Page 54 of Guarded Knight

Just then, Freya slides in next to me.

“Hey,” she says. “Can we go for a walk? While G isn’t listening? I… I had a weird call with Kevin earlier and…” She looks hassled. “I want to keep it private, and you haven’t been alone since yesterday.”

“Of course we can chat,” I say. “Shoot.”

“Not here, though?” She lowers her voice to almost a whisper. “I don’t really want anyone else to chime in. I feel like Anton and Gabriel see and hear everything these days…”

It’s true. I’m not the only person having to deal with a bodyguard.

“Yeah. I get that. But you know this place is probably bugged,” I joke.Sort of.

“I’m sure it’s safe to walk around? Let’s wander over to the barns?” she suggests. “Then I can double dip and see the horses again.”

Gabriel will probably not be thrilled when he gets back and I’m gone. But equally, I’m putting Freya through so much…

“Just wait a second, and I’ll tell G when he’s back.”

She shoots me a pained look like she doesn’t think we’ll get time alone if I do that.

She’s probably right.

It’s okay. Gabriel’s not the only bodyguard at Monarch Hills.

She adds, “It’s not a long conversation. We’ll only be a minute.”

I grab her arm and rush off. “Let’s go.”

Luis’ house is the closest to the stable yard, and it’s a short stroll down a gravel path away from the houses and toward the outbuildings and stables. Earthy, horsey smell replaces the scent of barbecue on a pleasant cool breeze.

Once we’re out of earshot, she dives in. “I’ve been thinking about that contract I have where I can’t drink in public. It’s been bothering me since I saw how the boys twisted their faces when I told them. It’s not that I want to get shit-faced, but the other day at the bar with Santi and Kat, they offered, and I thought, just one beer. It would have been nice.”

She glances down at her cell, distracted, as if waiting for a text to come in and rescue her from her feelings.

I can’t stop thinking about how tense Freya’s been at work lately, how her smile never quite reaches her eyes like it used to. When I asked her a few weeks ago if she still liked working at Scarlet Hope, she just said Kevin’s under pressure. She’s always been the nurturing one, always looking out for everyone but herself.

I’ve long thought the no-drinking contract was bullshit, but it’s not unheard of in nonprofit work. Kevin is a serious guy. There’s a lot at stake when it comes to PR, which is why I take my newsletter so seriously.

It’s not that Freya cares about getting drunk. But what thirty-one-year-old wants someone telling her what to do? Still, as her friend, I don’t rail against Kevin. Not immediately.

“Did you bring it up with him? Now that you’ve been together a while, surely, he’d trust you?”

We hit the double doors of the barn and step inside to the sweet smell of musk and grass.

Freya wanders over to a dark bay thoroughbred’s stall and runs her hand along its muzzle. She glances around, maybe looking for the bugs I mentioned. Shit, now she’s paranoid, too. Is it because of the smoke bomb? It would make sense. It was her apartment that was broken into as well, after all.

“I understand how important the reputation of Scarlet Hope is for fundraising,” she says, voice low, “but I deserve to be trusted.”

“You definitely do.”

She rolls her cell phone around in her hand, fidgeting. She doesn’t usually walk around with her cell like that. Is she waiting for a call or something? Or is Kevin that intimidating?

She seems so uncomfortable, and the fact that she struggles to have a single serious conversation with Kevin makes me want to tell her this guy isn’t worth it. And that’swithouttelling her about the financial issues I found.

But one problem at a time. I let her speak.

“I finally brought it up with Kevin.” She sighs. “He gave me the cold shoulder.”

“What do you mean?”