“I’m here to keep you alive until the threat is found and eliminated.”
Her eyes stay on mine. “That sounds very official.”
“It is.”
A pause.
Then, because I meant what I said last night and I’m not wasting time pretending the setup wasn’t wrong, I say, “You weren’t given a choice in the matter. I know that.”
“And do you typically take jobs that way?” she asks, and there’s something coldly professional in her tone now. “Hired to work with people who didn’t ask for you?”
“No,” I say. “But this family is in a difficult position right now. And your father believes you’re at risk.”
“My father,” she repeats, and the name is brittle, “has a history of making decisions for me. Usually on the assumption that I’m not capable of making them myself.”
That I will not argue. I have no place for it, and frankly, it doesn’t matter to me if she’s right.
“He also believes there is a traitor somewhere inside the family’s structure,” I say. “And if he’s right, then this isn’t about your capability. It’s about the fact that no one is trustworthy enough to guarantee your safety. Including the men who have been guarding you for years.”
Her jaw tightens, but I think she’s listening now. Because even if she hates the setup, she is not a fool. She knows what that kind of betrayal would mean.
“Which is why he’s hired someone from the outside,” she says. “Someone with no ties. Someone he can control.”
“I can’t be controlled,” I say.
Her gaze sharpens at that, but her eyes narrow. She clearly doesn’t believe me.
“Everyone can be controlled.”
“Not me.”
I say it simply. A statement of fact. Not a boast. The people I’ve worked for in the past knew that within the first hour of workingwith me. They knew that when they hired me, they were hiring my judgment, my methods, and my authority.
"My job is to make sure you stay alive," I continue. "Your family may be paying me, but my loyalty is to your safety, not to them. Not to their wishes. Not to their politics. Not to their authority. Your safety is my only priority."
“Then why meet with my brother first? Why not come here and give me the respect of speaking to me?” she asks primly.
I know she doesn't believe me, and this is where the truth comes in. Telling clients more than I think they need to know is not something I typically do, but the last time I was in a situation where I was protecting an unwilling client, he did his best to slip his protection, and it nearly cost him his life. I will not be repeating that.
“I didn't go meet your brother first,” I say.
She lifts her brows. “No? Now you're just lying right to my face.” Her voice has gone cold and hard.
“I went to meet my cousin first,” I clarify. “Your brother was there.”
“And if my father had hired you, what would your excuse be then?”
“It's not an excuse,” I say. “My first priority was seeing Teresa in person.”
That gets her attention in a different way. Her expression doesn’t soften, but something in her gaze shifts. Less immediate hostility. More focus.
I keep going.
“We talk on the phone, text, but I haven't seen her in person in a couple of years before last night,” I say.
That checks her for a second. Not much. Just enough for me to keep going.
“We were close when we were young, and we drifted apart. But that doesn't mean I'm not protective of her. Living on opposite sides of the country makes regular visits complicated even when nothing is wrong.”
