More Than Protect You (More Than Words #6.5) - Shayla Black Page 0,37
house hunting show. “This work for you?”
“I love these shows. You ever watch them?”
I didn’t even know these were a thing. “Can’t say I do.”
Over the next thirty minutes, we see a same-sex couple trying to choose a new house in Phoenix. At the end, we both agree house two is the better option, even though it’s a bit of a fixer. But the couple on the show picks house one because it’s move-in ready.
“I don’t get that.” She gestures to the TV. “A little elbow grease can be fun, and you get to make the place your own.”
I shrug. “Yep. Besides, the house they picked seems way too small.”
“Totally.”
Another episode starts, this time starring a single woman buying her first place after a divorce. She wants to be in the heart of Chicago, close to all the restaurants, bars, and her friends. Option number one is astronomically expensive, and when I look down to say something to Mandy about it, her eyes are closed. Her breathing is deep.
She’s fast asleep.
I smile at her, then lift her into my arms, haul her against my chest, and head for the master bedroom. She doesn’t weigh much, and it seems even more mind-blowing that she fought off a knife-wielding intruder alone.
Inside the cool, dark space, I tip her onto her feet and steady her. “Time for bed, Mandy.”
“Wha…?” she mumbles, barely opening her eyes.
I’m not shocked she’s exhausted. Sure, she napped earlier, but not nearly enough to make up for the six hours of sleep she missed last night.
Banding one arm around her waist, I pull the covers back, then peel off her silky-soft robe. Underneath, she’s wearing that champagne nightie I saw earlier that reveals at least as much as it covers. Forcing myself not to gawk, I lay her down, head on the pillow, then cover her.
“Good night, Mandy.” I kiss her forehead.
She doesn’t even stir.
Smiling, I back away, then follow the faint golden glow of the nightlight into the walk-in closet. Oliver is sprawled on his back in the middle of the crib, his stuffed toy train cuddled in one lax palm.
He really is a cute kid. If Mandy decides to give us a chance, I’ll be spending a lot more time with him. Even twelve hours ago that would have terrified me because what do I know about kids? But now I don’t mind. In fact, I kind of like it.
On my way back out of the master bedroom, I glance at Mandy one last time. She’s already grabbed the spare pillow and rolled to her side. I draw the black-out drapes, hoping the darkness will keep her asleep come sunrise. Then I double-check both the interior and exterior of the house, tightening locks as I go, before retreating to my makeshift bedroom to scan my phone. It’s still early. I’m not quite tired, and nothing on the device is holding my attention.
What about Mandy’s phone?
I shouldn’t snoop or pry, but I need to make sure her location services are turned off. I don’t know if her father or anyone else can ping her device and view her whereabouts. I fucking should have thought of that earlier, but the last time I did any bodyguarding work, tracking phones wasn’t a thing.
With a sigh, I manage to work my way upright from the floor and find her device in the kitchen. It’s not password protected, which is a bonus for me now…but I’ll need to persuade her to correct that later. A quick scroll proves she doesn’t have much on the phone except pictures of Oliver. Her emails are scant and mostly informational—news headlines, bills, bulletins from her alma matter, and the like. True to her word, she has no social media loaded. In her settings, I see her location services are turned on. Cursing, I press the button to shut them off. But if her father or anyone who’s had access to her phone has already seen her current whereabouts, she’s compromised.
If that’s the case, I’ll need a quick Plan B.
When I’m back at the home screen, I settle my thumb over the button to darken her phone when a text appears. It’s from Bruce.
Please tell me where to find you. I’m worried.
“Motherfucker.” I wish this guy would go away.
But he won’t, and neither will her father—unless and until she tells them to.
I shouldn’t do it. I know I shouldn’t, but I start reading their text string, which started a few hours ago. And I get pissed.