The Protector: The Complete C.I.A. Romance Series

by Lilian Monroe

  The studio’s rectangular windows were set high on the walls, and they let the early morning light stream in and flood the space. I groaned, blinking my swollen eyes open as the sunlight needled into them. I needed to get an eye mask if I was going to sleep here again.

  And I would, because where else would I go? I couldn’t go back to Jayden’s. I found my phone on the floor next to the couch and got Tanya’s number.

  Hailey: You up? I left Jayden last night.

  I stared at the screen for a few seconds, but it wasn’t even seven o’clock yet and she would be asleep for at least another hour or two—maybe longer. It was Sunday morning, after all. Tanya was a schoolteacher and she liked sleeping in on the weekends.

  I rolled off the couch and stretched my neck from side to side, massaging a crick that had appeared overnight.

  A blank canvas sat on an easel across the studio, calling to me. I took a deep breath and stood up. As I stretched out my body and sighed, my lips curled into a slight smile. Despite everything that had happened yesterday—or maybe because of it—I felt lighter. Excited. Inspired.

  I padded in my socks toward the canvas and squeezed some paint onto my palette. Usually, I would sketch out a painting before I put a brush to canvas but this morning, I didn’t have the patience. I had an image in my head and I needed to get it down.

  Every paint stroke was like sweeping a healing balm on my broken heart. I inhaled the scent of the paint, the canvas, the thinning medium. I let it soothe me and heal me from last night’s ordeal.

  I refused to think of Freddy, even though I could still feel the imprint of his hand on my hip. I could taste his lips on my mouth. The space between my legs ached with a longing I hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

  And I painted.

  The sound of a truck rumbling by the building, followed by shouting pulled me out of the flow. I glanced at the door, frowning. I’d never heard anyone back here—the alleyway behind the building didn’t even have trash cans to pick up. I set my brush and palette down, heading for the door.

  Just as my hand was an inch above the handle, I hesitated. Another shout echoed in the alley. I couldn’t quite make out the words, but the voice sounded angry.

  So, instead of opening the door, I pulled over a small stepladder to one of the high windows. I had to stand on the top step to poke my head over the ledge, my weight swaying from side to side as I clung on to the window frame with the tips of my fingers.

  I frowned when I saw a white truck. It looked like a moving truck, but it was unmarked. The driver was hanging out of the window, shouting something at another man, directing him to help reverse the truck into a big garage door next to the studio. The driver stopped, moving forward again to reposition the vehicle.

  This wasn’t where deliveries were usually brought. There was another delivery bay on the far side of the building that was much more accessible than this. I’d spent hours in this studio, and I’d never seen anyone back here.

  And these men… they didn’t look like delivery drivers. The spotter at the back of the truck had an expensive-looking leather jacket on, and his dark hair was slicked back. His skinny jeans looked like they’d been professionally tailored.

  The man hanging out of the driver’s window was equally well-dressed, with glittering diamond studs in his ears. Or at least, they looked like diamonds from where I was watching.

  I wondered if Gianni knew they were here. He must.

  The driver struggled to back the truck in again, and I hesitated. Maybe I could tell them that the usual delivery bay was around the corner. He’d have an easier time backing the truck in there.

  But then Gianni appeared, waving his hands and shouting something at the driver. The driver slid out of the van and said something. I frowned, straining my ears to listen, but I couldn’t hear make out any words.

  I pulled myself up on the ledge, holding my breath as I tried to listen. Something was wrong. Gianni’s face was dark, and he was glancing up and down the alleyway nervously. He made a big gesture at the driver who responded angrily. I wished I knew what they were saying. My whole body was rigid, clinging to the window frame as I leaned forward.

  I tipped on the stepladder and I lost my footing. For a couple terrifying seconds, I thought I was gone. My feet flailed and my fingers dug into the window frame, a small gasp escaping my lips. I hung on for a second, waving my legs underneath me until I felt the edge of the stepladder and found my footing. My heart raced and I pulled myself up again with a groan.

