to sound pleasant yet firm.
“My expenses and fees are already covered by my employer. Thank you for offering, though. Can I help you bring anything inside?”
“Please leave, Kina. I don’t want to call the subdivision’s security guards to escort you off my property, but I will if necessary.” With the cost of homeowner association services in this housing development, those guards should be easily summoned.
She purses her lips like an indulgent schoolteacher tolerating a kid’s nonsense. “With all due respect, it will take more than mall cops to escort me off anything. You’ll have to call the police, I’m afraid. Which is fine. If they’re here, you’ll have the protection you need until Bryce arrives in”—she checks her watch—“seventy-three minutes.”
“Here’s the thing,” I begin with a sigh, “everyone is panicking because I received a few threatening letters. They’re making too much of it. I’m perfectly safe here, on my own.”
“Did you notice a blue Toyota Camry following you home from work, Ms. Petrov?”
“No. And please call me Ana.”
“Let me show you something, Ana.” She presses her finger on the screen of a tablet before leaning it over the passenger window for me to study.
“What am I looking at?” I ask, confused by the drone-like angle capturing a vaguely familiar road.
“Do you see that red car?” she asks, pointing to what looks like my electric Mustang Mach-E’s sunroof. “Three cars back is the blue Camry that followed you along this route from your office to your home.”
With the screen continuing to face me, she clicks another button to show an aerial view of my property. “This is the same car,” Kina points to the image. “And it is parked one block away from your driveway. Beside a walking path that follows your back fence.”
“Just because a car drives along the same road and parks in my neighborhood doesn’t mean I’m in danger of trespass.”
“It has been doing this in a sporadic but distinct pattern throughout the last six months. Maybe even longer, but our search parameters only went back that far.”
I blink slowly because that’s got to be a mistake. “What are you telling me? That someone has been following me for six months?”
