While Kirkpatrick stared at her, her heart thumped in her chest, but she didn’t dare move. This was about more than her damn phone—it was a power struggle, one she was intent on winning. If they couldn’t keep her safe without taking everything away from her, then they weren’t worth their damn salaries, in her opinion.
Kirkpatrick smiled at her then, and she started doing inner victory dances, until the word “No” came from his mouth.
Her smile fell. “Excuse me?”
She heard a choked laugh from across the room and turned to glare at Garrett before focusing her attention back on Kirkpatrick.
He patted her on the shoulder before moving away. “Nice try, Miss Shaw. We’ll be in the kitchen if there’s a real emergency.”
KATHERINE SHAW WAS determined, that was for damn sure. She didn’t like being told no, and if Jason had to wager, she wasn’t told that often.
Since Kirkpatrick’s denial a few hours ago, she’d gone out of her way to be as loud and obnoxious as humanly possible, something he guessed wasn’t the norm for her.
First, it was turning the radio on and singing along with it at the top of her lungs. After he unplugged it, she flicked on the TV and began quoting lines from the chick flick playing, in between popping gum between those full lips of hers.
Kirkpatrick had pulled the TV plug that time.
After that, she followed them both around asking personal questions and trying to get a rise out of them.
They’d then moved to the kitchen table and engaged in a game of Gin Rummy while she perched on top of the granite countertop with her legs crossed underneath her, trying to distract them.
“So when was the first time you had sex, Kirkpatrick?”
They ignored her, and Jason knocked on the table to signal he was ready to wrap up that round. The man across from him cursed under his breath and threw down one meld before counting the rest of the cards in his hand.
“Forty-nine points, you bastard. What do you have this time?”
Jason set three piles down in front of them and held up a single ace card.
“One in deadwood,” Kirkpatrick said, shaking his head and groaning. “Seems to be your lucky number tonight.”
Grinning, Jason reached for the notepad and wrote the number forty-eight in his column of points. Even after an hour of playing, the other man hadn’t scored yet. Years of downtime on Navy SEAL missions had perfected Jason’s game—hell, it’d perfected every game you could throw at him. It was surprising more military vets didn’t end up in Vegas as high rollers after their terms were up.
“Can I play yet? You’re not doing such a great job over there, Captain Kirk. I think I’ll call you that instead. Kirkpatrick reminds me of that boy band guy.”
“Another round?” Jason asked.
Kirkpatrick shifted in his seat and tossed his cards across the table so they could be shuffled. “It’s a good thing we’re not playing for money, or I’d have stopped three rounds in.”
“Nah, don’t feel bad. I’ve never lost a game.”
“Never?”
Jason shook his head.
“Well why the hell am I wasting my time here? How about we switch things up. How do you feel about War?”
“Or maybe you should let me try,” Katherine suggested.
“War’s a game of dumb luck, not logic or strategy,” Jason said.
“I love War,” Katherine chimed in. “Come play with me, Kirkland, and I’ll let you win at least twice.”
“Oh, what the hell. Let’s do another round,” Kirkpatrick said, ignoring her.
Nodding, Jason shuffled the cards and tossed out ten to each of them. Maybe after this job he’d consider heading to Vegas after all.
Katherine sighed in exasperation. “Fine, have it your way. But just remember—you asked for it.” She uncrossed her long legs, bare from having changed into a pair of tiny shorts earlier, and he tried not to look at them as they swung back and forth off the counter, beating a rhythm into the cabinet as she launched into song.
“Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer. You take one down, pass it around, ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall, Ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-eight bottles of beer…” she sang, and Jason struggled to put her nasally twang on mute.
Christ, I forgot how annoying that song is.
They continued playing until she got down to fifty-one bottles of beer, when Kirkpatrick pushed away from the table and threw his cards down.
“All right, all right, all right,” he caved, and Katherine snapped her mouth shut and stilled her legs.
Running his hand through his hair, he said, “Seriously, I can’t take any more. We’re not intentionally making your life hell, so give us a fucking break. Please.”
Kirkpatrick grabbed his bottle of water from the table and looked at her and then back to Jason. “Wake me when it’s time to switch off.”
Katherine stared down the hallway long after Kirkpatrick had shut the bedroom door. “No one understands,” she said quietly to herself.
Scoffing, Jason shuffled the cards and put them back in the box.
“What?”
He shook his head. “You think you’re the only one we’ve dealt with who didn’t like this arrangement? Think again. The only difference is, they didn’t act out. They were grateful for the protection.”
“I’m not acting like anything other than a normal person with bodyguards that are trying to make life harder than it has to be.”
He cleared the empty plates from the table, and as he passed her on the way to the sink, he paused. “Grow up, Miss Shaw.”
Her flaming green eyes widened as she gaped at him with nothing to say for the first time that night. He welcomed the moment of fucking peace, even as short-lived as he knew it’d be.
She was too inquisitive, too lonely, and too stubborn to keep her mouth shut for long, and something about the over-the-top way she was behaving felt like an unusual act of rebellion.
