Page 60 of The Viper
Lucas leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You really think you could live here?”
“I could relax here. Swim at dawn. Breathe without ten people watching.”
“Until someone finds it,” he said. “Then you’re trapped in a glass box.”
I turned, frustration rising. “Not everything is a tactical nightmare, Lucas.”
“It is when you’ve seen what I’ve seen.”
The words hit harder than I expected—raw, unvarnished. I crossed the room until I stood a few feet from him. “Then teach me. Show me what you see.”
His gaze met mine, steady and guarded. “You don’t want that.”
“Don’t tell me what I want.”
He pushed off the doorframe, closing the space between us until I could feel the heat radiating off him. “You think safety comes with price tags and privacy clauses. It doesn’t. Once you lose the illusion, there’s no getting it back.”
“Maybe, I already lost it,” I said softly.
Something in his face shifted—understanding, maybe sorrow. His hand came up, fingers grazing my wrist. The touch was feather-light, but it lit a fuse inside me.
“You shouldn’t have to live like this,” he said.
“And yet,” I whispered, “here we are.”
He exhaled, the sound half-sigh, half-surrender. “You make it hard to do my job.”
“Good.”
Before he could reply, a high-pitched whine cut through the air. I looked up. Out beyond the deck, a drone hovered, camera glinting like an unblinking eye.
He went rigid. “Stay back.”
“Press?” I asked.
“Or something else.” He stepped toward the door, scanning the horizon. “Either way, we’re leaving.”
“But—”
“No argument.” His tone left no room.
We walked fast through the house. Tabitha appeared at the end of the hall, smile faltering. “Everything all right?”
“Scheduling conflict,” I said quickly. “We’ll call.”
Lucas’s hand was warm and firm at the small of my back, guiding me out like a current. The second the car doors shut, he was already in motion, reversing down the drive with surgical precision.
The drone hung there a moment longer, then drifted off toward the dunes.
“Tell me that was paparazzi,” I said.
“Could be. Could also be someone who wants to know your routine.”
“Comforting.”
He didn’t answer.
We drove in silence for miles, the sea glittering to our left, marshland to our right. Finally, I said, “You hate everything I love.”
