Page 27 of Her Bossy Bodyguards

“Huh. You know, that’s probably the least fucked-up thing Barca does on a regular basis.”

“His one and only victimless crime,” Kingston mused. He quickly turned a corner, the car now heading down a side street. “Did you handle everything with Mr. Hanson?”

“I’m not sure what you mean by ‘handle everything,’” I replied. “But sure. I told him that we were still hiding out at the cabin. Although I’m not sure why you made me lie to the guy.”

“Because if we didn’t, he’d probably try to involve the authorities,” King guessed. “And for a guy like Barca, that’s a pretty big nonstarter. Who knows what he would’ve done if he thought the cops were on the case.”

“Probably just pay them off.”

“Or get rid of all the evidence,” Kingston went on. “Which would mean getting rid of Natalie, too.”

“I don’t want to think about that shit,” I admitted as I settled further down in the passenger seat. There’d been pangs of guilt eating away at me ever since Barca’s men had taken Natalie back at the cabin, my assurances that I’d keep her safe now feeling like I’d lied to her face.

Nothing was supposed to happen to her.

Not while I was around to protect her.

And if I ever had the chance to take out Barca, I knew I wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet right between his fucking eyes.

He was throwing a party.

Montel Barca was throwing a damn party. His parking lot was filled with expensive cars, and guests dripping in jewels and Rolexes made their way through the set of wide-open doors. There were even a few photographers stationed around the mansion, snapping pictures of glamorous women who posed on his front steps, their tuxedo-wearing dates wrapping an arm around their tiny waists.

“What the fuck is going on?” I murmured as we remained in our position behind a set of high plants, ones that looked like they were imported straight from the Amazon. “What the fuck is he celebrating?”

“Only one way to find out,” Kingston replied and stepped out of the plant’s shadows, his black tuxedo looking crisp and freshly pressed. We’d decided to dress in more formal attire because our intel collection led us to believe that Barca’s event was going to be some kind of quiet dinner party, with part of our plan being to sneak in alongside the servers.

Ha.

Quiet dinner party, my ass.

I scoffed as I stepped out of the plants’ shadows now, too, joining King on the other side. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“The Paris Plan?” Kingston guessed.

I nodded in agreement and headed off toward the mansion. “The Paris Plan. See you after the party, Kingston.”

The Paris Plan was something that Kingston and I had come up with while providing security for a real-life princess while she visited France. She wanted to come off asone of the people, so she didn’t want it to be too obvious that she’d hired a security team. Which meant that Kingston and I had had to blend in with the people around her, not seeming out of place at any function she attended.

It also meant that we had to collect intelwithoutseeming like we were collecting intel, passing notes to each other as we passed the drink stations, discreetly sending signals as we made conversation with strangers over appetizers and dessert. It was one of our most difficult maneuvers, but it had paid off in spades, the princess recommending us to the rest of the royal family back in her home country, too.

Princess.

My chest ached at the word. Why the hell was I giving myself credit for keeping one princess safe when I couldn’t take care of the one who really mattered to me?

No.

I couldn’t think about Natalie right now. I had to pretend like I was just another guest at Barca’s party, like I didn’t care or even know about the evil shit he’d done to pay for all the flowing wine and crab cake hors d’oeuvres. I was also betting that in such a huge crowd of people, Barca’s men were going to have a much harder time tracking me down, especially if I stayed on the fringes and mostly kept to myself.

“I know you.” There was a giggling, drunk woman standing right in front of me, swirling her glass of wine in her hand.

“Pardon me?” I asked, forcing a smile, not wanting to give her any reason to suspect my attendance at the party.

“Well, maybe I don’t.” She giggled again. “But I’d love to have the opportunity.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be possible tonight, ma’am,” I answered, my eyes glancing around Barca’s front room, looking for any entry points that led to the attic or the basement. I knew that Barca was smarter than to keep his secret guests somewhere accessible by just anyone at the party, which meant that there had to be an underground tunnel, or something hidden away.

“Why not?” she whined. “I don’t see a ring on your finger.”

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