More Than Protect You (More Than Words #6.5) - Shayla Black Page 0,15

money to find another high-security building like you had in LA. That would solve a lot of your problems.”

“Maybe.” But she doesn’t sound convinced.

What is she not telling me? I can’t begin to guess, but there’s something…

Silence descends again, barely punctuated by the rev of the classic car’s engine and the robotic directions my GPS gives. Finally, we turn onto a street cordoned off by an electronic gate. After I punch in the code Trace texted me, I zoom toward a shimmering white villa situated on a picturesque beach. This place is a giant step up from Joe’s apartment.

My occasional beer-drinking buddy ducks out the front door and waves my way as I pull up to the curb.

I turn to Amanda to gage her reaction. She doesn’t seem to have one, but she looks both taut and tired, like she can’t decide whether she’ll crack or needs to escape into the numbness of slumber. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

In my experience, when a woman says she’s fine, she never is. But I’m betting Amanda won’t appreciate me using the lessons I learned during marriage on her. I swallow a curse. “I’ll get Oliver.”

“Thanks.” Her gaze barely skims me.

I climb out of the car, then lean in to pluck up the boy. He takes one look at me with bleary, half-open eyes, then starts to wail.

Fuck, what did I do wrong?

Trace rushes over. “Need help?”

“Pointers, maybe. I’ve never been around kids.”

“Ever?”

“Nope. I’m an only child. But more importantly, I need my hands free…just in case.” Someone violent is lying in wait.

Trace nods like he understands. “Masey and I have been here for a bit. We haven’t seen anyone.”

“Great.” But that doesn’t mean the place is safe. It may mean that whoever’s after Amanda is just good.

She climbs out of the car and dashes around to claim Oliver, cradling him protectively as she shoots me an apologetic glance. “Sorry. He’s still behind on his sleep.”

Does she think I’m going to be angry because he’s fussy? “It’s no problem.”

She sends me a stilted smile, then turns to my buddy. “Hi, Trace. Do you know where I can lay my son down?”

“I don’t. I’ve only been here a few minutes, but my friend, Masey, is inside. Since she knows her way around this place, she’ll help you.”

“Thanks.” She grabs her diaper bag from inside the muscle car, soothes her fussy son with a soft whisper, then shoots me a sidelong stare before she disappears inside.

“How’s that going?” he asks.

I watch Amanda walk toward the house. Every instinct I possess tells me to stay on her ass—not just the bodyguard in me…but the man. The latter is the only reason I’m giving her an inch of space. “Um…interesting.”

“That doesn’t sound good. Shit. Sorry, man. I’ll pay you for your time and headache.”

“No.” I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want Amanda beholden to him in any way. My instinct is stupidly possessive; I think he’s got something going on with whoever Masey is. But I still don’t want him between Amanda and me. “She’s got it. We’ve worked something out.”

He frowns. “But?”

I’m not surprised he’s sensed the undercurrent between us. “She’s wary.”

“Of you?”

“Until now, I didn’t know if it was me or men in general. But she doesn’t have a problem with you.” And that chaps me.

“What do you think is going on?”

“I have some theories.”

Mostly that she’s attracted to me, too. She’s definitely looked. God knows I have. It’s a bad idea all the way around.

Trace nods. “Got any luggage?”

“Yeah. I could use a hand.”

He hauls my duffel and Oliver’s rolling suitcase with the race-car motif inside. I handle Amanda’s enormous bag and my gun case.

The inside of the house is huge and airy, everything seemingly neutral and white. I follow the sounds of women chatting softly, bypassing one suitcase in the middle of the hall, and find them in the master bedroom with a wall of windows open to the morning sun and one-hundred-eighty-degree ocean views. Like the rest of the house, neutrals and whites make a muted statement, letting the paradise all around shout its color and beauty.

This place must have cost a fortune to rent. I won’t mind staying here for a week.

I haul Amanda’s bag into the corner and spot her and a pretty, petite brunette, who I presume is Masey, talking in the spacious bathroom. Both look through the wide, open arch to the spacious closet, where I see Oliver already stretched out on the floor, surrounded by pillows. I guess that