Page 35 of The Bronze Garza
“Wha—where are you going?” I call after him.
Out the gate, he slides the lock back into place with one hand and salutes me with the other. “See ya when I see ya, Henderson.”
“You’re weird!”
He’s chuckling even as he jumps back into the jeep and speeds off.
Now what? Is Torin even here?
Reuben rang the doorbell and ditched me so he must be home. I reach out and test the door handle but it’s locked.
I ring the bell again.
A small, black bird flutters over my head and settles into the nest above the door. It cocks its head at me.
“What are you looking at?” I snap, dipping into my baggie for another carrot.
I’ve finished my carrot in three bites and the door still hasn’t opened.
I ring the bell again then fetch another carrot.
“Stop looking at me, creep,” I tell the bird.
It chirps at me, and it sounds so beautiful that I feel condemned for cursing such a wonderful creature.
“Sorry for being a jerk. I’m in a mood,” I tell it. “Forgive me?”
More beautiful chirps, and then it flees the nest, fluttering away.
I’m turning to watch it go when the door finally opens.
Once again, I’m standing face to face with sheer godly perfection. He’s at-home casual, in a gray tee, faded jeans, and sandals. And while he no longer has that regal, high-polished look like he did back in Russia—which I now know was all a façade—he’s still the most impeccably crafted male specimen I’ve ever laid eyes on.
I don’t want to be attracted to him, but my mind and body aren’t cooperating with my will.
“Took you long enough,” I say, crunching carrot between my teeth. “You’re supposed to be protecting me, yet I’ve been standing here unattended for the past fifteen minutes. Day one and you’re already slacking.”
“Less than two,” he says flatly.
“What?”
“You’ve been here less than two minutes.”
“Potato potato.”
He crosses the threshold and seizes my wrist, my body jerking when he pulls me along with him, down the steps, outside the gates.
He points to the house that’s on the right of his. “Over there— Howard, ex-soldier.” He points to the house on his left. “Over there—Pete, a vet and marksman.” He points to the house in the curve of the cul-de-sac. “Down there—Rob, retired Fed.” He turns and points to the mansion across the street from his house, so sprawling it takes up that entire side. “Over there—fast-rising internet billionaire Terry Kid, who’s paranoid enough about his new fame that he’s got twenty-four-hour security, provided by Red Cage.” He then faces me. “Together, we’ve got a solid ‘neighborhood watch’ thing going. No one with malicious intent stands a chance in this nook of the neighborhood.”
He nudges me back through the gate. “So,Lyra,” he says, adding extra emphasis to my name as he closes the gate. “Even if I left you outside these gates for ten hours, I’d still be doing my job.”
“That’s not how bodyguards—”
“I’m not your bodyguard,” he curtails. “Your father wanted you somewhere safe. Here, you are.”
I admire his posterior as he heads up the porch and picks up my bags. He grumbles something under his breath about what I had inside them. What a grump. Reuben didn’t complain when he carried them.
Following him into the house, I say, “It’s been almost eight months. Plenty of time to have gotten the ‘rest’ you so desperately needed. Plenty of time to spend with the family you so badly missed. So, what’s your excuse this time?”
