Page 2 of Brooding Bodyguard Summer

“Silas wants a ghost,” Mateo continues. “24/7 close protection. Live-in. You don't sleep unless she’s behind a reinforced door, and even then, you keep one eye open. It’s a mess, Neko.”

“Send the address.”

“Neko, listen to me,” Mateo’s tone softens, dropping the handler facade for a brief second. “You’ve worked three back-to-back contracts. Last I laid eyes on you, you were a damn mess. You sound even worse. Go home for a few hours, get some sleep. We can talk about this…”

“Send the address, Mateo. Now.”

He knows better than to argue. A second later, my phone chimes with an encrypted dossier. Climbing behind the wheel, I pull from the curb to exit the gated community as quietly as I entered it. At the first light, I open the file he sent.

A photograph pops up on the screen. A lone figure sits on a bench in a sunlit park, dark hair hiding her face, a sketchbook open in her lap. Her head is tilted, just partly shown in buttery sunlight. There is no tension in the photo, no warning of a predator currently tracking her every move.

Sitting alone in darkness, I know a few things for sure. I cannot go back to my apartment tonight, not with the edges of my sanity unraveling so fast. The tension in my body, the shakes coursing through me, the fog of a dark past that shrouds everything I do is too close tonight. What I can do is make sure this innocent girl stays safe.

It might be all I know how to do anymore, really.

I forgot how to care about myself or anyone else a long time ago. I go through the motions of day-to-day life. Shower, eat, take on a mission. Repeat until that shroud and the painful memories fade a little. They won’t ever go away, I know that. It’s my penance and I will live with that.

“Don’t want to hear it, Atlas,” I bark the moment I answer a call before it rings a second time. I am in no mood for his lecture.

“Too bad. Listen anyway. I am going to make this call as many times as it takes. It was not on you, brother. Panama was not on you, Neko. What we lost…none of it was on you. It is part of the job. Part of what we do.”

“Stop. Talking. I said I do not want to hear it. It was on me, it was my fault, and I am the one who lost everything. We all know the truth.”

Heaving a sigh, he hesitates a moment before he says the same thing he has said a hundred times on these calls. “We do know the truth, brother. It’s a truth you have to get right with some day. It fucking sucks but we all knew what we were there for…she knew too.”

I punch through the red light, cutting off traffic as I shoot through an intersection. I end the call with a roar of curses. We do not talk about Panama. About what went down, who was to blame, or what was lost. Like I said to Atlas, it was my fault, and I am the one who lost the most.

It’s too late to turn back and listen to him or Mateo by the time I calm down. I pull up to a secluded property set far back from the street and curse under my breath. Exhaustion drags at me; the endless stream of contracts over the last few months has taken its toll. But this time of year, work is survival. If I'm not buried in a job, I'll end up six feet deep.

“Forget about Panama tonight,” I mutter to myself as I park at the curb.

Climbing out of the jeep, I do a quick perimeter check of the property. Mateo was not wrong. The guys working here for Mr. Lane probably do fine work. They just have no fucking clue about how to protect anything else but the bottom line. They care about protecting the boss, the man who signs their paychecks. I find weak spots that would grant me access to the staff entrance, a sizable guest house, and most importantly—the window where a soft light glows in the darkness.

Without a layout of the place or a view in daylight, I know that light comes from her room. Not sure how I know, but I do. Climbing up an iron and stone gate, I drop down atop the top ledge with a thud. I could swing down and break their perimeter to show them how worthless it is. I don’t.

Because the moment I sit atop that high wall, I see her. Sitting in the window with warm light glowing behind her. That dark hair, that gentle slope of her shoulder, I know it is her. My new contract. The woman who will keep me sane for however long it takes to keep her safe.

Why, then, do I feel terrified when I realize that woman is watching me right back?

Chapter Two

Noemi

I wish I could be somewhere else.

Sure, my surroundings are lovely. Sunshine filters through the floor-to-ceiling glass of my bedroom, painting long, geometric patches of gold across the white parquet. It is a stunning space, in soft cream and lavender, filled with fresh-cut orchids that smell faintly of vanilla. Everything in my room is smooth, soft, and meticulously dusted. The space is no different than my life—controlled to the last detail so nothing ever touches me.

I would give anything to be touched by something—by someone.

I smooth down the skirt of my pale blue cashmere dress, my fingers tracing the hand-stitched hem. A hug is a foreign concept in the Lane home. Holding hands with a boy is not allowed. Letting a man get close enough to kiss me let alone make love to me is as forbidden as my venturing to Sun Harbor alone.

I press my forehead against the cool glass.

Far down the avenue, beyond the high stone wall that shields our courtyard, a young woman in loud yellow athletic gear jogs down the lane. No one trails behind her. There is no one watching her. Her hair flies behind her in untamed strands, catching the morning breeze. Even from a distance I can make out the slight bob of her head to whatever music hums from her earbuds.

My heart squeezes with a ridiculous, aching jealousy. I want to go for a run alone. Take a walk around our property just because I want to. I want a cool breeze to tangle my dark hair as I listen to my favorite Taylor Swift album. I would love to stop for a moment to survey the block I’ve lived on my entire life, sheltered behind that damn stone wall.

“Miss Noemi?”