Page 17 of The Bodyguard's Innocent Obsession
They said they are watching the house. If I tell Lachlan, he won’t let me leave. At least, not without him, and that would put Dad’s life in even more danger.
I press the heels of my hands into my eyes. Think, Arabella. Think.
I dart to my desk and grab a sticky note, scrawling the address with a trembling hand. The letters are barely legible. My whole body is shaking.
I stuff it in the pocket of my shorts and grab my phone, silencing it completely. No buzzing. No calls. I can’t risk it.
I tiptoe down the hallway like I’m a thief in my own home. Every step feels like it echoes. Every creak of the floorboard makes me flinch.
When I reach the front hall, I snatch a random set of keys from the hook for one of the spare cars and edge toward the garage entrance.
I glance toward the east wing. Toward where Lachlan is. He’s probably mid-interrogation right now. Focused. Dangerous. Protecting me.
And I’m about to disappear without telling him a word.
My chest aches.
I’m sorry, Lachlan.
I’m sorry.
I slip through the door into the garage, slide into the car, and turn the key. The engine purrs to life.
My hands are white-knuckled on the steering wheel.
And then I pull out of the garage and onto the road, heart pounding like a warning bell.
I don’t care what it takes. I’m going to get my dad back.
Chapter Seven
Lachlan
The bastard won’t talk.
Thirty minutes, and he hasn’t given me a damn thing. Not a name. Not a motive. Not even a fucking twitch of fear.
He just sits in the chair, zip-tied to the arms and legs, his face already swelling on one side from the last time I lost my temper. He’s breathing heavy through his nose, eyes locked on mine with that same smug defiance that’s been pissing me off since the moment I saw him.
The room is cold and echoing. Stone floors, old brick walls. We’re in some unfinished corner of the Prescott basement that smells faintly of dust and copper pipes. A single lightbulb sways overhead. There’s nothing in here but me, him, and the heat building in my chest like a fuse ready to blow.
“I’m gonna ask you one more time,” I grind out, voice low and sharp. “Who sent you?”
Nothing. Just that same blank stare. It makes my hands itch.
I pace in front of him, every inch of me coiled tight. My knuckles are still raw. My jaw clenches so hard it hurts.
I see Arabella’s face in my mind like it’s burned onto the backs of my eyelids. The way she looked this morning with her tangled hair and sleepy eyes. Safe. Mine.
And this fucker, whoever he is, had the balls to step onto the property. To come after her.
But I’m done playing nice.
“You think you’re a tough guy?” I snarl. “Wait until you see what I do when I stop pretending to be civilized.”
He shrugs like it’s nothing. Like he’s ready to die for whoever sent him.
Damn, I don’t have time for this. I’ll tear down the entire fucking city to keep her safe, if that’s what it takes.
