Page 44 of Wounded Dance
She waves her hand. “We’ll deal with it.”
“Do you want me to stop coming?” I ask, fear in my voice.
“I don’t know that it will matter. He might show up anyway if he has nowhere else to look.” She starts tapping on her keyboard.
“Okay.”
“Stay here until the officer arrives, and we’ll tell him all this,” she says. “I’ll let Bennett handle finding a security team for us. We’ll get them in place by tomorrow.”
“Ted can stay here through the last classes,” I say. “He’s hired full-time anyway.”
“When does Blitz get back?”
“Tonight.”
Danika nods. “All right. You and Ted stay here until we close, then you can take him with you. We’ll get someone in place after that.”
She goes quiet, staring at her screen. I sit quietly on my chair, reliving the past half hour, wondering how in the world my life has come to this.
Chapter 17
Blitz is on his way to the hotel by the time Ted and I leave Dreamcatcher. I know he’s angry by his texts, which are abrupt and coming at a frenzied pace.
I am so going to take this guy out.
I should have creamed him when I had him on the ground.
This is outrageous. He could have done anything.
I’m going to pummel him into next week.
The sky has gone dark by the time we pull up to the valet in front of the hotel. Ted gets out. “I’m taking you up,” he says when I turn to protest. “If anyone has Tweeted that they’ve seen Blitz here, that guy will turn up.”
I have to give in. Blitz is still on his way. I shouldn’t go anywhere alone, even the inside of the hotel.
We head up the elevator to the floor of suites. Ted stands in his menacing position, hands behind his back, cracking his knuckles as if he’s going to have to fight somebody as soon as the doors open.
But the upstairs foyer is empty other than the bartender behind the private bar. “Anyone need a drink?” he asks when he sees us.
Both Ted and I give a grunting half-laugh to that, and then laugh for real at the other’s reaction.
“We can wait out here,” I tell Ted. “It’s a secure floor.” I don’t really want to go into the suite with Ted. It feels too private.
“You got any coffee back there?” Ted asks.
“I can brew you some right up,” the man says, turning to the back wall. “Anything for the lady?”
“No, thank you,” I say, flopping onto the leather sofa opposite a television. It’s showing a rerun ofI Love Lucy. I remember it from my childhood, before I was banned from television by my father. Perfect, I think. Mindless comedy.
Ted sits on a stool by the bar, facing the elevators. I wonder how he got into bodyguard work. But I’m not up for conversation.
I watch Lucy stomping grapes and try to relax.
The bartender has just poured a cup of coffee for Ted when the elevator opens and Blitz rushes out. He barrels toward the suite, then spots me on the sofa and stops dead. “Livia?”
I stand up, and then I’m in his arms, lifted off the ground.
“Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you in any way, did he?” Blitz sets me down and looks me over, my arms, my face.
