Page 35 of Guarded Knight (Echo Valley #3)

We dropped Cameron off at the Echo Valley station just after ten.

Lara gave her statement, while Callum, chief of police and a hell of a pal for assisting us out at the hut, handled the paperwork with the clipped tone he only uses at work.

Freya came down, too. Lara insisted she not be left alone in the apartment, and I agreed, if not for her safety, then because Cameron not being the culprit means I can’t rule anyone out yet.

Not even her. Not even when her involvement is totally illogical.

But that’s where my head goes when it comes to Lara. All logic ceases to exist because all I want is to protect her peace.

It wasn’t until we got back to Monarch Hills that I finally started to breathe.

There was no way in hell I was letting Lara stay in that apartment again now that we’re back at square one.

When I suggested it, she didn’t even let out a peep of her usual defiance.

That silence alone told me how much the night had shaken her.

Cameron is an absolute dickhead, but her instincts lined up. He’s not clever, more entitled than obsessed. A man who only came sniffing around for forgiveness once he learned she was sick, pretending at remorse because it made him feel like less of a monster.

That’s what makes me want to put my fist through a wall. His apology was never for her. It was for him, to soothe his ego, to cast himself as some reformed man in a story no one else was telling.

But Lara never gave it to him. She didn’t bend. She didn’t hand over her power. She refused to let him write his redemption on her back. She left him standing in his own filth, and Christ, I worship her for that.

Watching her draw that line—it’s strength so many wish they had. And every time she shows it, it pulls me deeper. I can’t even convince myself I don’t want to take her as mine. I’m so damn obsessed with her I’m past the point of air.

My nerves finally settle on an almost-normal frequency when we walk through the front door of the house.

Anton and I never call it ours. I’m too conscious of how much he needs a landing pad to call it my house, even though Santi did build it for me. And I’ve hardly ever claimed it. Like two men, we settle on simply calling it the house.

I’ve never felt fully comfortable here. To this day, I’ve done nothing to decorate, though Santi furnished it in my absence and, also in my absence, Anton bought a few pillows for the leather couches, and there’s something about multiple pairs of boots lined up by the door that makes any place feel cozy.

Lara’s curled on the couch, now in sweatpants and a t-shirt, beneath one of the old quilts my mom stitched back in Starlight Canyon. The fire throws shadows across her face, softening everything. Her lashes flick toward the flame and back again, like she’s trying to read a message inside it.

Freya’s on the couch next to her, hands pulled inside her chunky sweater, and she twists the excess fabric nervously.

By now she knows everything, and her reaction to the story made me feel like I know nothing.

She isn’t behaving at all like someone who would have let danger into Lara’s life, nor her own for that matter.

She was relieved for Lara at first, and then, I saw the terror skate down her spine thinking someone worse was out there.

Suddenly, my gut churns thinking about this suspicion. Freya isn’t dissimilar from Lara. She got a second chance at life through a bone marrow transplant… who’s looking after her? Protecting her peace?

If she was actually playing around with someone who wants Lara, Freya was sure as hell over the moon about them both coming here. It doesn’t make sense to want to be somewhere with ultra-tight surveillance if you’re trying to pull a fast one.

The fire’s going out, so I top it up again, sticking the poker in to stoke the flames.

I get it roaring again and sit on the edge of the couch next to Lara. I want to touch her knee. Pull her into my chest. Something. But I settle for sitting close enough to feel her warmth.

“You really don’t want to eat?” I ask.

She shakes her head, blanket clutched tight around her shoulders. “No. Thank you…”

Just then, there’s a knock at the door. I instantly stand, ready to launch myself in that direction, and Anton is just as fast to move, hand at his hip where his gun is in its holster.

As if summoned by the word eat, my dad walks in with a Tupperware the size of my chest. “Relax, hijo, just me. You think I’m gonna let the girls starve after all that?”

Rio walks in behind him without a greeting. He means business. While my dad offers a warm cocoon, Rio offers a steel wall. Both have their place here.

Lara sits up straighter. “You came here with food at this time of night?”

He barrels past me and sets the container on the counter, then makes a beeline for Lara.

“What was I supposed to do? Not bring soup?” He sits next to her for a moment, inspecting her, maybe taking stock for the Youngs.

I can imagine he’s been on the phone with them because Dad has always been the nosy type.

Though he’d rather I use the word informed.

