Page 22 of Breaking Point

“Easy,” Taylor says from behind, and I notice the hallway light is on. “Crew texted me. He’s installing the last few cameras.”

I frown when I turn the corner and find Crew Warden with a camera in his hands and my cat between his legs.

When Warden finds me staring down at his feet, he steps off the ladder and lifts his chin toward Taylor. “Welcome back.”

“You have my cat,” I say, bypassing a greeting completely. She meows softly, and part of me is too proud to call her over.

Damn cat, I want to hiss, but Crew merely glances at me again. The gaze is like a caress, and I hate that my body is so aware of it.

“Your cat hasn’t left me alone since I started.” His gaze slides toward Taylor, and he lifts his chin in question. “How was tonight?”

Taylor tosses the keys into Crew’s awaiting palm. “Good.” Crew sets the equipment down, and I realize that the contraption is very probably self-made. There are neon-red wires with neat, printed labels.

All meticulously organized, I note.

“See you at handoff.”

I smile, waving at Taylor despite my tiredness. “Bye, Taylor.”

“Goodnight, Liv.”

When the door shuts, Chesna finally wanders over for me to scratch the maroon fur behind her ears. It doesn’t change thatnow I’m painfully aware of the fact I’m alone with Crew Warden. My new bodyguard-the man who thinks I’m a liar.

His words haunted me for weeks after our last encounter:

“Are you always so curious about people who aren’t your clients?”

“Only when they’re lying.”

The memory feels so fresh yet so distant at the same time.

Sleep, I think suddenly.Sleep is a good idea.

I make for my bedroom. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Your father called,” Crew says, stopping me in my tracks.

My smile falters.

My father called him… because I haven’t been answering his calls.

“I’ll call him in the morning.”

It’s a white lie- or maybe a real one. But it’s the only words I can manage.

He huffs a laugh, giving me his back as he pockets the camera pieces. “I want to believe that,” he says.

It’s an accusation, a judgment, and it irks me that he calls my bluff so easily.

Sure, I’ll call Dad back, but I have no intention of dealing with that conversation until much later.

“What is your problem with me??” I accuse, my voice breathless, but he says nothing. I brace for his retort, but ultimately, I already know that no amount of calculation will ever answer my question:

Why do I care?

“You know what?” I shake the question off as I walk away. “It doesn’t matter. Good night, Warden.”

I don’t bother waiting for a reply before I lock myself in my room.

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