Page 29 of Protecting What's Mine
“Yeah,” I say quietly, the weight of those words settling heavily on my chest.
Dean pauses before speaking again, his tone softer. “You good, Ranger? You sound… distracted.”
Distracted. That’s one word for it.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
There’s a beat of silence, and I know Dean’s not buying it. “You’re not getting too close, are you?”
I don’t respond right away, but the guilt churns in my stomach like a stone. Dean knows me too well. I have rules—rules I’ve always lived by to keep a job clean, to keep my focus sharp. And rule number one? Never get personally involved with a client.
Except that’s exactly what I’ve done.
Dean doesn’t push, but his next words are pointed. “Remember why you’re there, Ranger. She’s not just some girl. She’s a target.”
“I know,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Good,” Dean replies. “I’ll keep you updated. Check in later.”
I hang up without another word, my grip on the phone tightening before I drop it onto the desk with a quiet thud. The silence in the room feels suffocating, pressing in on me from all sides. I stare at the wall, my thoughts racing, guilt swirling like a storm in my chest.
You’re not getting too close, are you?
The words echo in my head, taunting me. I’ve spent years on this job—years following the rules, keeping my walls up, and shutting people out. That’s how you survive in this business. You don’t make attachments. You don’t let emotions cloud your judgment.
But Tory…
I press my palms against my face, breathing in deeply before letting it out in a slow exhale. Last night flashes in my mind—her lips on mine, her body soft and warm in my arms, the way she whispered my name like it meant something. LikeImeant something.
I shouldn’t have let it happen. Iknewbetter. I’ve spent my entire life building walls to keep things like this out, to keep my focus on the job. But Tory is different. She’s not just some assignment. She’s brilliant and awkward, beautiful and honest. Being around her makes me forget everything I’m supposed to be.
And the worst part? I don’t want to stop.
I drag a hand through my hair and stand up, pacing the length of the small room. Dean’s right—I can’t lose sight of why I’m here. Tory’s life is in my hands, and the moment I let my guard down, I risk everything. I need to focus. I need to keep my distance.
But when I think about staying away from her, it feels impossible. The way she looks at me, the way she trusts me so completely, makes me feel like I’m a better man than I am. She sees me as someone strong, someone she can rely on. And that’s a feeling I don’t want to let go of.
I stop pacing and brace my hands on the back of the chair, staring down at the scratched wood of the desk.
You’re not getting too close.
I already am.
When I leave the office, Tory is sitting at the kitchen table, her hair still damp from the shower and her glasses perched low on her nose as she fiddles with a crystal pendant. She looks up as I step into the room, and her smile is so soft, so genuine, it hits me square in the chest.
“Everything okay?” she asks, tilting her head slightly.
I nod, trying to shake off the weight of the conversation with Dean. “Yeah. Just had to check in with Dean.”
She studies me for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Does it have anything to do with my dad?”
There’s no point lying to her—not when she’s smart enough to see through it. “There’s been some chatter,” I admit, leaning back against the counter and crossing my arms. “Nothing confirmed, but Dean’s being cautious. He thinks this group might try to take action.”
Her face falls slightly, and she sets the pendant down, her fingers curling into her palm. “Against my dad?”
“Maybe.” I pause, choosing my next words carefully. “Or against you.”
She looks up sharply, her blue eyes widening. “Me?”