Whatever it was, he hoped it passed. At least being on night shift with her would mean she’d sleep soon and Kirkpatrick would have to deal with her for classes tomorrow, which was more than fine with him. She’d probably be more attractive with her lips zipped, anyway.
* * *
AFTER CHECKING THE outside perimeter surrounding the apartments and locking up for the night, Jason settled into the armchair by the fireplace with a pen and a book of crossword puzzles. He liked to keep his mind active and alert during night watches, and he’d fallen into the habit of racing the clock with each set he completed.
Katherine, for her part, had stayed quiet, but he didn’t count on the silence lasting much longer. She was curled up on the far side of the couch with a schoolbook, but she didn’t seem to be paying much attention. Not to her studies, anyway.
Her eyes flicked to him often as she twirled a strand of her fair hair through her fingers. He could tell she was trying to break the ice but wasn’t quite sure how to go about it yet. If she wasn’t so oblivious, though, she’d realize that a.) he didn’t want to engage in conversation with her, and b.) he knew she was watching him.
Stupid on her part, because he noticed everything. Had she known that piece of information, he had no doubt her nose would be glued to her book and she’d be resisting any urge to give herself away.
Number four going down…extensive fire. He stretched his legs out and thought for a moment before scanning the other letters. As he filled in the boxes with the correct word, conflagration, Katherine’s voice filled the quiet space.
“I bet you go through one of those books every week.”
Nodding, he read over the next clue and quickly filled in the box.
“I never would’ve taken you for a crossword kind of guy, but you make it look…” She shrugged out of the corner of his eye. “Not so nerdy.”
Nerdy. Not a word anyone’s ever dared to call me before.
“You don’t talk much, do you?”
&
nbsp; He glanced up at her then and said, “No,” before focusing back on the next clue.
“Why’s that?”
“I’m not here to be your buddy, Miss Shaw.”
“You can call me Katherine,” she said, closing her book. “Or Kat.”
“Miss Shaw will suffice.”
“Formal names, I dig it. So I should call you Mr. Garrett? Or is that like a code name?”
“I assume you mean a call sign.”
She snapped her fingers. “That’s it. Is Garrett your call sign?”
“No.”
“Okayyyy,” she drew out. “So…first name? Last name? It’s last name, right? Because no sane person would name their kid Kirkpatrick, unless that’s some kind of weird first and middle name hyphen thing.”
“Yes. Congrats, Miss Shaw, your reasoning skills are extraordinary,” he said dryly.
“Yes to which? Last name?”
He pinned her with a stare, not wasting his breath to elaborate.
Unperturbed, she asked, “So what’s your first name?”
“None of your business.”
“You know my name.”
“I know far more about you than I care to, Katherine Elizabeth Shaw, daughter of Justice William Shaw III and the late Elaine Clyde Shaw. Age twenty-two as of last month, you recently re-enrolled at the university after taking a year off to visit your only aunt in London. The switch to a business degree is not one your father agrees with, but you seem to be in a state of rebellion right now, and he assumes you’ll come around to law school, hopefully sooner rather than later. Your favorite food is pizza with bacon and mushrooms, which you order from Saucelito’s Pizzeria every Friday night, and you feel guilty for not only keeping the food to yourself, but also for not returning your best friend’s affections.”
Her book fell out of her lap and her eyes went wide. “Holy shit.”
“Indeed,” he said, returning to his puzzle and filling in the next set of boxes.
“All that stuff is in my file?”
“Mhmm.”
“And you have to memorize it all?”
He shook his head. “No, but I have a good memory. Unfortunately, at times.”
“Photographic memory?”
“Something like that.”
“Huh.” She sat back, stumped, and he felt her eyes watching him intently.
“What was the name of your first best friend?” she asked.
Deciding to humor her, he said, “Matthew Wilkins, who lived on Roxbury Drive, when we were around the age of four and a half.”
“What did you have for breakfast last Monday?”
“I don’t eat breakfast,” he said, but before she could ramble off another question, he looked at her. “But I did have a four-egg Southwest omelet a bit on the runny side with two bites of Texas toast and an iced water from the Dash Cafe around eleven twenty that day, served with a smile by a waitress named Nancy.”
“Damn,” she said as he looked away from her again. She picked up her book from the floor, flipped to a page, and went through the motions of reading it before her distracted mind broke through the quiet again.
“For the record, I’d share a slice with Steven if he was dying of hunger and begged for one. I’m not that selfish.”
The side of Jason’s mouth twitched. “I doubt that, Miss Shaw.”
IT WAS BACK to life as usual the next day as she made her way from class to class, forcing herself to pay attention when her mind tried to drift to what was going on in her personal life.
Which it did. And often.
The only upside was that it was better than being cooped up at her father’s house.
There was also a tall, good-looking guy following her around everywhere now, which earned her stares and more than a few whispers. Not that she’d ever been one to care about what people said about her. There seemed to be comments wherever she went, whether from her past or in regards to her father, so she’d developed a thick skin in that regard.
