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“I don’t know, maybe because I don’t like walking through life with no clue what’s going on around me.” This earned me an eyebrow raise from Mullins. A fucking eyebrow raise. “Look, I want to be prepared for this person’s games. Obviously sending letters to my father wasn’t enough of a reaction for this asshole, so I got a text message to up the ante. I just want to know if that was the general gist of the letters or if they were more detailed or… whatever.” I waved a hand dismissively at the last spoken word. I wasn’t attempting to downplay the issue; I just couldn’t keep a firm grasp on my thoughts at the moment. Between someone wanting to cut into me for no fucking reason and the man in front of me pretty much slicing me open with a single glare, I had no idea how I was supposed to be reacting in this moment, let alone how to explain myself.
He watched me for a moment more, appearing to decide on something before he gave a slight nod that was so small it could have been a twitch on a less restricted person. But Decker Mullins was all calm and lethal control, I doubted his body ever did anything without his expressed desire to do so. “On a scale of one to ten, one being no issue, I’d say the text was a three.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned a hip against the counter in the first display of any demeanor other than rigid irritation.
“And the letters?”
“A solid eight.”
I felt my heart racing in my throat at his words. The text had sent me into an episode I’d almost forgotten was a consequence of stress for me. I’d needed outside help to hold it together. And that was a three compared to the letters at an eight?! I swallowed down the rising lump of fear and nodded, looking over his shoulder at the wall. I knew I wouldn’t be able to hide the fear radiating from my eyes, so I hid my gaze. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing no one showed me the letters. It’ll be more fun to guard me in the Hamptons than a padded room at Bellevue.” I gave a weak chuckle at my own self deprecating joke and was cut off by the twitch at the corner of his mouth as my eyes drifted back to him. Was that a smile trying to slide through on his lips?
I suddenly wanted to know what this man would look like with a smile. Wanted to know what kept them from his face when men like Fitz smiled freely in this job. I also found myself wondering if I’d be able to survive the heat of that smile if it were ever something he’d give me. Almost like he’d read my thoughts, a steel door slammed on his trace of amusement. “Did you need anything else?”
The shock of seeing how quickly he could become the cold robot was still pumping through me, stealing any ability to come up with a snide comment. I just shook my head mutely.
Mullins pulled his laptop from the counter and slid it into a case that was set on the dining room table before placing it by the door. “You have twenty minutes before we leave. Leave the luggage outside the bedroom door and it will be taken down to the car for you.”
I didn’t move though; I was staring at him trying to hide the amusement of my own sudden realization. Though, due to my working to fight back my own giggle, I’d effectively been staring again and when he released the same “what?” on an almost exasperated breath, I let my grin go. Not the calculated and still grin meant for the cameras, but one I had no control over. His glare morphed into surprise for just an instant as I saw something heat in his look before it was reigned in quickly.
“This is the longest conversation we’ve had so far. Careful now, people might know you’re capable of more than glaring and growling.” He didn’t smile at my teasing words, but I saw light dance through his gaze, a sign of amusement all his own.
“I’m perfectly capable of more than glaring or growling when not met with churlishness.”
This time I didn’t attempt to hide the laugh that bubbled through my belly and out of my mouth. The light in his eyes shined again as I said, “Fancy words for a security guard.”
“I was going to say petulance.” Even his tone appeared lighter now, offering a joke of his own, even if the only smile in the room was coming from me.
I nodded letting my smile fall just a bit even if the humor was still crackling in the air between us. Honestly, I figured he could say whatever he wanted as long as he kept talking. His words held a tone that vibrated in my chest, anticipation of what he would say next always close behind. Not to mention the fact that the deep timbre of his voice nearly had my toes curling in pleasure alone. This sculpture of male perfection would be the death of me. I really had to ignore any and all attraction to the man literally paid to be protecting me right then.
I let my own mask fall back into place and gave a small stiff nod. “I'll finish packing.” Moving around his hulking frame, I made my way back to my room and hopefully had the brain to stop ignoring my danger just to check out the man trying to keep me from it.
__
DECKER
Lake had been ready in ten minutes and I found myself surprised at her efficiency. I shouldn’t have been since she packed for trips like anyone else packed their briefcase for work. She’d left everything by her destroyed bedroom door as instructed except for the messenger bag she kept a tight grasp on even though it was secured across her shoulder. While she waited upstairs for the SUVs to be packed, I watched her pace slightly and wring her hands together like she was forgetting something or holding something back.
When Fitz stepped into her path and asked about it, she’d simply snapped that she felt naked without her phone and raised an eyebrow at me, silently daring me to give it back. I hadn’t.
Now we were split up among three identical black SUVs, Fitz and Ramos leading, followed by Turner and I, and two more men pulling up the rear. The military formation was second nature to all involved, and Lake sat in the backseat silently as we drove, no hint of frustration coming from her seat, as we moved through the city, slower than I would have liked due to the traffic that had me on edge.
I’d told myself the countless glances through the side mirror to her in the backseat were just check-ins. An instinct built on knowing someone was positioned behind me, making me cast a wary look back. At first, I’d figured she was longingly looking out the window as the city she was leaving behind passed by. But on another stolen glance, I noticed her gaze was not outward, but upward. Her lips moved quietly over something I couldn’t make out as she distractedly stared skyward.
“What was that?” Turner asked, apparently having heard her despite her quiet pitch.
She flushed slightly before shaking her head as if to brush it off, causing Turner and I to exchange a glance. It wasn’t in our job description to coax conversation out of a client and I was silently trying to convey that to my subordinate when Turner’s lip hitched ever so slightly before his eyes shot back to the road. I turned my attention back to evaluating every car, pedestrian, shop, and traffic light as we moved closer toward our makeshift safe house.
“You gotta tell us now after that blush.”
I snapped my head back to Turner, wanting to send him back now for crossing the invisible line that stated we weren’t there to chat. Hell, maybe this woman made my whole team reactionary. That might be my way to gracefully bow out of this and get back to running my damn company instead of leaving it with Kasey while I worked the field.
“I said,” Lake sighed, “Boeing 747.” Turner was quickly shifting his confused gaze between her and the road, and I was contemplating turning completely to stare her down when she rolled her eyes and pointed upward, tapping a perfectly manicured nail on the window.
Turner kept his focus on the road while I leaned closer to the window on my right and looked up to see a plane too far away to even read the airline. My gaze shot back to Lake through the mirror and she gave me a simple shrug before turning her attention back out the window.
“How can you tell what kind of plane it is from here?” I was just as surprised as everyone else in the vehicle that the question had come from me, but there I was reacting to her again. I remembered the plane ride from DC back to New York City and thought it strange when she’d complained about the type of plane we’d switched to and here she was again commenting on a craft that would have required binoculars to get a closer look at. Fuck, I didn’t even know the types of commercial planes I was on half the time.
“Everyone has a thing. For some it’s toothpicks. For me,” she shrugged again, “it’s planes.”
“Toothpicks?” I asked, feeling more confused as I continued to talk to this strange woman.
