Page 17

CHAPTER 17

Tristan

Birdie lets the water run in the bathtub and rests on the porcelain edge. “There are no cameras here, I presume.”

“Of course not.” I lean against the doorframe and fold my arms over my chest. “I’m listening.”

She tells me, eyes barely looking my way, cheeks turning pink, about her beef with Saldana, and what she’s done with the book she asked her lawyer to send in the mail.

Birdie, Birdie, Birdie.

She chances a glance at me and swallows. “Say something…please.”

I can’t because I’m busy stuffing my hands in my pockets to hide the sudden erection I’m having.

“I get it. You don’t see me the same way anymore,” she mutters.

She’s right. A minute ago, she was my former teacher I was indebted to and my client to protect. Now, she’s a morally gray woman sitting on the edge of her bathtub, telling me about the time she touched herself and used her cum to stain her rival’s book in vengeance, and it gives me a hardon.

My lips press together, stifling a laugh. Is that all she’s been terrified to tell me? Is that what makes her so ashamed? Yes, it’s wrong and vindictive, but what the other woman did is a crime. Saldana had it coming. She should be ashamed, as should I for not being able to stop myself from picturing Birdie’s fingers between her legs.

I clear my throat. “I have to go.”

Blood drains from her face. “See? That’s exactly why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“Birdie—”

“No, you promised.” She jumps to her feet. “You kept pushing me to tell you, and then what? You’re leaving.”

“Birdie, I have to go get that book before the lawyer mails it.” And to cool down.

She halts in place and then rubs a thumb over her eyebrow, color flooding her cheeks. “Oh.”

Her blushing doesn’t help with the cooling down part. I avert my gaze. “Listen, when I’m gone, Marcus is in charge. If you need anything, talk to him.”

She stares at me in confusion, and I realize I haven’t introduced the team properly to her yet. “He’s the one with the mustache.”

“Okay. Thanks…again…for not judging me.”

I can never judge her; I’m not a sinless man; Will she do the same for me when she realizes her sins weigh nothing against mine? “There are no saints here, Birdie.”

The air hangs heavy between us as we listen to our breaths loud over the streaming water. “Have some rest because, when I return, we’re setting a meeting with Saldana.”

“What? No!”

“We have to warn her.”

“I’m not talking to that thief. What if she doesn’t believe me? What if she uses the situation, twisting it around to gain more fans and turn people against me?”

“You really think she’ll care about any of that when she knows her life is in danger? There’s a deranged man out there who is set to kill her because she crossed you.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“Yes, I do. You do, too. So, unless you want blood on your hands, you’d better suck that ego up and listen to what I’m saying.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then I’ll call the police myself.”

“What? Tristan, you gave me your word.”

“Which I intend to keep as long as I’m breathing. That’s why I’m doing this. I’ll protect you no matter what, even if it means saving you from yourself.”

I tell her to call her lawyer to get the book ready when I come to collect it and stride out of her room before she gets a chance to argue. Then I brief Marcus on my way out of the house.

The trip to Boston takes a little over two hours between my bike and the ferry. I dust the sand off my boots and gear as I arrive at Abbot and Lockwood’s; the roads from the island aren’t motorcycle friendly, neither is the ferry ride.

When I reach Birdie’s lawyer’s office, her paralegal takes my business card and says Ms. Lockwood is very busy, but she can squeeze me in right away. I don’t know if it’s my mention of Birdie’s name that scores me the privilege of meeting busy Ms. Lockwood immediately or it’s because the petite blonde is looking at me like I’m a god. Either way, I thank her with a smile that will mean a lot more to her than it’ll ever do to me.

My looks—I’ve learned later rather than sooner—open a lot of closed doors. I’ve never been a man who relies on charm to get what he wants; I didn’t grow up to think I was easy on the eye. For so many years, I was led to believe I was hideous. It’s funny how things change when the serpents that hiss poison in your head die. Senses heal and open to a different world, where each imperfection, each scar, becomes a badge, a mark of beauty and strength. It also helps to add fifty pounds of muscle and get a two-hundred-dollar haircut.

Lockwood welcomes me inside her office apprehensively. “Is Birdie all right?”

“Yes. She had an encounter with her husband this morning, but my team and I contained it. She’s under my protection now. He won’t come near her again.”

She regards me longer than normal and then twirls my card between her fingers. “Tristan Morra, head of Monarca security firm himself acting as her bodyguard. Impressive.”

I don’t like her tone or the way she looks at me. “Birdie sent me to retrieve the book she asked you to mail yesterday. It turned out her assistant left it out of the mailed orders on purpose because the book was faulty. Something about sprayed edges…I don’t know.”

“And she sends her bodyguard for it?”

She suspects something. I hate lawyers. They’re worse than the police. “Yes, ma’am. Birdie needs the package pronto. I’m the one with the motorcycle who can come here the fastest. Hopefully, you haven’t mailed it out yet?”

“I haven’t,” she mumbles.

“Thank God.” Now I can get it back and keep Birdie safe. The police won’t find anything that ties Birdie to whatever her stalker intends to do to Saldana. “Can I please have it back?”

“As I explained to Birdie on the phone, I’m no longer in possession of the package. She didn’t tell you?”

“What do you mean you don’t have it? You’ve just said you didn’t mail it out.”

She sighs. “Unfortunately, it was lost.”

“You lost it? How?”

Embarrassment darkens her face. “Yesterday, when I was walking to my car after I left the café, I bumped into a guy on the street. It was dark, and my briefcase fell open. The man apologized and helped me put everything back, or so I thought. When I checked this morning, the envelope wasn’t there. I tore the place down looking for it, but it was gone. I’m so sorry.”

A chill runs down my spine as the implications sink in. If this guy is Birdie’s stalker… “Can you describe the man?”

“It was dark, and he was wearing all black. A hoodie and a cap. I couldn’t see his face because he had a face mask on, one of those that has a custom print on it. Honestly, I thought it was creepy as hell.”

“Why? What print did he have on the mask?” I ask even though I know the answer before she says it.

“A butterfly. A big butterfly where his mouth is supposed to be.”