was, how totally off base and ignorant and narrow-minded—
“Hit a nerve, did I?” She smirked, the pale pink shine of her lip gloss catching the light.
“Sticks and stones.” Max leaned forward, bringing his face closer to hers. “I’ve endured a lot worse in my life. So you can throw those petty little insults around as much as you like, because they won’t change the fact that from now on I’m going to be your shadow.”
In the silence that followed, the raggedness of her breath amplified. Her fingers danced at the edge of her necklace, tracing the beads and counting them as if it were a rosary.
“Now,” he said, stepping back and dropping his arm. “I’m taking you home.”
“The hell you are.” Rose glared up at him. “I don’t want a bodyguard, or whatever you’re called.”
“Security consultant,” Max corrected, inwardly laughing as she rolled her eyes.
“I don’t need one of those, either. I’m fine. It was just a one-off incident.” She pushed a stray tendril of hair from her face.
“I’ll see you home anyway, just to be sure.”
He’d been hired to protect Rose, and he’d do just that. Max’s gig with Cobalt & Dane Security might not be the career he’d dreamed of as a young lad in Australia, but the job had come when he’d needed it most. It was all he had. His old career was in tatters, his fiancée was a distant memory and his best friend...
Max swallowed. He would succeed at this, and if that meant following Rose home against her wishes, then so be it.
“Whatever.” Rose fished around in her bag and pulled out her car keys. “If you want to waste your time, go right ahead.”
She marched out of his office and headed straight past the reception desk to the elevators without waiting to see if he would follow. Jabbing a finger at the button, she tapped one high-heeled foot while she waited.
Max stood behind her, close enough to keep an eye on her but not so close as to encourage her to hurl any more insults at him.
The elevator arrived and Rose stepped inside, head bowed as she tapped at her phone, ignoring him. In the confined space, he could smell her perfume, something floral and expensive. It was probably some exclusive crap made of unicorn tears. She leaned against the elevator wall and crossed one slim, shapely leg over the other.
You’re being paid to look after her, remember? Ogling her legs is not in the job description.
Swallowing, he studied the illuminated numbers at the top of the elevator door as they descended. A soft ping signaled their arrival and Rose strode past him, her heels clicking against the concrete floor. Max could have picked her car out even without the telltale flashing lights when she hit the remote button.
The shiny, lipstick-red vehicle stood out among the sensible fleet of black and gray ex-NYPD sedans that belonged to the security company and its employees. Condensation billowed as their breath connected with the cold December air.
He got into his own car, a perfectly forgettable gunmetal gray Ford Crown Victoria. As she peeled out of her parking space, he cranked up the heat and followed.
The traffic was as thick as soup, but Rose’s bright car was easy to track even as she weaved from lane to lane, no doubt to irritate him. New York driving was something else. If it wasn’t for the fact that his job often required him to travel all over the state, he wouldn’t have bothered with a car. Driving in New York was kind of like trying to befriend a criminal...pointless and risky. The incessant honking of the taxis—or cabs as they liked to call them here—sounded over the top of his music, causing his shoulders to bunch around his neck.
Some days he really missed Australia, but he tamped down the useless sentimentality and the inevitable torment that followed when he thought of home.
Eventually they crossed the Brooklyn Bridge and shortly after she pulled up outside a string of town houses. His car rolled to a stop behind hers. The street was lined with trees, their bare branches decorated with colored fairy lights. The area wasn’t in the least bit flashy or what he’d expected from a princess. The buildings looked clean, yet modest. Several had Christmas wreaths on the front doors.
Snow crunched beneath his boots as he stepped out of his car and followed her up the path to the front door. He folded his arms across his chest, bracing himself against the chill.
As Rose fished in her bag for her house keys, a warning tingled his senses. A deep intuition that had been honed over years of being a cop. The crisp air blew around him, but there was something else. A distant noise that caught his attention for a fleeting moment and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
“Wait.” He put a hand over hers as she was about to push her key into the lock.
He turned, assessing the area in front of the house. At first nothing seemed out of place, but then he noticed it—a cigarette butt by her door.
Max stepped in front of her and tested the front door. Locked. He leaned out and checked the window next to the door. Also locked.
“What are you doing?” she asked and he silenced her with a look.
“Do you smoke?”
She shook her head, brows raised. “It’s terrible for your skin. Why?”
Someone who was smoking on the street would not have purposefully flicked it all the way up to her front door. No, the smoker had been standing right there.
Rose huffed at his lack of response and shoved her key into the lock, holding her coat tight around her neck with her other hand. “You’re all wound up for nothing.”
But Max’s senses remained on high alert. Years on the force had taught him never to ignore his gut. In fact, he’d earned the nickname Spider-Man for how reliable his “Spidey senses” were in the line of duty.
And the one time he had ignored those senses, he’d paid. Dearly.
She opened the door and stepped into the entrance of the apartment, her heels sharp against the dark polished boards. She tapped a number into her alarm pin pad and dropped her keys into a crystal bowl, the sound echoing through the empty apartment.
“I told you nothing was wrong,” Rose continued, shrugging out of her coat and stepping out of her heels. “I don’t need pro—”
The last word died on her lips as she glanced around. Cushions were scattered across the living room. The drawers of her coffee table had been opened, their contents spilled like blood across the floorboards. A floor lamp lay on its side, surrounded by glinting glass from a smashed photo frame.
“Oh, my God.” Rose’s breath hitched as she surveyed the damage, her hands fluttering uselessly at her sides.
She bent down and picked up the silver frame. The photo had a scratch on it from where the glass had broken, marring the face of the young girl standing with an older woman. She traced the jagged line with her fingertip.
Paper filled with jewelry sketches littered the floor like oversize snow. A bookcase had been overturned, its contents scattered.
