Page 39 of Forged in Peril

“It was okay, though poor Reilly had to stay down in Corpus Christi all night to babysit our client.”

“Why does he need protection?”

“Got into online gambling, ended up borrowing money from the wrong guy, the usual story.”

“Sounds like a movie plot.”

“While a lot of personal security work is way more boring than people think, some of it is pretty much exactly like the movies,” Cameron admitted, swallowing another bite of his pasta. “Especially when it comes to all of the stupid ways people put themselves in danger.”

Bristol looked down at the table, and Cameron wished that he could shove his words back into his mouth.

Did Bristol have the same kind of story that so many of their clients did?

Had she gotten into drugs or gambling and ended up on the wrong side of a criminal’s vengeful streak?

“But just to be clear,” he continued, hoping his attempt at a save sounded natural, “no matter what mistakes our clients make, I’m in this business because I love helping people. Every victim deserves compassion and justice. No matter what. It’s a blessing to be in the position where I can protect the vulnerable.”

To his relief, Bristol’s shoulders visibly relaxed once more.

Finished with the last of his food, he got up from the table and gathered up his dishes and cutlery. As he extended a hand to take Bristol's glass from her, however, their fingers touched.

Bristol glanced up at him from where she sat, her green eyes searching his own.

Without quite realizing what he was doing, he set the dishes back on the table and leaned toward her, extending a hand to caress the edge of her soft cheek.

But soon as his fingertips brushed her skin, she jumped back, sending her glass rolling across the tabletop before it shattered with a crash onto the floor.

BRISTOL

Bristol froze, staring down at the broken glass that now covered her mother’s kitchen floor.

Pieces of ice were scattered across the linoleum, floating in what was left of her soda. She swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat, willing herself not to cry in front of him.

Again.

“Okay, let’s get this wiped up,” Cameron said after a moment, leaning over toward the counter and plucking the paper towel roll from its holder. “Do you have a broom for the glass?”

She nodded dumbly, forcing her feet to move in the direction of the small hall closet.

“Thanks.”

His tone was light, but as he knelt to the floor and began mopping up the sticky soda and bits of dirt-encrusted ice, she couldn’t help but to notice the tight set of his jaw.

He’d tried to kiss her, and she’d pulled away like she’d been burned.

She took hold of the broom and began to swipe at the glass, leaving a line of wet brushmarks behind.

“Sorry,” she said in a desperate attempt to fill the sudden, terrible silence.

“It’s fine, I just don’t want you stepping on glass. I’ll get a wet cloth and give it a final wipe when you’re done.”

She nodded again, not knowing how to tell him that it wasn’t the sticky floor she was sorry for. In any case, seeing him show so much concern over something so trivial made her heart ache. The man had enough money to never have to wash a dish or do a load of laundry again, and yet here he was, making sure everything was just right.

Finally, he got to his feet, tossing the cloth into the hamper that sat in the hallway without needing to ask where it was.

All she wanted to do was to run away to her bedroom, pull the covers up over her head, and hide away until morning, but that was hardly an option.

She drew a ragged breath, forcing her chin up as he took a few tentative steps toward her.

---