  Peeking over the edge of the window, I saw the man in the leather jacket roll open the truck’s trailer door. Artwork was wrapped up inside, tied off to the edges of the truck in neat rows. I let out a breath, shaking my head.

  There was nothing amiss here. Last night had made me paranoid. Gianni was getting a delivery of artwork. I didn’t know why they were using this loading bay, instead of the usual one, but I was sure there was a reason. Gianni was probably just stressed because of the series of exhibits he had planned. I relaxed back onto the stepladder and was about to return to my painting when I saw Gianni jump up into the trailer.

  I gasped when I saw him pull a knife out of his waistband. It glinted in the morning light as he angled it toward one of the paintings. In one swift, practiced motion, he tore open the painting from corner to corner, through the protective paper and the art itself. I could see the bright colors of the artwork and the jagged edges of the torn canvas when he lifted back the flap.

  My breath hitched and I frowned, trying to see what he was doing. But Gianni’s body was in the way, and I couldn’t make out what was behind him. He turned around and swept his eyes around the alley, and I ducked my head down, gulping down a breath.

  When I poked my head back up over the edge of the window, the truck was closed up again, and the driver was finally backing it through the garage door. Gianni stood with his back to me, arms crossed, watching.

  This was unusual. Unsettling. Gianni’s face had been angrier than I’d ever seen it. I could see the tension in his shoulders as he glanced up and down the alley again, running ringed fingers through his thick, black hair. I ducked back down out of sight and climbed off the stepladder, walking back to my painting.

  I picked up the palette and paintbrush, but I couldn’t paint. I just stared at the canvas, frowning.

  Freddy’s words came back to me. He told me to get away from Gianni—before it was too late. What did that mean? Did this delivery have anything to do with Freddy’s warning?

  I inhaled, squeezing my eyes shut. When I thought of Freddy’s words, it made me think of his lips—and thinking of his lips made me weak.

  I was tired, hungry, and emotional. I was seeing things that weren’t there. There was nothing sinister going on. There had to be some sort of explanation for all this, I just didn’t know what it was. Gianni was probably using this delivery door because my artwork was in the other bay, and he needed more space.

  Probably.

  But as much as I tried to talk myself down, I knew something was wrong. I knew that I would never speak to Gianni about what I saw. Instinct told me that I wasn’t supposed to know about this delivery, or how easily Gianni tore through the paintings he usually revered.

  Despite everything that had happened between Freddy and me, I believed him. His words had truth to them, and it was impossible to ignore.

  My shoulders fell as I glanced around the studio. This space was all I had left. My relationship, my apartment, my life—it had fallen to pieces around me and this studio was everything to me. If Gianni was doing something wrong…

  I couldn’t bear the thought of losing this, too. Last night, I’d tasted success for the first time. I wasn’t ready to let that go. Not now. Not yet. No matter what Freddy said, no matter what Gianni was hiding.

  I needed this studio more than I’d ever needed anything before. It was my lifeline.

  My hands trembled as I grabbed my headphones and scrolled through my music. I needed to
get back in the zone. My fingers squeezed the paintbrush until the pads of my fingers hurt. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes for a beat, and then I started painting again.

  10

  Freddy

  I knew what needed to be done, but I was still nervous. The Russo Art Gallery loomed in front of me. It looked different in the daylight without a multitude of colors splashed across its frontage. The building was more subtle, but no less grand. I walked up the wide, marble steps and past the tall columns toward the front doors.

  They swung open easily, and I stepped into the stark, white space. Hailey’s painting was still hanging in the center of the main wall, and it still hit me like a sledgehammer. I gaped at it for a few seconds before shaking my head. The clack-clack-clack of heels on hard floors made me turn to the side of the room.

  A woman—the gallery manager, I assumed—walked toward me with a tight smile on her face. “You must be Mr. Langston. My name is Amelia.” She shook my hand.

  Langston was my cover name—a made-up identity of a wealthy art lover. I had made my supposed millions in the tech industry, and I was here to buy some art. “Thank you for having me.”

