Page 12 of Iron Shield
She absorbed that in silence for almost ten seconds, which might have been a personal record, and he’d take it.
The safehouse sat in a quiet suburban neighborhood with trimmed lawns, porch lights and cars tucked neatly in garages. It didn’t look like a place someone would hide a threatened woman after her guard got murdered, and that was the point.
After Rome parked in the driveway, he shot her a look. “Stay there while I come around to your door.”
“Jolie didn’t warn me you were a gentleman.”
Her snark was incredibly irritating and undeniably amusing at times.
Hiding the smile twitching at his lips, he circled the vehicle. He opened her door and she stepped out slowly, looking around like she expected someone to leap out any moment. Which was possible but unlikely right now.
He led her to the front door and entered the keycode Cannon had given him. When they entered, she took in her surroundings again, as if she expected a bunker instead of an ordinary kitchen with beige counters and a bowl of fake lemons on the island.
“Stay by the door.”
Naturally, she took two steps toward the living room. “Is this somebody’s actual house? Do they know we’re here?”
“It’s a safehouse. We’re the only ones here.”
“Are those fake lemons? Why does a safehouse have such confusing décor?”
“Door, Stina.”
She froze at his hard tone and actually stayed where he said.
Rome drew his weapon and began clearing the house room by room and found the house empty. The locks were intact and no danger lurked in corners.
That should have made him feel better. It didn’t.
It meant whoever killed the agent was already ahead of them.
He returned to the kitchen and barreled right into Stina trying to sneak into the living room after he’d told her to stay put.
She rocked on her feet, and he reached out to keep her from falling over. He gripped her arm for only a second before she regained her balance, but the unexpected softness of her skin registered anyway.
Rome dropped his hand.
The threat might be dangerous, but this woman was going to be harder to deal with.
* * * * *
Rome told Stina he needed to check the perimeter, then pointed to the kitchen chair like she was a dog who only understood basic commands.
“Sit there.”
He disappeared through the back door before she could tell him exactly where he could shove his orders.
Which left her sitting there.
In the chair.
Where he told her to sit.
She stared at the closed door and hated him a little more with every passing second. She hated that she’d listened to him. Hated that she was still there, with her purse clutched in her lap and her leftover pizza wrapped in a napkin inside.
She was mad at Rome.
Mad at Jolie.
