Page 145 of Protecting Peyton

“I don’t know why we put it that high,” I said in answer to Marci’s why when O’Connor entered. “It was that way when I arrived, and I just left it.”

“How do you like your coffee?” Marci asked with her customary cheerfulness.

O’Connor sauntered across the room. “I’m a simple sort. Two sugars is all.”

I had to separate Marci from the detective before her questions kicked back in. “Marci, I’ll finish his coffee. Could you please cover the phones for me? We’re expecting a call from Mrs. Orgoron. I’ll be away from my desk for a bit while I talk with Detective O’Connor.”

“Sure thing,” compliant Marci said. “What does Mrs. Orgoron want?”

Yep, still full of questions. “I don’t know, but we can’t send her to voicemail. Just be your normal pleasant self and pass her off to Grace.We’ll be in demo two.” I knew Grace didn’t have the room scheduled this morning.

Marci beamed at the compliment I threw her. For a second, it looked like she might ask something else, but she didn’t. “Okay.”

“She’s nice,” O’Connor noted after Marci left.

I removed his completed cup from the machine and put another paper cup in its place to make myself one for the interview. “Artificial or real?” I asked, with a sugar packet suspended over his cup.

He patted his belly. “You can probably tell I don’t like those artificial sweeteners.”

Coffees in hand, I led him to demo room two. It was the farthest room from the back of the office and, without a window in the door, more private than the conference rooms. “How long will this take?”

“It depends,” he answered as I shut the door behind us.

Zane

All morning long,I’d watched Peyton, feeling alternating joy that I had her in my life and dread that the Strangler was still after her.

When O’Connor arrived, he’d confirmed he was armed when I asked if he could help out with protection if needed.

When the door closed on the demo room and I lost sight of Peyton, the air felt suddenly colder. She had become a ray of light in my life after all the shit I’d been through.

All morning, I’d watched her, reveling in how she’d taken over my thoughts, and a worry niggled at me. What would happen when the target had been eliminated and she was free of danger? I shoved it aside. Nothing could be allowed to distract me while we were stalking the target—nothing.

I walked to the edge of the office space where I could look out the window overlooking the street. “Where are you, asshole?” I asked in a low voice, pretending I was in a skyscraper and could look out over the city like in a movie. This was only the fourth floor, so I couldn’t see squat, but the answer I got back from the ether was just like in the movies—not a damned thing.

Until now, the Strangler had been out there feeling secure in his anonymity, planning his moves, and we’d been forced to react. This was a new day, and it felt good to finally be on offense with Jordy’s program.

Another message with a photo came in from Jordy, and I waited for Peyton’s verdict on the face.

ANGEL: Not him.

Sooner or later, she’d tell us we’d found the guy, and it would only be a matter of us chasing him down. It might not be acceptable in certain social circles, but I hoped the asshole had a gun and drew it on me so I could put a permanent end to his reign of terror. That would save the citizens of Massachusetts a lot of money in trial and prison expenses.

My doubts resurfaced. Whichever way the takedown ended, Peyton wouldn’t need my protection any longer, and before, when the detective had asked if she was looking forward to returning to her old life, her answer had been “of course.”

With her previous career and network of friends in Boston, why would she want to stay here if she didn’t have to? Also, her physical therapy license was in Massachusetts, not here. Regardless of how great a boss Grace was, she had to want to return to that line of work rather than remain a personal assistant here.

Now that my SEAL days were behind me, it was equally clear that Hawk Security was where I belonged, and I couldn’t very well go with her back to Boston.

I really, really liked Peyton, and we’d been having a good time together, but I knew the data. Under stress, people could develop quick attachments that didn’t last.

Her appreciation of my protection was real. But without the pressure cooker of the Strangler’s pursuit forcing us together, how would she feel about an uncouth brute like me?

She was an angel, all sunshine and light, undoubtedly with dreams for the future. I was the opposite, the destroyer, the bringer of death and destruction that the Navy had trained me to be. I was saddled with nightmares brought on by the ten lifetimes of crap I’d seen.

Then another image arrived from Jordy. It was a little distorted.

I held the phone up, waiting for the inevitable letdown of Peyton’s reply.