the place out while you pack. If we stay here tonight, I need to know all the possible entrances and exits.”
Lane stopped in the doorway of his bedroom and turned, one hand on the door frame. He was fucking posing. I was sure of it.
“The door you came through is the only entrance, and I have a security system.”
I snorted. “One a baby could hack, and you have plenty of windows.”
“I’m on the third floor.”
“Fire escape?”
He frowned. “Well, yes, but…”
“Like I said, you’ve lived a sheltered life.”
“I keep the windows locked, and I—”
“Let me do my job.” I was not going to yell, no matter what he said or did.
“Fine. Look around while I pack more than a few changes of clothes.” He tossed his head dramatically and walked into the bedroom.
I had an urge to follow him, drag him across my lap, and spank the hell out of him. He needed it, and the thought of his ass red with the imprint of my hand made me hot as fuck. Jesus, how was I going to survive this?
I needed to call X, but I couldn’t do that until I had a strategy. I had to come up with a way to get out of this job without telling him why I couldn’t do it. Maybe if I was enough of an asshole, Lane would complain to his mother about me and X would take me off the job.
Except X knew me better than that. He knew I was damn good at what I did, including getting clients to follow orders. When you have to rescue people from terrifying situations in the field, you learn how to put them at ease. He’d know that if I wasn’t doing that, I was screwing up on purpose. I might not be very sociable by choice, but I knew exactly how to ease a person’s fears and convince them to accept the help they needed.
I sighed. I was stuck with this, wasn’t I?
Or are you giving in because you want to?
I did not like that sneaky ass little voice in my head. I wanted Lane safe, but there were other people who could do that.
The problem was none of them were me. None of them had my skill set, and for some fucking reason—and without my permission—my brain had decided Lane was mine. The thought of trusting him to someone else made my stomach roil, and the thought of someone else touching him made me want to shoot something, preferably the person who dared touch him.
I pushed those thoughts aside and focused on what I was supposed to be doing, checking the security of Lane’s apartment. I checked the windows in the small living room. I didn’t think Lane would object if I walked into the bedroom while he was in there, but I didn’t need that level of temptation. Instead, I checked the bathroom. The only way in would be through the ductwork. I didn’t think his stalker was likely to try that.
I opened the door to what I assumed was a second bedroom and froze.
It was obviously Lane’s studio. There were a few easels set up, both of which held canvases with paintings in progress. Other canvases leaned against the walls, and sculptural pieces sat on a table. All the art, even the paintings, contained found objects that he’d attached, giving them texture. The art was abstract, but each communicated a different emotion. I was hardly an art expert. Sure, I found some paintings visually appealing, but others I didn’t get. Most modern art seemed pointless to me, but every piece of Lane’s had feeling to it that jumped out. He truly was talented.
“Don’t touch anything in here,” Lane yelled. It was the only time I’d heard him raise his voice except for when he argued with the man I now knew was Hendon at Ignite.
“I know how to inspect a home without breaking anything. I’m the best, remember? That’s why you wanted me.”
His cheeks reddened, making him even more fucking gorgeous. That flush had traveled all the way down and across his chest when I’d fucked him. He’d been so beautiful like that, all hot and needy. My cock twitched at the memory, and I forced myself to focus on the current moment. I was not going to stand there in front of him with a fucking hard-on. I had to keep this professional.
“Most of these pieces are for my gallery showing. If anything happens to them, I won’t have