“Well, at least then I’d get to leave.”
Despite myself, the corners of my lips twitch.Christ, I shouldn’t find her funny.Or sharp-witted. Or intriguing.This time, the silence that follows feels different. Less explosive. Ever-so-slightly less explosive.
When she finally speaks again, her voice is quieter and has a slight tremble to it. “I heard everything downstairs.” I straighten slightly. “The cartel stuff,” she clarifies. “I heard Hawk talking to myfather.”
My jaw tightens automatically. “You shouldn’t worry about operational details.”
“That’s impossible considering apparentlyI’man operational detail.”
I glance toward the dark hallway before lowering my voice. “We’re handling it.”
Another bitter laugh echoes in the room. “You guys keep saying that like it’s supposed to make me feel better.”
“It should.”
“Well, itdoesn’t.”
“I know.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
She shifts uncomfortably as she stares at her pink-polished toes. Barely managing to lift her eyes to meet mine she asks, “You really think they’d come after me?”
I stare back at her chocolate pools, hating the answer resting on the tip of my tongue. “Yes.”
No point in lying.
She lets out a heavy sigh. “Awesome.”
I close my eyes briefly. This is why close protection assignments suck. You either stay detached and become cold enough to stop caring, or you let someone get under your skin, and it eats at you piece by piece. And Mackenzi gets under my skin far too easily.
“I have midterms next week,” she says suddenly. The random normalcy of her statement catches me off guard. “I was supposed to be starting a new lab project tomorrow.” She laughs once, and it’s completely devoid of humor. “I’mworried about a biology project, while a cartel threatens to kidnap me. That’s insane.”
“No,” I breathe. “It’s normal.”
Because routine things matter most when your life is spiraling out of your control. I learned that the hard way. She stares back at me, her eyes asking a thousand questions that her mouth isn’t, while simultaneously looking at me with understanding as silence settles between us.
After pushing off the doorframe, I rake my fingers through my hair until they hit the bun at my crown. “You should try to sleep.”
“Hard to sleep with everything going on,” she says on a huff that isn’t quite a laugh. The tiny sound punches me in the gut.Or is it my chest?
With my hand on the knob, I slowly pull the door shut and step into the hallway. “Get some rest, Mackenzi.”
“You, too…”
I head down the hallway before I can say anything else I shouldn’t, but halfway to the staircase, I stop. She’s moving around inside the room restlessly. Instead of walking away like I should, I stand rooted in the dim embassy hallway listening for a minute—or three—longer than necessary. Long enough to realize that her feisty attitude isn’t going to be the only problem with this assignment.
The first thing I notice when I wake up is the deafening silence, nothing like the chaotic noises I awake to most mornings. I lie motionless beneath cold linen sheets, staring at the ornate ceiling while pale morning light bleeds through the gauzy curtains in long silvery ribbons. For one blissful second, I forget where I am. But as I rub the sleep from my eyes, reality slams into me hard enough to make my stomach knot—my father dragging me back to the embassy compound like I’m a reckless child instead of a nineteen-year-old woman.
Suddenly, the silence is no longer peaceful or relaxing, because I’m literally waiting to hear footsteps, the crackle of radios, or the voices of men, who seemingly never sleep, to waft through the walls.
I exhale sharply into the empty room and drag both hands down my face. Today will be the same as every morning since my confinement started three days ago. No classes. No freedom. No life outside these walls.
I shove the blankets off aggressively and climb out of bed barefoot, irritation simmering beneath my skin before I’m fully awake. The marble floor is cool as I stalk toward the windows and yank one side of the curtains open harder than necessary, morning sunlight abruptly flooding the room.
The estate stretches below with magazine-perfection. Dew glitters across the massive lawn like shattered glass, and white stone pathways curve through the perfectly landscaped gardens. Beyond the towering black iron fence, the embassy gates loom like something pulled from a fortress instead of a home. While there has always been security, now, they are everywhere I look: One guard stationed near the perimeter wall, another crossing the courtyard below, movement from one of the snipers on the west-wing roof.
My gaze drifts absently toward one of the winding stone paths cutting through the gardens below, and I freeze. “Good lord…” The words slip out before I can stop them. Damon traverses the grounds at a steady run, moving fast, a sheen of sweat covering his skin.
My throat tightens instantly, and I gulp, trying to pull in a breath.
