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“I bet it’s an exciting life, being a bodyguard. I’m probably the most boring client you’ve ever had to watch over.”
“You’re the farthest thing from boring. I’ll tell you what though, you’re the client with the best coffee.”
“Speaking of which, I can make you a cappuccino!” I exclaim, eager for my own cup.
“There you go again, making me drinks. Let me do it. I’m about to finish this batch of protein pancakes.”
I can’t help crinkling my nose. Why do people keep ruining perfectly good food with healthy crap? I’ve got nothing against a salad, but leave my pancakes alone.
“I know what you’re thinking. I promise this is better than the boxed stuff. Wanna try?”
Saying no would be rude, so I grab the maple syrup and plates. We’re enjoying breakfast together with pancakes that don’t taste like cardboard when her phone rings.
“Excuse me, I need to take this.”
“Of course.”
Kina stands up and, while she’s talking to the person on the line, gazes out the window and checks the doors. She’s speaking in monosyllables so there isn’t much for me to eavesdrop on. Except the last bit.
“I see you driving up now. Yeah, I’ll wait at the front door.”
Out the window, Bryce’s Suburban is speeding through the housing development. It’s the same vehicle he used last night and identical to Kina’s, except he’s driving it like a sports car. He rips into the circular driveway and abruptly stops at my front door.
When Bryce stomps out, I choke on a bite because holy crap, what witchcraft is this?
Gone is the debonair smoothness of Bryce in a tuxedo. Without the formal jacket and smoothed-down hair, he looks like a different person.
A black fitted top strains on his upper arms. Faded jeans hug strong hips, daring me to look at the enticing bulge at the front. His hair is tousled and he hasn’t shaved since yesterday, scruff darkening a square jaw. I imagine this is how a fitness magazine would portray a motorcycle club leader. Brooding, dangerous, and so freaking hot.
Kina opens the door before he even knocks. A split second later, Bryce is glaring down at me.
“What do you know about Lysander? Does he have a relative out of town he visits? Or maybe a reason to go away for a weekend?”
“Good morning to you too, sunshine.”
“Ana, think,” he growls.
“About Lysander? Why the fuck would I do that?”
“Just answer the question. Where would he be if not at home or at work?”
“The tennis club, maybe?”
“He’s not there. And not at the gym either. Where else?”
“I couldn’t begin to guess his whereabouts, Bryce. What’s the problem? People leave town for any number of reasons.”
“He didn’t just leave, Ana,” Bryce says, taking a step closer so I have to look up. “When we track people, there’s a slew of resources that tell us their movement, their behavior. He’s disappeared.”
“Disappeared? Just because you can’t reach him, it doesn’t mean he’s vanished.” I guffaw. “Have you reached out to his assistant? She’s got to know his schedule.”
“You mean Judith Roy? Yeah, we’ve looked at their shared calendar and there’s nothing.”
“Did you say you looked at someone’s shared calendar? Without asking?” As hints of his surveillance practices emerge, my suspicion looms like a growing shadow. What else does Bryce have access to?
He ignores my accusation. “So, if there’s an appointment or a trip not in the books, it’s possible Judith and Lysander would have a conversation about it, right?”
“I guess.”
