Page 11 of A Shot at Love
“Your room is at the top of the landing, second door on the right,” Jon told her. “I’ll drop your stuff up there.” He moved up the staircase, her suitcase in his hand.
“Quick lay of the land,” Ky said. “Two floors and the basement. Living room, den, eat-in kitchen, bathroom down here. Three bedrooms upstairs, two baths. You’ll have your own room with an adjoining bathroom.”
“You’ll both be staying here?” Gemma asked.
Ky nodded. “In addition to some of my other men. We’ll take shifts. I still need to coordinate with the rest of my team while we’re here, but for the next day or so the three of us will be together constantly. Hopefully, we can end this whole thing before it drags on too much longer and we can get you back home as soon as possible.”
“Hopefully is the operative word in that statement,” Gemma said.
The frustration in her tone was obvious. She’d been quiet on the drive from Manhattan to Queens, sitting in the backseat, arms folded across her chest, staring out the window with a look of childlike petulance on her face. The few times he’d glanced in the rearview mirror, he could see the barely controlled anger filtering through her eyes. To say she wasn’t happy about the current situation would be a total understatement. This was one pissed off woman. A fine looking one, but furious nonetheless, and Ky couldn’t blame her. Through no fault of her own she’d been thrown into a situation where she’d tried to do the right thing, and it wound up coming back to bite her in the ass.
He knew he wouldn’t be happy, either, if his world was suddenly turned upside down. His only hope was they could quickly find the assassins and her attacker and allow her to go back home, as he’d told her.
“A few house rules,” he said. When she just stared at him, her mouth tight, eyes narrowed, he could feel the irritation sliding off her.
“You can’t use your cell phone to call anyone or check data. It needs to be shut off at all times.”
“No one? Not even the clients I’m being forced to bail on because of this, this—” her hand flailed out and swept the room, eyes blazing.
Ky shook his head. “Cell phones are traceable, as are computers. Since Ritandi knows who you are, I’m sure he’s already had one of his people find out all your basic information. Cell phone number, e-mail address. All the accounts linked to your phone and computer. A digital fingerprint spans a wide berth these days, and it’s easy for a hacker to find you. Too easy.”
“This gets worse by the minute. What am I supposed to do? Just not show up at my client appointments? Do you know what that will do to my professional reputation? I’ll never get another job offer if people think I’m unreliable and capricious about my work commitments.”
“You can use my phone to call your clients and any staff members you have. It’s blocked and untraceable. There’s about fourteen layers of security attached to it. As long as you make the call quick and don’t linger to gossip or chat it should be sufficient.”
The anger barely contained beneath the surface bled out in full force.
“First of all, I work alone. I don’t have any staff or anyone helping me. It’s my name, my business.”
Ky nodded.
“Secondly, and more importantly, I don’t gossip with clients. I’m a professional. I’m there to do a job, a job they’ve hired me for. What am I supposed to tell them when I call to cancel? Sorry, but I can’t photograph you today. I’ve got this little annoyance of a maniac looking for me?”
Ky forced his annoyance down. “You can tell them you’re sick and will call to reschedule when you can.”
“It doesn’t work that way in my world,” she said. Her breathing had quickened, her beautifully sculpted nose flaring with the effort. “If I can’t make my obligations, my clients, my powerful, rich, and unforgiving clients, are going to hire someone else, someone who they can depend on to do the job. My world is one of deadlines. Quick, harsh, you’d-better-meet-them-or-else deadlines. Calling in sick to cancel, whether real or otherwise, is professional suicide.”
