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“My what?”
“Mr. Wentworth is concerned about your safety.”
“I’m a cop,” she said. “I don’t need a protector.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Scott said, folding his beefy arms. “I’m sure that’s correct. Although there was some mention of an incendiary device in your vehicle.”
“He’s here to back me up,” Hans said from the front seat. “Give me your address.”
Back him up? Shaking her head, Kelly gave the address and remained silent for the rest of the trip. She figured Wentworth would hire extra security for Jason after the kidnapping, but she didn’t need a guardian.
When Hans pulled to a stop in front of her building, she said, “I’ll be quick,” and jumped from the car.
Scott came with her.
She whirled on him. “What are you doing?”
“Going with you.”
“That’s not necessary,” Kelly said, with a quick glance around. Was the FBI watching?
“You can’t talk me out of it, Officer,” Scott said. “I’m being paid to make sure nothing happens to you.”
“Fine,” she ground out. This was ridiculous.
They didn’t speak as the elevator ascended to her floor. Before she could jam her key into the lock on her door, Scott stuck out his muscled arm, bent over and peered at the mechanism.
“Does anything appear different, Officer?” he asked when he straightened up.
“I’m a trained officer, not an idiot.”
Scott nodded. “Unlock the door, but let me clear the room.”
After turning the key, Kelly stepped back and waved her arm with a dramatic flourish, indicating he could enter first. Scott drew a Sig Sauer from under his jacket, pointed it at the ground and entered.
Kelly folded her arms as she waited, hoping none of her neighbors came into the hallway. The thing she hated most in the world was feeling like a victim.
At the age of thirteen she’d made a solemn vow to never be anybody’s prey ever again.
Scott reappeared in the doorway. “You’re good.”
Refusing to give in to the snarky remark lurking on her tongue, Kelly entered and packed quickly, tossing underwear, socks and casual clothing into her ragged suitcase. She didn’t bother with toiletries since Wentworth had all anyone would need—oh, except her toothbrush. After adding that to the pile, she grabbed workout gear, her competition-style bathing suit and goggles, the book she was studying for the sergeant’s exam, which she intended to sit for as soon as she was eligible.
She grabbed clean uniforms from the closet, threw them over her arm and glanced around her bedroom. What was she forgetting?
“Are you ready, Officer?” Scott asked.
Her gaze fell on the gun locker she used for her service weapon. She stowed it inside her luggage and clicked the latches closed. “I am now.”
Scott grabbed the bag and hefted it easily. “Let’s move.”
Kelly wanted to snatch her suitcase out of the man’s hand, but followed him into the hallway.
This guy was just following orders, and she was a cop who understood chain of command. Her problem wasn’t with a guy doing the job he was being paid for.
Her problem was with Trey Wentworth.
CHAPTER NINE
WHEN KELLY ENTERED the foyer, Trey stood back while his son launched himself into her arms. They’d been waiting for her return ever since Jase had woken up from his nap demanding to see her.
“Mommy,” he shouted in a voice so full of joy that Trey’s stomach clenched.
So in his son’s mind, Kelly was still his mother. He’d hoped that after so many hours apart Jason would realize the truth when he saw her.
To her credit, Kelly knelt and hugged him close. “Hi, Jason.”
“I missed you, Mommy.”
“Well, I missed you, too,” she replied in a way that made Trey doubt if she’d given him a single thought all day.
She stood and their gazes locked. Trey blinked at the difference in her. He’d never seen Kelly in her police uniform before. Was this even the same woman? She’d somehow acquired edges he’d never noticed.
If Kelly wanted to disguise the fact that she was beautiful, a dark blue police uniform made of sturdy synthetic fabric certainly did the job. But the trappings also gave her an aura of authority, the sense that this was a woman not to be trifled with. And right now she looked seriously angry about something.