  “Please.” The gallery manager gestured to the hallway leading to Hailey’s exhibition. I sucked in a breath, still not prepared for the emotional assault brought on by her paintings.

  By the time we entered the second gallery, a bead of sweat trickled between my shoulder blades. I exhaled as soon as I saw her artwork.

  “A rare talent,” Amelia said. Her black hair was pulled tight to the nape of her neck. She had sharp features, with a slightly curved nose and thin lips. She wore thick-framed glasses, which gave her a severe appearance that worked well in the context of the gallery. Unlike me, Amelia looked like she belonged here. She gave off an air of slight superiority as she glanced around the room. “You mentioned on the phone that a specific painting had taken your fancy?”

  “Yes.” I motioned to a small canvas in the corner of the gallery. It was brighter than the rest of them, with less pain and anguish. It reminded me of Hailey when we were young. Bright. Happy. Carefree.

  Amelia made a noise at the back of her throat as I motioned to the painting. “I’ll have to speak to Gianni,” she said. “I believe he wanted this one for himself.”

  “Ah.” My eyebrows tugged together.

  “Excuse me.” She made a small bow and then clack-clack-clacked her way back to the main gallery.

  When I was alone, I took my time looking at the paintings. I glanced around the room, noting the location of security cameras, and I did my best to look like an art lover. The thing was, looking at these paintings, I was loving them. I could see things in them, feel things from them that I’d never experienced before.

  I sort of… got it.

  Admiring Hailey’s work, I understood why art was so captivating for people. It spoke to something primal, buried deep in my psyche that was almost indescribable.

  When I was halfway around the room, I jumped back as that same hidden door opened into the room. Hailey’s eyes widened. “Freddy!”

  A blush crept up her cheeks, and blood rushed between my legs. Her tongue slid out to lick her bottom lip and all I wanted to do was push her back into that room and take her lips in my own.

  She smoothed her hands over her paint-stained clothes, and I saw smudges of paint on her hands. She was wearing big, noise-canceling headphones around her neck. She probably liked to paint with music on.

  “Were you working?” I pointed to the stains.

  She nodded, her cheeks still flushed. “What are you doing here?”

  I opened my mouth. I wanted to tell her the truth… but how could I? I was wearing a wire and a tiny camera in one of my shirt buttons. This was all being recorded with Gary listening to every word on the other end. I had to play the part.

  “I’m buying your work.”

  “That’s a bit stalkerish, don’t you think?” Her eyes flashed as her lips curved up.

  “Stalkerish?” I took a step toward her and caught a whiff of her scent—that sweet vanilla fragrance, mixed with the chemical odor of paint.

  “Well, first, you show up at my first gallery opening using a false name,” she said, counting it off on her paint-stained fingers. “Second, you show up at my house all alpha and rough, and you...”

  “And I what?” I knew Gary was listening, but I still wanted her to say it. I wanted her to tell me how much she liked me kissing her, how badly she wanted to do it again.

  “Third,” she said, ignoring me, “you come back here and pretend to be into art? Please. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were following me around.”

  I could hear Amelia’s heels getting closer, and I knew we didn’t have much time. As much as I wanted to talk to Hailey, I couldn’t.

  I glanced over my shoulder and lowered my voice. “Hailey, this is important. My name is Thomas Langston, not Freddy Finch. Here, take this card. Call me tonight and I can tell you more.”

  Amelia and Gianni rounded the corner just as Hailey tucked my card in her pocket. I prayed that she would call. It was too late to shield her from all this—she knew too much. She knew who I was. And Gary had heard that, which meant that my connection to her was exposed.

  Plastering a polite smile on my face, I turned to the art dealer and gallery manager. “Mr. Russo, thank you for having me.”

