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We’ve been pushing each other’s buttons from the moment I walked into her office. But now she’s intoxicated. As much as I’d like to see where the loosening of her self-imposed restraint will lead, we should lessen the heat to a more manageable level.
“Do you know a private investigator named Eliot Briggs?” I ask.
“I don’t personally know of any investigators, private or otherwise,” she answers with a raised brow. “Maybe Petrov Shipping’s security team would know him.”
“Maybe. How about Lysander Wolfson?” I ask, curious to see her reaction.
Her head whips back in surprise. “He lobbies at the Virginia House of Delegates. Why?”
“Is there any reason he’d want to follow you or get into your place?”
Instead of answering, Ana stands. I already miss the feeling of her weight on me.
She sits at the edge of her chair. “We, um, we dated for a while,” she mumbles. “What do you mean get into my place?”
“Wait. You slept with a guy named Lysander?” I burst, pretending to be surprised. It’s a question that’s fucking bugged me all this time. Like the first time I saw surveillance footage of this asshole entering her house, the double fists of jealousy and revulsion choke me.
“Shut up,” she groans. “What in the world would Lysander have to do with people following me?”
“Don’t know yet, sweetie pie. Not to worry. I’ll be paying him a visit to find out.”
It strikes me, as I lie in bed the next morning, that Bryce did not change in appearance alone. His physicality is undeniable, but that’s only the beginning of Bryce’s impressive arsenal.
His wit, intelligence, and fierceness have intensified. The far reach of the surveillance technology at his disposal is scary. He can track patterns that would evade even the most advanced algorithms. The way his team functions seems at the level of crime-solving agencies. I got chills down my spine when he said he’d be paying Lysander a visit.
Bryce MacElroy is ten times more dangerous today than he was the night he got arrested.
I roll off my bed. Saturday morning is usually my day to rebel against a strict schedule. I’ll fire up the espresso machine and grind fresh coffee beans. A perfect hot beverage is one of the few guaranteed pleasures of life.
Grabbing my robe, I putter downstairs. The smell hits me first: butter on a hot pan.
Uncertainty makes me pause. With a stranger cooking in my kitchen and a man stealing my every conscious thought, I’m feeling off. This is the one place in the world I can be sloppy and relaxed before I put on the strong front that will get me through the day. For a split second I think I’ll go back upstairs to change into more presentable clothes. The notion passes. This is my house. If I want to go to my kitchen frumpy and unkept, that’s exactly what I’ll do.
“Good morning, Ana!” Kina calls cheerfully before I even get into the room, like she sensed me.
“Hi, Kina. Good morning,” I answer. “Are you comfortable in the guest room? I’m sorry I couldn’t chat with you when I got home last night.”
To say that I was woozy when I got home would be an understatement. I was intoxicated by more than alcohol.
The effort of keeping up with Bryce, while performing the expected social duties, took its toll. The entire evening had a fuzzy filter. My fatigue hauled me into a deep sleep the second I entered my bedroom.
“Yes, your guest room is lovely. You’ll be happy to hear there’s been no activity all night. Bryce told me you know where the Camry led.”
“Ugh, it has to be some kind of mistake. Lysander and I dated last year for less than two months. We ended on good terms. I can’t imagine how he’s connected to someone following me.”
“If anyone will get to the bottom of it, it’ll be the boss.”
“How long have you been working for Bryce?”
“Almost four years. It’s Tristan, his uncle, who hired me for celebrity security the first year.”
Although I never met Bryce’s uncle, I had heard they founded their business together. Tristan was a police officer stationed in Phoenix before getting into the protection agency business.
“I started undercover work soon after,” Kina continues. “Bryce takes care of all the covert gigs.” Her enthusiasm sparks something in me. Curiosity I guess.
“So MacElroy men are good to work for?”
“The best,” she says enthusiastically.
