Danica Winters - In His Sights

She wasn’t sure if he was trying to be vague or if he really didn’t know much about her. Either way, it was strangely endearing. “What do you do for the Riksdag?”

“I don’t work for them,” he said, all of his attention back on the painting.

“Okay, so who do you work for?” She walked over to her white couch and sat down, arranging her gown to cover her knees.

He turned to her, and his gaze dropped to her hands. She covered her naked ring finger with her other hand, his simple action making her feel almost naked…and vulnerable.

“I work where I’m needed and when I’m called upon.”

“That sounds dangerous.” And sexy as hell. “If you tell me, would you have to kill me?” she teased, but from the tense look on his face the joke had fallen flat.

He was silent for a moment too long. “Let’s just say I’m a man who understands the value in keeping a personal life sacrosanct.”

Maybe they had more in common than she had initially thought.

“You’re naive if you think that you’re safe,” he continued.

She felt her hackles rise. “I don’t know who you think you are—”

“I didn’t mean any offense,” he said, raising his hand and motioning her to stop. “I was just saying that I don’t think I should leave you here alone. At least not until the NYPD and the FBI get their hands on whoever was behind the attack.”

“I’ll hire people,” she said, trying to gain control over her anger. Whether or not he had meant it, it had still hurt. She didn’t need anyone telling her that she was stupid.

“I’m sorry again,” he said, sitting down beside her on the couch. “I really didn’t mean it like that. Please forgive me.” He looked her straight in the eyes and took her hands in his.

Sweat rose on her skin as she stared into his bottomless blue eyes. She wasn’t sure she had ever seen eyes that exact shade before. They reminded her of the color of the deepest ocean, and it seemed that they held just as many mysteries.

But she couldn’t forget who she was or change for any man, no matter how handsome. “I don’t appreciate being put down. Ever. I know it was unintentional, but don’t think that you can talk to me that way.”

He looked contrite, bowing his head. “I know. I made a mistake. I just… Well, I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

What bothered her the most was that he was right in his castigation of her. It had been naive of her to think that she was safe on her own here. She had chosen this place, without a doorman, living a life halfway between obscene wealth and a recent college grad. Her brother had warned her that this day would come, the day when things would change and she would have to start really taking her life and safety into consideration. With a business like theirs, it was only a matter of time until they were on the receiving end of the guns they made. They worked in a volatile business, one full of secrets, underhanded deals and political warfare.

Until now, she had thought they had done a pretty good job of staying out of it.

When it came to dealing with corruption, it was best to walk away—no amount of money was worth dying for.

“I appreciate your apology.” She paused, studying his thick, wavy hair. “It’s too bad you’re working for someone else, or else I’d think about bringing you on as my chief security advisor.”

He jerked, looking up at her.

As his gaze pierced through her, she wished she hadn’t spoken so fast although she had meant what she said. He would be a valuable asset to her life, especially when it came to her well-being and safety. She wasn’t sure that he would be as sound an addition when it came to her heart. Though she was almost certain she could trust him, she wasn’t sure she could trust herself.

“I—” he said.

“The shower is upstairs, third door on your left,” she said, intentionally interrupting him, fearing what he was about to say.

“Oh, okay,” he said, some of the tension leaching from his voice.

“Towels are in the linen closet in the restroom.” She motioned toward the stairs, afraid that if she spent one more moment alone with him she would say something else that would bring him even deeper into her life.

He nodded and silently made his way out of the living room and up the stairs. His footfalls echoed on the marble steps, their sad sound cascading down upon her. As the sound quieted, she exhaled long and hard. She needed to get a grip on herself.

She sat down on her couch, picked up her landline telephone and dialed her brother. Daniel’s phone went straight to voice mail. “Hey, Danny, I hope everything is going well in DC. Things up here… Well, give me a call when you can.” There was a crack in her voice as she spoke. No doubt Daniel would pick right up on it and be worried. “I’m fine, everything is fine, but I hope Anya’s okay. Just call.”

Ugh .

That wasn’t how she had anticipated that going. Once he got her message, she would have to talk him down off a cliff. He’d always been the worrying type. She hung up the phone, half expecting to get a call from him, but nothing came.

She waited for a moment before ascending the stairs to the third floor and to her bedroom. It was just as it had been yesterday, understated but tasteful. She could still pick up the scent of her Mademoiselle perfume as she entered the bathroom.

It was as if nothing had happened.

A towel hung on the hook next to a clean washcloth and bathrobe. The cleaning lady must have come, and all had been replaced and freshened. In fact, the only thing out of place in the entire house was her.

She pulled off her hospital gowns and tossed them in the bin as she turned on the shower and waited for it to warm. Steam began to rise around her as she stood examining herself in the mirror. For all intents and purposes, she seemed the same. Same eyes, same nose, same cheeks, but nothing felt the same. In one moment everything had changed.

She wasn’t entirely sure if it was because of the attack or because of the strange feelings she was experiencing with Jarrod.

It was though she were drawn to him by some invisible force. The words that came out of her mouth even worked to pull him closer. At the same time, all she wanted to do was push him away.

She wrapped a towel around her body and made her way out to her closet. Surveying the racks of clothes, she wasn’t sure whether she should go with business attire, or leggings and sweatshirt. Whatever she wore, it would send a message to him, but what she wanted to do was put on comfortable clothes and binge-watch Netflix all day.

She grabbed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. A happy medium, for them both.

As she reached into her drawer of undergarments, a draft brushed against her bare shoulders. She started to turn, but a hand wrapped around her neck.

She dropped her clothes. “What in the—”

“Shut up, dammit.” A man’s hot breath wafted against her skin.

She tried to turn around, but as she struggled, the man’s hand tightened. Reaching to her left, she grabbed her Manolo stiletto.

“You can thank your boyfriend for this.” His accent was thick, guttural.

“Who are you?”

The tip of a knife pressed into her side. And his hand loosened slightly.

She stole the moment. Raising the shoe, she slammed it down as hard as she could into the man’s thigh. She rolled out of his grasp, grabbing her other shoe as he dropped to his knee in pain. He yelled, something in a foreign language she couldn’t understand but was sure was a string of expletives.

The man struggled to stand up, limping on his good leg, slashing at her with the knife. She pressed back into her closet as blood poured down the man’s leg. She had hit him perfectly in the inner thigh.