Page 26 of The One for Forever

“Always. We’re not superheroes. I will take a bullet for you, but if that happens, you have to be ready to do your part in getting away. A helpless client is a vulnerable one.”

She winces. “Nobody will be taking any bullets.”

“I hope not, but we have to be prepared. We don’t know yet how serious these threats are. Or what your ‘secret witness’ really intends.”

Her easy smile has vanished. I want to put it back in place. I don’t want to scare her. But I also don’t want Quinn to underestimate the realities of my job or the danger she could face with a target on her back.

I always have to plan for the worst. Because too often in my experience, the worst will happen. The natural disaster will hit. You’ll lose the person you love.

Shit, now I’m makingmyselffeel down.

“But that’s why you’re here today.” I rest my hand on her elbow. “To start finding out what’s really going on. The whole point of this is to make you feel safer. And to make sure you reallyaresafe as well.”

Her long lashes flutter as she blinks. “I’ve always felt safe around you. That’s a given.”

There’s a tug low in my stomach. My hand stays on her arm, not ready to give up that warmth and connection. “Good. Let’s head upstairs. When I need to run background for a case, there’s only one person I go to, and that’s Sylvie Trousseau.”

As we wait for the elevator, I keep our point of contact. But as soon as the doors slide closed and we’re alone inside, Quinn side-steps just enough that my hand drops from her arm. I can’t tell if it was on purpose or not. But if I’m being honest, I miss it. I like comforting Quinn. I like taking care of her.

It’s important for a bodyguard to stay objective. That’s rarely been a problem for me. I’m not the kind to let emotions interfere with my job. I’m not completely objective with Quinn, yet I’ve already dismissed the idea of turning over her protection to someone else.

So, I’ll just have to make sure I’m vigilant. Nothing will go wrong if I don’t let it.

7

Back on the main floor, we cross the open workspace, nodding hello to techs at computer terminals as we pass. We’re heading toward the back corner, but trust me, this is where the heart and soul of Bennett Security lies. Not in Max’s shiny office in the sky, and not downstairs where my fellow bodyguards hang out and pump iron.

“This way,” I say to Quinn.

We reach an alcove, where curving computer screens form a barrier between this corner and the rest of the massive room. I hear fingers tapping like mad over a keyboard. “Knock, knock,” I say. “Anybody home?”

A small head pops up. A blunt bob haircut, chunky glasses, big eyes, and pursed pink lips.

“For you, always.” Sylvie steps out from behind her screens. She’s petite, but don’t let that fool you. As usual, she’s wearing an all-black ensemble and combat boots. Tattoos decorate her arms and shoulders, visible beneath her cropped tank top.

Our dress code is flexible here. But even if it wasn’t, Sylvie can get away with anything she wants. Max’s name might be on our logo, but she’s the one keeping us running.

“Quinn, this is Sylvie Trousseau. She’s our head of research, communications, computers. You name it, and Sylvie probably has a hand in it. We couldn’t survive around here without her.” She’s got a legion of underlings now, but when I need the best, I always go to the source.

“No need for flattery, Foxy. I already love you.” Sylvie shakes Quinn’s hand. “Great to meet you, Quinn.”

“That’s the second time I heard someone call him ‘Foxy.’ What is that about?”

Ugh, that dumb nickname again. I try to signal with my eyes for Sylvie to take mercy on me, but she’s having too much fun. “Can’t you guess? Look at the man. ‘Foxy’ is self-explanatory.”

Both women are staring, but it’s Quinn’s attention that has me heating up once again.

“And even better, it makes our dear Rex uncomfortable to be in the spotlight,” Sylvie adds. “He prefers to be the strong, silent sentinel. He’s so cute when he’s flustered, which doesn’t happen often.”

“Enough,” I rumble. “We’re here to work.”

Sylvie rolls her eyes. “Likely story.” She stretches her arms over her head. “Okay, lay it on me. How can I help?”

A few minutes later, we’ve taken over a conference room. Quinn gives Sylvie a primer on the Printz trial, the increasing threats against their trial team, and the mysterious note left in Quinn’s purse about the so-called witness. Sylvie examines the piece of paper when Quinn hands it over.

“A nice little puzzle, isn’t it?” Sylvie muses. “If it’s okay with you, Quinn, I’ll start by doing a reverse lookup on this phone number.”

“I tried that this morning,” Quinn says. “Couldn’t find anything.”

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