Page 11 of Velvet and Valor (Platinum Security: Shadows of LA #4)

Laughter shakes her shoulders and wrinkles the skin by her eyes. She’s got a damn gorgeous smile.

“I guess that makes me sound like a dictator or something. I have to be in charge or else.”

“Not a dictator,” I say. “Just someone who knows what they want and isn’t afraid to go after it. I can relate to that.”

I give her a look that could be about movies…but isn’t. An unspoken communication passes between us, more energy than anything tangible. The only outward sign she gives is a slight arching of her brows. Not necessarily inviting me through the door but not slamming it in my face either.

“You mentioned earlier that you had some kind of passion project coming down the pike,” I say, setting my glass down with a slight clink of shifting ice.

“Yes,” she hisses, her eyes lighting up like a supernova. “A biopic about Langston Hughes. It’s a microbudget film but the cinematography is just soaked in emotion!”

She stops, and her gaze drops to her drink.

“Ah, I’m probably boring you with all this industry talk.”

Somebody told June she was being too loud, too often. I’ve seen it before. Hell, I’ve lived it before. I can’t stand to see her self-limiting like this.

“Hey.” I reach out and gently lift her chin until our gazes meet. “I like hearing you talk. Don’t ever apologize for it.”

She smiles, and my heart skips a beat. Man, she’s gorgeous. Sharp as a tack, too. The type of woman who can keep me on my toes. Just my type.

The moment stretches out. I don’t feel the need to fill it with more talking. I just…enjoy it for what it is.

Her phone rings, and shatters the moment, whatever it was. I try to keep the disappointment off my face.

“Hello? No, I’m fine. I don’t want to talk about that, I want to talk about…” June’s eyes widen. “No. No, no, no… I know exactly where it is…Becky, Becky, Becky…Becks…calm down. I know exactly where it is. I’ll get it to you by morning, okay?”

June ends the call, her teeth gritted in a grimace. Her fearful gaze falls on me.

“I really fucked up, Axel.”

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Oh, we’ve got a project that’s due to enter pre-production YESTERDAY and the only copy of the script is in PDF format on a memory stick that only I have access to.”

“The only copy? How come there’s just one?”

“Because the internet is the king of leaks, and the writer is super paranoid about story details getting out before the movie starts filming,” she says with a groan. “We had to jump through some hoops for this guy in order to work with him.”

“Is he a big deal?” I ask.

“Sort of. Think lots of scarves and a super-hot girlfriend whose main claim to fame is wearing blue body paint.”

“Oh, that guy? I heard he was a pain in the ass.”

She laughs, but there's more nervousness to it than humor.

“You think? He’s the reason we can’t have a simple google doc file like a normal human being.”

June gives me a sheepish look.

“I hate to tell you this, but I’m going to HAVE to go to my place and get that file.”

“Hell no,” I say, shaking my head. “Out of the question.”

She puts her hands on her hips, eyes becoming feral slits of brewing anger.

“Axel,” she says carefully, calmly despite the look of mayhem in her eyes, “I NEED that file. If I don’t get that file, Mr. Big Shot Hollywood Director is going to drop out of our project and we’re going to lose a lot of money.”

I hold a hand up.

“It’s too dangerous for you to go—”

June unloads on me in a well-worded but ultimately furious tirade. I keep trying to interrupt but eventually I give up and let her run her course.

“Are you finished?” I ask.

“Maybe,” she says. “Are you convinced?”

“You’re NOT going,” I say.

“What are you going to do? Tie me up?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, we should start with a light spanking and see where it goes.”

Her bottom lip quivers with anger.

“Axel, you’re not funny right now.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I do have a habit of sticking my foot in my mouth. Listen, I can’t let you go back to your place because it’s just too dangerous, but I can go for you.”

Her mouth closes, then opens, then closes again.

“That might work,” she says. “The memory stick is in the bottom RIGHT drawer of my dresser. Bottom RIGHT. Say it with me.”

“Bottom Right,” I say in unison with her. “Got it.”

“You don’t need to open any other drawers,” she says. “At all. Just the bottom right.”

“The bottom right, got it,” I say again.

“Which one?”

“The bottom right.”

“Again.”

“Okay, okay, I got it already,” I say, laughing. “Bottom right. Is there anything else you want me to pick up while I’m there?”

“No…wait. Yes. I need…you know what, let me text you a list.” She sniffs her purse and scowls, then grabs her wallet and some girly items out of it. “I have a black leather purse hanging on the coat rack in my room. Bring that, for sure.”

She hands me her partly-emptied purse.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” I ask.

“Put it on my dresser or something,” she says. “It smells like gasoline, but I don’t want to pitch it. It’s a Michael Kors and it was a gift from DeNiro.”

“Deniro?” I ask. “THAT DeNiro?”

“That DeNiro,” she says.

“All right, here,” I say, taking the purse and hanging the strap on my arm. “Hey, this feels pretty convenient. Maybe I’ll have to get a purse.”

“Cute. I’m texting you some more things I need,” she says, her thumbs busy.

“Please make sure it all fits into your average sized shopping bag,” I interject.

She gives me a dirty look, and I shut the fuck up because contrary to popular belief, I DO know what’s good for me. Occasionally.

I prepare to head out to her place. Thank goodness for GPS, because she lives in one of those obscure gated neighborhoods that hide all along the coast. Not quite the mansions district, but definitely above my pay-grade.

“Are you sure the security guards will let me in?” I ask.

“Yes, I’ll call ahead…but won’t the guard stop Moorcrock and his men from causing problems in the first place? Are you sure I can’t just wait this out at home?”

I shake my head sadly.

“Moorcrock and his ilk have ways of getting around solitary guards in a booth with very low visibility.”

“You think they could just sneak in?”

“Or bribe the guard.”

Her mouth falls open.

“No way, Gus would never take a bribe.”

“Uh huh. What kind of car does Gus drive?”

“A Honda Accord.”

“New?”

“No.”

“When did he buy it?”

“About ten years…” she heaves a sigh. “Okay, fine. So, he probably doesn’t get paid all that well, it doesn’t mean he’s going to take a bribe.”

“No, but it doesn’t mean he won’t, either. It’s best not to take the chance.” I walk over to my kitchen pantry. “And speaking of not taking chances…”

“What are you doing? Don’t tell me you expect me to cook you dinner while you’re gone?”

“What?” I laugh. “No, not at all.”

I enter the pantry and open the long box at the very back of the uppermost shelf. A couple of undone snaps later, and I’m taking down a hunting rifle with walnut stock and cobalt blue steel.

“Holy shit,” she says. “You’re taking that with you?”

“No,” I say, patting my pocket. “I have protection. This, I’m leaving here. Do you know how to use it?”

I hand it to her, and she bites her lower lip in dismay.

“I’ve fired a gun like, once,” she says. “On the set of a movie, it was loaded with blanks. I hope I don’t have to use it,” she mutters.

“Most likely you will not,” I say. “But it’s a nice security blanket to have along just in case.”

She nods, looking worried.

“Lock up after I'm gone, and don’t let anyone inside.”

With that, I’m off, jogging down the driveway to the charger.

“Bottom drawer,” I mutter. “Bottom drawer. Shit…was it right or left?”

No time to worry about it now. There could be a killer outside, and I’ll be damned if they hurt June.