Page 82 of Guarded Knight

I love her.God, he has to know that…

I slide on my boxer briefs and jeans and slip quietly out into the hallway. A spoon clinks against porcelain in the kitchen.

Freya.

This is going to be an interesting walk of shame.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee hits me, and when I turn the corner, she’s there in her pajamas, a silk bonnet around her curls and a pot gurgling away in the old-fashioned coffee pot on the counter.

“Morning,” she says brightly.

The more I’m around her, the harder it is to picture this woman hurting a fly. And yet my gut won’t fully unclench. In war zones, instincts like that keep you alive—patterns, tells, the smallest flicker of something off. And I can’t decide if it’s instinct or paranoia whispering at me now.

I mean, Anton has the same evidence but never mentioned Freya once. Then again, he’s been mesmerized by this woman’s curves. She might just be his siren.

“Morning,” I offer. “Have a cup to spare?”

She cocks an eyebrow. “As a matter of fact, I havetwocups to spare.”

She reaches up for a couple of mugs, fills them then pours in some creamer she already has out on the counter. I decide to mind my manners and not let her know I prefer black.

“She still sleeping?” Freya asks.

I nod.

“Good. She needed it.” She hands me the mugs. “But we do have a big event to prepare for later this week, so I made it extra strong.” She tilts her head to the coffee and smiles like she’s already had a few of these.

“Yeah?” I blow the top of a mug and take a sip. “A gala or something, right?”

“That’s it. A fancy party in San Jose. A donor thank-you event where somehow we tend to raise even more money. I’m always in awe of how generous people are. Throw them a ball to celebrate their kindness and then they pledge more? There are a lot of good people out there,” she says cheerfully.

Her words are a reminder I think I need. I tend to operate assuming the opposite.

“It’s a good cause.”

I soften for a beat, thinking about Lara’s story again. Thinking about how Freya has also faced death. And how they both ended up turning that into a passionate need to help others.

I nod to the living room where the broken glass once was. “Thank you for cleaning up. I came out last night to sort it out, but you’d already done it.”

“I wouldn’t have done it for anyone else.” She winks.

I don’t know if she means Lara or me but I lift the mugs. “Appreciated.”

“Of course.”

I offer a thin-lipped smile and wander back down the hall and question why my gut is telling me to forget about Freya. I’m not as easily swayed as a cup of Joe in the morning. Or even a friendly smile. But I have to trust the evidence, or lack thereof, and moreover, Lara’s instincts. She’s not a fool, never has been. Xander taught her to give no trust unless it’s earned.

I can’t shake the feeling completely, but my shoulders ease around her more than they did yesterday.

She told Lara she trusts me. Trusts Anton. Said she’d follow our lead no matter what and to let her know if she can help.

I push open the door with my shoulder and kick it back closed behind me. Lara’s sitting up in bed, now with a t-shirt on, cell in hand, chewing the inside of her cheek.

“What is it?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer and continues to stare at her phone.

I set the mugs down, my fingers tighter on the handle than they should be. Sit beside her, already bracing for the worst.