like an accusation.
“YOU—” HARPER BROKE off the word to clear her throat. “You really did save my dad this morning.” Reverent-like, she offered up the tablet in her hands. “I mean, you saved him, saved him. This guy with the salmon eggs…”
A mix of relief and unease swept through him. The first because her tone didn’t have anything to do with her disappointment in realizing who he was. And the second because, presumably, she’d watched the news footage. Despite declining to be interviewed, he’d made the national news. Josh had texted him a screenshot along with a message: Dude. Nice. Did your interview come with an audition? Seriously way to go. You rock.
More texts had arrived from friends and former teammates, as well as one from his mom telling him “they” were calling him a hero on TV. His sister, Mia, had even messaged to make sure that he was okay. Kyle had absolutely no interest in watching the story himself.
“I was just—” He almost said “doing my job,” but then paused because that was no longer true. He tried not to think about how unsettled that fact made him feel. Still, the action had been second nature. He could no more not help someone than he could breathe air. “Anyone would have done the same.”
Twirling a helpless hand, she scoffed. “Yeah, no, I don’t think so. A few people might have tried, a few others may have thought about trying, but that guy was really fast. He was no match for you though. You’re like a ninja.”
“I’m just glad I was in the right place at the right time.” Uncomfortable with her praise, he attempted to put the focus back on the pertinent issue. Hitching a thumb over his shoulder, he said, “You let me inside your house thinking I was that guy, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but I can explain.” With a little cringe, she added, “Sort of.”
“I could have been anyone in the world walking in here.” Kyle put some scare into his words and tone, “That fanatic’s brother or cousin or buddy or whoever else might be scheming with him.” Frowning, he shook his head. “I could have been a random serial killer, for that matter.”
“I realize that, but…” Dipping her chin, she studied the tablet before lifting her gaze back up to look at him. Slowly, she repeated the whole process. That’s when Kyle realized that she’d put all the pieces together. He’d wondered if, when, she would or if he’d have to tell her. If he was going to be working for her, they needed to get this conversation out of the way, to clear the air between them.
Placing the tablet on the counter, she brought one trembling hand up and laid it palm down across her forehead. Voice a little shaky and unsure, she said, “But you’re not. You’re none of those things. You’re Owen’s SEAL friend Kyle.” Her gaze collided firmly with his and Kyle watched as a slideshow of emotions played across her face, most he couldn’t identify, but the distress and the curiosity were unmistakable. No matter what had happened between her and Owen, his presence was clearly upsetting her on some level. Between that and the news story—he now suspected that she hadn’t known the extent of her father’s brush with danger—she was probably reeling. Kyle felt terrible about that and hoped that his ultimate purpose for being here could rectify some of these feelings.
“Former SEAL, recently discharged.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you. Owen had photos of you. Of the two of you in Iraq, Croatia, Pakistan, Afghanistan, the Netherlands…” With narrowed eyes, her gaze latched firmly on to him, traveling slowly, analyzing in a way that made Kyle feel unsettled. With a shake of her head, she whispered, “You’re Kyle,” almost like she hadn’t meant to say it out loud. And definitely like she couldn’t quite believe her eyes.
“Yes, ma’am,” Kyle said because he wasn’t sure what to say, how much to say or where to start.
She studied him for a while longer before declaring, “You look different now.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Older, no uniform.”
“No,” she said firmly and with a confident shake of her head, the shock easing into curiosity. “That’s not it. It’s…” Then her expression changed; gathering herself together, she seemed to set that puzzle aside and demanded, “What are you doing here?”
HARPER WAS HYPERCONSCIOUS of the beat of her heart as she stared at Kyle Frasier. It wasn’t fast so much as it was hard and painful like all the still-wounded parts were pounding and grinding against each other in discordant harmony. Barely resisting the urge to grip her shirt above the offending spot, she waited for his answer and struggled to sort the key points: Kyle had been Owen’s best friend; Owen’s best friend was standing in her kitchen; her dad had chosen him to be her security consultant. Questions followed: How much did Kyle know about Owen? How much did he know about her? And her and Owen’s relationship, especially the end? What had Owen told him about his “side business” and Harper’s part in it? Why hadn’t her dad told her that her new bodyguard was showing up today?
Some of this must have been evident on her face because Kyle said, “We have some things to discuss. Harper, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blindside you like this. As I’m sure you know, I was supposed to show up tomorrow morning so you could conduct a final interview, a more formal one, and decide whether you wanted to go ahead with this. With me, I mean.”
“Yes, that’s what my dad said. But he didn’t tell me your name. He was going to send the details in an email. He’s probably already sent it—I haven’t checked. I figured I would have time to review it all in the morning.”
Kyle nodded. “Obviously, I messed that up. I was driving right by here anyway, so I decided to drop in and introduce myself. I thought you might be feeling anxious after the attempted attack on your dad. And, honestly, I didn’t know how you’d feel about hiring me? Specifically. Because of Owen.”
Jaw tight, mouth a hard, flat line, his eyes blazed with intensity as they searched her face, his expression saying so much, and revealing so little at the same time. She chose to ignore the question because she couldn’t answer it. Not yet. Not until he answered a few of her questions first. Her attention was drawn to the news story still on her tablet. Shifting her focus to the headline, she read it again: “BEST CEO Bellaire Attacked.” Her father had called it “an incident.” Lately, episodes like this had been happening more and more, where some extremist got in his face screaming about dams or salmon—depending on which side of the issue they stood.
That much, at least, she could explain. “Yeah, he downplayed the incident significantly. That’s what he called it—an incident. He never said ‘attack,’ or even ‘attempted attack.’”
“I doubt he did. More likely, the news is overdramatizing. I’d call it an incident. The guy didn’t even touch your dad.”
“Because of you.” This person undoubtedly had intentions to hurt her dad. You could see the anger all over his face, the hatred in his body language. Gratitude and appreciation mingled with her shock. She wanted to hug the man standing before her, except he was the opposite of huggable. So not warm and fuzzy. More than once, Owen had said that he’d never seen a better soldier than his friend Kyle. Nor had he ever had a better friend. He worshipped the ground this guy walked on.
If
