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CHAPTER6
Cannon
My hands are clenchedaround the wheel as we drive to Beverly Hills. It’s an hour from the dance studio. It’ll be two hours in traffic, if we’re lucky.
That’s just what I need. To be stuck in this car with Penelope for hours each day. To be surrounded by her soft cherry blossom scent.
She changed out of her black practice dress and into an oversized hoodie and leggings. I pride myself on my ability to control my body’s reactions. It performs when I need it to. I’ve had a lifetime of practice honing my physical skills. But I nearly swallowed my damn tongue watching Penelope dance.
I grew up surrounded by girls dressed in next to nothing and was expected to work closely with them while maintaining my pubescent composure. Then as an adult and a man in the military, I had plenty of opportunity to make shitty decisions in regard to the women offering their bodies to me. I could’ve lost all the independence I swore an oath for. Out of the military, I have more leeway, but it takes a lot to make me lose control.
Penelope in that simple black dress with a billowy skirt that had its own personality could make a man lose his damn mind, but with her toned legs covered by shiny black fabric and a hoodie that envelops her, a guy finds himself thinking about how he could wrap himself around her like that.
Did her husband fall for her and then get bored? I can’t imagine a seasoned man like him hasn’t encountered a graceful beauty like Penelope before. Was he enchanted? Or did he realize that he couldn’t steal her poise and her class, and his fragile ego needed another way to break her?
I don’t know, and it’s pissing me off.
Is Roman going to call? I need him to call. His background check isn’t going to find anything more than a kid who was run through the system and joined the military. A fearless young man who took whatever opportunities were thrown at him because he could tolerate high levels of pain and exertion. A Ranger who went on to work as an overseas contractor for a few years before returning to the States and doing the college thing. A veteran who decided he hated how the system works and launched his own business as a private investigator. A PI who busts cheating spouses.
All of that is the truth—except for the childhood paper trail Roman is going to get lost in until he decides it’s not fucking important what I did as a kid.
Penelope points to the right. “Oh, turn h— Oh. You know where to go?”
I know where Brittany Cowles lives. I know where Peter Cowles’s Pacific Palisades home is. And then there’s Penelope’s Bel Air mansion—her former mansion. I’ve done my research. But she doesn’t need to know the extent of how much I know about her.
I keep my eyes on the road. Elsa’s following us. No one else is tailing us. A charcoal-gray sedan parked in the lot at the studio followed us to the freeway. Elsa got the plates but I expect it to be one of Roman’s men. The perk to a long-ass drive is that it gives me plenty of time to determine whether anyone’s spying on us.
Brittany Cowles’s $13 million gated home is a 1930s Spanish-style mansion. Cozier than a few of the places we passed that are all windows and angles, Brittany’s place has a welcoming feel, like this was a luxury purchase but also her safe place. A guest wing I assume I’ll be staying in is across from the pool.
I park in front of the house, unsure what to expect from Penelope, her mom, or this place.
Penelope moves to open her door.
“Wait.”
She jerks her hand back like the handle is burning hot. “What’s wrong?”
“You need to wait for me. From now on, you don’t go out any door before I tell you it’s okay.”
After her hesitation at the idea of me being her bodyguard, I expected my caution to chafe. Her green eyes are wide when she nods. She’s compliant. She’s been compliant all day. She trusts me.
Then why the scene by Jacobi’s pool?
I get out and search the surroundings. The property around the house is gated. Brittany let us in with a program on her phone, but I have a job to do. I have to look like a bodyguard, if nothing else. Elsa parks behind me and gets out. The competent professional expression she’s worn all day slips when she spins in a circle.
“I could do with this as a retirement home.” She stares at the place with stark appreciation. She’s lived in LA too long to be filled with awe.
“I wouldn’t say those words around here. Brittany Cowles has made a living selling snacks that keep her young and healthy.”
“Oh, shit. I’m not pissing her off. Her pineapple-banana smoothies are fire.”
“Never had them.” I continue scanning the property. I need to make it look like I’m doing my job. Roman isn’t going to bother Penelope at her mom’s place.
“You should. They’re fucking fantastic.” She drops her voice. “See if you can score some freebies and I won’t expect a birthday present from you.”
I grin. “I don’t even know when your birthday is.”
My smile’s gone before I let Penelope out. Between the three of us, we carry Penelope’s luggage to the door. All I have is a duffel of clothing with my sidearm packed inside. I’m not a legit PI, but all the paperwork for my gun is on par.
