Page 15 of Iron Shield
Eventually she dropped her purse at the foot of the bed, kicked off her shoes and climbed into bed fully dressed. She didn’t get under the blankets—that felt too much like accepting this strange house and Rome’s rules.
She stared at the ceiling until her eyes burned.
Why did Rome’s statement about having the skills to protect her leave her feeling hot and cold at the same time?
Stina stared into the darkness.
It sounded like somebody else’s life.
The terrifying part was that everyone except her seemed to know why it had become hers.
THREE
Rome stepped out of the bathroom and stopped at Stina’s bedroom door.
He hadn’t heard a peep from the woman all night, which shocked the hell out of him.
As he listened, he tried to make out the squeak of the mattress as she climbed out of bed or muttered complaints about it squeaking.
For a woman who seemed genetically incapable of keeping her thoughts to herself, she was too quiet.
He started to move toward his own door but got pulled right back, even though he hadn’t heard any noise to keep him there. He told himself he was checking her because she was under his protection, that he was just doing his job.
That he wasn’t standing outside the room in a pair of jeans and no shirt because he was a creep.
The silence on the other side of Stina’s bedroom door wasn’t helping him feel less like a creeper.
He stood in the hallway for another second before common sense kicked him in the ass. She had to be exhausted. After all, she’d spent the last twenty-four hours finding new and inventive ways to ignore danger.
He backed away from the door before he could irritate himself further and headed for his room. Since he joined Sierra team, he’d gotten spoiled by the base having a gym with the best equipment. But he got his start as a Navy recruit running calisthenics drills at dawn.
The floor and his own body were enough. He dropped into push-ups and counting reps. Ten. Twenty. Thirty.
His shoulder muscles warmed and his breathing deepened.
Forty. Sixty.
Typically, physical exertion solved most of his problems. It burned off excess energy and gave his brain something to do besides wander into places it didn’t belong.
Like Stina’s bedroom.
Today wasn’t one of those days.
By eighty, he was still thinking about the fact that he’d spent two straight minutes standing outside his charge’s door.
By ninety, he was more annoyed with himself for it.
Rome finished the set at an even hundred, rolled onto his back and started sit-ups.
The woman had somehow managed to turn protective custody into a full-time headache. Every conversation with her felt like stepping into a fight he hadn’t agreed to participate in. She questioned everything. Commented on everything. Ignored danger with a level of confidence that would have had his very first drill sergeant handing her ass to her.
Feeling a reluctant smile tug at his mouth, he flattened it into a hard line. Smiling about her irritational behavior was just as irrational.
By the time he finished a second circuit and made up his mind to call Cannon, sweat coated his skin and his pulse dropped into a steady rhythm.
He scrolled to Cannon’s number, but before he could hit the button, his phone buzzed with an incoming call from Cannon.
“Listen up. We’re moving you. Be ready to move in three-zero mikes. You’ll have escort to the Naval base. Military transport will handle the rest.”