After she’d apologized to Kirkpatrick for her behavior the day before, they’d actually gotten along just fine. He was unobtrusive while she worked, and had a calm disposition that didn’t make it too weird to have a bodyguard trailing her 24/7. And unlike with Garrett, she didn’t have to worry about a pack of butterflies letting loose in her stomach to distract her. Which they had done last night. Repeatedly.
As they headed back to her temporary apartment, flashes of him raced through her mind: him sitting quietly beside the fireplace, one ankle crossed over his leg, and intently scratching his pen across the paper. Or the way he rubbed the stubble lining his chin that had to be there on purpose, because he was so meticulous in every other part of his appearance. The impassivity on his face when answering her questions so matter-of-factly; and finally, the annoyance in his voice when he called her out on being ungrateful.
That last thought caused her to falter, and Kirkpatrick stopped and looked back at her.
Is that what Garrett thinks of me? That I’m just some ungrateful woman he’s stuck with? But of course he would. She hadn’t shown him anything to make him think otherwise. Ugh.
In her frustration at her father and the shitty situation, she hadn’t even considered his opinion of her. Not that he would ever be interested in her or anything. He had at least a decade on her, not to mention he was gorgeous and probably had women—hotter, more sophisticated women—knocking down his door and trying to tear his suit off.
His impeccably tailored suit that fit every curve of muscle so perfectly—
“Katherine?”
She looked up to see Kirkpatrick watching her, concern filling his blue eyes.
“Everything all right?”
Flashing a smile, she said, “Perfect. I was just…remembering that I haven’t talked to Steven in a couple days, so I should probably give him a call. If that’s okay, I mean.”
Note to self: Call Steven. Grovel for being a jerk if necessary.
Then she remembered she didn’t have a phone. “Oh, wait. Does he count as an emergency phone contact?”
“We’ll make sure Mr. Chambers stops by this evening.”
She arched her eyebrow. “And how will you do that?”
“You ask a lot of questions,” Kirkpatrick said, shaking his head as they began walking again.
“You guys never answer any. Well, that’s not entirely true. I do know what Garrett had for breakfast last Monday.”
Shooting her a quizzical look, Kirkpatrick asked, “He told you that?”
“Mhmm.”
“May I ask why that knowledge would be of importance to you?”
“Nope,” she said, rounding the corner and beginning the climb up the stairs to the second floor.
“I see. Well, in case you were asking because you’ll be making us breakfast tomorrow, I prefer waffles and eggs scrambled with salt and pepper, and picante sauce on the side.”
She reached for the door handle and looked back at him. “That’s not too specific at all, thanks. I’ll get on that.”
“Stop,” he said, his voice stern, and pushed her hand away from the knob. “Don’t ever enter a room before I’ve gone inside and given the all-clear. Got it?”
Backing up, she nodded. “Yeah, okay. Age before beauty and all that stuff.”
He sighed, and she cracked a grin.
Once he’d gone inside and checked that all was in order, he motioned for her to enter. Garrett glanced up from where he was sitting at the kitchen table, an assortment of weapons laid out in front of him. He picked one up and polished it with the cloth in his hand.
“You’re still alive, so I’m assuming it was a good day,” he said when they walked in.
Her gaze didn’t waver from the table, and she tried not to be intimidated by the guns lying there, but the sight of them made her blood run cold. Still, she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
Swallowing, she asked, “Do you have to do that here?”
Garrett paused and looked up. “Should I do i
t in the bathroom?”
Her fingers tightened on the strap of her backpack, and Kirkpatrick seemed to sense her discomfort, because he said, “Maybe not when she’s around.”
“They’re not loaded.”
“A little discretion, Garrett.”
“It’s…fine,” she said, trying and failing to keep her voice steady.
Her legs felt heavy as she struggled to move past the table and out of the kitchen. She bit down hard on her lip and held her breath until she was safely in the confines of her bedroom, the door shut firmly behind her.
She couldn’t stop fucking shivering, and more than anything she hated that what she’d seen triggered a physical reaction she was powerless to control. And those two seeing it…dammit. She didn’t want anyone thinking she was weak. That she was emotionally scarred by her past. That she couldn’t handle the sight of a stupid gun without freaking out and having a panic attack.
The voices in the kitchen faded out as she dropped her bag and walked to the connected bathroom to turn on the water in the bathtub. A cold shower always worked to shock her out of her anxiety. She wasn’t about to let them see her still frazzled when she emerged, so she needed to get her shit together.
After stripping out of her clothes, she stepped in the shower and gasped at the frigid needles pelting every inch of her bare skin. Forcing herself to move forward, she breathed through the pain.
She brought to mind the image of the weapons on the table, made herself feel the fear and the helplessness she had when she saw them, and held it there. Then she let it go, let it fall down her body, let it exit the drain. The pressure in her chest eased somewhat, and she called to mind another picture. The most painful one. The one she’d never forget.
Flash Point Page 4