  “I knew last night that you were an art lover,” Gianni Russo beamed, spreading his arms wide. He clapped his palm into mine and shook it vigorously. “I knew by the look on your face that you’d be back. Who could resist Miss Ford?” He kissed her cheek and I stiffened. Anger tripped up my spine at the sight of his lips so close to hers, his hand gripping her shoulder…

  I caught myself. I needed to calm down.

  Hailey’s eyes lifted up to mine as my nostrils flared, and a hint of a grin tugged at her lips. She liked seeing me like this.

  “Now,” Gianni continued in his sing-song accent. “Amelia tells me you want a certain special painting.”

  I nodded, gesturing to the one in the corner. “I saw this one yesterday, and it looks like it’s still available.”

  “You want that one?” Hailey said, laughing. “I made that in about two hours. The others—those are better.”

  “I like that one,” I said, not taking my eyes off her.

  Gianni made a tsk-tsk sound and sighed. He put a hand to his heart and looked at me with a sad look on his face. His eyes stayed shrewd. “You hurt me, Mr. Langston. I had plans to hang this one in my dining room. It speaks to me.”

  “Well, perhaps I could commission one.” I glanced at Hailey, whose eyes widened. Her lush, pink lips fell open and I imagined them wrapped around my—

  “What a thought!” Gianni exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “What do you say, bella? Your list of commissions is getting longer.”

  Hailey gave him a tight smile. She seemed different around him than she had yesterday—stiffer, colder. Or maybe she was reacting to me?

  But when her eyes flicked up to mine, I saw the heat in her gaze and I knew it wasn’t me. The same fire that was burning up my veins was igniting inside her, too. She tortured me again by swiping her tongue over her lower lip, and then dipped her chin down.

  “I’m warning you, though, I don’t come cheap.”

  Gianni’s smile stayed stuck to his face, but his eyes glanced from Hailey to me and back again. He could feel an undercurrent between the two of us—we all could. It was going to blow my cover and get both Hailey and me in a lot of trouble.

  So, I turned away from her and nodded to Gianni. “Deal. I have a meeting to go to, so please send the details on to my assistant. Thank you for your time.”

  I turned on my heels, and Amelia showed me out. I hated turning my back to Hailey and leaving her with Gianni, but I had no choice. I had to leave, go regroup, reassess, and come up with a plan.

  By the time I made it to the van, sweat was beading on my forehead and my h
eart was thumping in my chest.

  Gary glanced at me over his glasses and arched an eyebrow. “You gonna tell me how you know her, or what?”

  11

  Hailey

  Gianni gave me a funny look when Freddy walked away. “I didn’t know you were here this morning.” His eyes searched mine, and for a moment he reminded me of Jayden. It was the same kind of probing comment Jayden would ask, the same mistrust, the same feeling that I was walking on eggshells.

  At least it meant I had practice keeping a straight face. I nodded. “Got here early to work.” I lifted my headphones and smiled at him. “I’ve been in the zone. Better get back to it.”

  His shoulders seemed to relax, and I knew something was wrong. He didn’t want me to know about this morning’s delivery. He didn’t want me to see what I saw… whatever it was.

  And it scared me.

  This was my last safe haven. It was the last place I felt good. If I lost the studio…

  I sucked in a breath and forced a smile. “I’d better get back to those commissions.”

  “Popular girl.”

  “I owe it to you.” I smiled again, a bit more genuinely. I did owe him everything, and I was grateful. Whatever was going on with that truck this morning… that had nothing to do with me. I had to focus on my work. I had no one to rely on except myself—that’s how it had always been.

  I glanced toward the exit where Freddy had disappeared, and resisted the urge to touch the card he’d slipped to me. I wanted to hate him. Everything in my mind told me to stay away from him.

  But that kiss…

  Every time Freddy walked into a room, it sucked all the air out of my lungs. His presence was everywhere. His eyes made my whole body burn up, and his gaze made me want him.

  Really want him.

  And the fact that I’d seen that truck this morning? It made me think that Freddy was telling the truth—that there was something going on, and that Gianni wasn’t the man I thought he was. Against all odds, I was starting to trust Freddy.