“Mi corazón,” he murmurs. “Did these boys even feed you?”

“All she’s had is tea,” I mutter. “But because she said she wasn’t hungry,” I add for the record.

“That’s not food.” My dad chuckles. “That’s hot sadness.”

Lara laughs. Dad beams like he’s just performed a resurrection. Freya is smiling for the first time tonight, too, so I suppose soup does have power.

“I brought enough for you, too,” Dad says, gazing at Freya. “You girls need food. You need to keep your strength up.”

Dad goes back to the kitchen. It’s open plan, as all of the houses are, so the sound of his clattering around, grabbing bowls fills the cavernous room. “You want shredded cabbage, or do I just dump it all in?”

“I… surprise me,” Lara says.

“You?” Dad glances at Freya.

“Same. After eating your food at the party, I can say your instincts are better than mine when it comes to cooking.”

Anton’s cell rings, and he wanders over to the edge of the space into the shadowed dining room area. He’s been chasing leads on Angel America. Good thing strip clubs are open late.

“Anton Easton.” He takes his body farther away and lowers his voice, but I can tell Freya and Lara try to listen in. Hell, apart from my dad, who’s bustling in the kitchen, we all do.

Rio takes a seat in the armchair like he’s holding court, in deep consideration of some sort of decree. Dad hands over two large mugs of steaming soup with metal spoons inside.

And then, there’s nothing but the clink of spoons on bowls and the occasional crackle of the fire as we all hold our breath waiting for Anton to reveal something in our eavesdropping session.

“Thank you,” he finally says into his cell.

“Your statement is confidential and has been really helpful.” A beat.

“I wouldn’t worry about your safety, but if you have any concerns at all, call my number or the Echo Valley police.

Thank you for your time.” He hangs up and when he glances up from his cell, he catches ten eyes staring in his direction. “Ah, an audience.”

“Well?” I ask.

“Miss America was indeed with Cameron all night. He’s been a regular for the past couple months.”

“A regular?” Lara asks.

“Customer. A regular customer. Seems he spends a lot of time in Albuquerque.”

“A stalker who spends a lot of time out of the proximity of his victim?” Rio deadpans. “That officially rules him out for me.”

Anton nods. “Very true.”

“I wish it’d been him. But I really had a feeling he was just a loser,” Lara says.

Freya shifts uncomfortably, and I take stock of her body language. “But Cameron showed up tonight. That has to mean something, right?”

Lara shakes her head. “All he wanted was to justify his dirty deeds. Couldn’t stand someone thinking less of him.” She cracks one of her ill-timed jokes. “I was probably the best lay he ever had.”

The way she says it makes me wonder if what Cameron said tonight about her being sick stabbed at her self-esteem.

“Senor ten piedad…” Dad dabs his forehead with his napkin as if offended, but he’s half-smiling.

Rio laughs darkly.

My brother might find it humorous, but that animalistic growl I get when Lara talks about other men works its way up my throat.

I swallow it. No point getting possessive now. Even if every cell in me wants to drag her closer and make her forget every man before me.

Lara giggles. “Sorry, Luis.”

He waves her off, still smiling. “You can make someone laugh at the most inappropriate time. Which, carino, is also when it’s usually most needed.”

Anton sits on the armrest of one of the leather couches. “Jokes aside, we need some new leads.”

He’s right. I thought this would be easy, but whoever is after her is a phantom.

Anton continues, “It doesn’t necessarily have to be romantic. It could be someone else who feels hard done by or crossed in some way.”

Lara’s quiet for a beat. Then, something lights up in her eyes, though it’s quickly doused with dread. “I don’t get into it with anyone really. At least not… not…” Her eyebrows furrow together in realization. “At least not personally.”

Freya frowns and immediately understands. “Kevin?”

The girls share a knowing gaze.

Lara seems at a momentary loss for words, so Freya explains. “Lara has found some fraudulent activity at Scarlet Hope.” She grimaces. “Maybe he knows that you know? And he’s… trying to distract you until he gets away with it.”

Lara is now wide-eyed.

Freya pulls her knees to her chest and hugs them. “I found some more things out about Belinda and her charities when I was researching at the café.”

Maybe that’s why Freya agreed so easily to come here tonight, too. She’s doubting Kevin’s intentions… and just how far he might go to protect himself.

“Did you read more annual reports?” Lara asks.