damn scared of letting it out again after the way the last few months had bitch-slapped her for her previous indiscretions. And letting it out with Adam, who had said he just wanted to be friends… out of the question.
No. Cautious and slow was the way to go. Even if the wrongness of it wrapped around her, smothering her. She’d always been the girl who was begging forgiveness rather than asking permission—when she bothered with forgiveness at all—and she’d liked it that way, but she’d learned her lesson. She would restrain herself. And the vindication of her eventual come back would be worth it.
It had to be.
Chapter Eleven
He’d worried about her all day.
Adam was good at his job. He’d flawlessly executed all his duties on the afternoon protection detail watching over a pair of kids with overprotective celebrity parents, but he couldn’t seem to stop wondering how Elena was faring.
As soon as he dropped off the celebrities’ precious darlings, he headed back to the Elite Protection offices, using his Bluetooth to call the detective working Elena’s case. He knew better than to think they would have already had any breaks in the case, but he’d needed to hear it all the same.
There had been DNA on the envelope. It was being analyzed. That sort of thing took time. The fingerprints were being run. Which also took time—despite what cop shows would have people believe.
And no matter how high a priority it was to Adam, the threat against Elena wasn’t urgent enough to merit special treatment—which meant she would get the results when she got the results and there was nothing he could do about it.
The one positive thing that came from the conversation was the tidbit that their linguists had analyzed the note and suspected the threat might have come from a woman. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
Adam pulled into the employee lot behind Elite Protection, squeezing his Jeep into the space between Candy’s Tesla and Tank’s Escalade. On the surface, the Beverly Hills offices of Elite Protection were all understated class. A client entering through the street entrance might think they had wandered into a high end Rodeo Drive boutique, if not for the complete lack of anything resembling clothing. The public areas were designed to create an atmosphere of luxury, giving the impression that the clients weren’t just hiring bodyguards, they were purchasing status.
The staff areas were a different story. Everything was still top of the line—Max Dewitt didn’t cut corners—but the offices on the floor above and the training rooms in the basement below had been designed to spoil the guards not the clients. There were even rooms for them to crash overnight if they needed it. Which he might if he couldn’t pay his freaking property taxes.
Adam let himself in through the side door and jogged down the stairs to the lower level. Traffic had put him behind schedule, so he was a few minutes late to meet Tank in the gym. He was supposed to lift weights today with the former NFL lineman. Every EP employee needed to remain in peak physical condition—and standing around babysitting celebrities didn’t usually satisfy the cardio requirements.
He stowed his gear in the equipment room, relocking it behind him, changed in the locker room and moved quickly past the gun range to the gym, not wanting to keep Tank waiting. He needn’t have hurried.
As soon as he stepped into the gym’s main room, he saw two figures grappling on the training mat spread over the center of the space. Tank and Pretty Boy stood to one side of the mat, watching the show with arms folded.
On the mat, Cross and Candy were locked in combat—and Cross was getting his ass handed to him. He might have been a professional athlete, but Candy danced around him, moving with a fluid, confident economy of motion that made him look like a toddler learning to walk in comparison.
Adam moved to stand next to Tank, nodding
No. Cautious and slow was the way to go. Even if the wrongness of it wrapped around her, smothering her. She’d always been the girl who was begging forgiveness rather than asking permission—when she bothered with forgiveness at all—and she’d liked it that way, but she’d learned her lesson. She would restrain herself. And the vindication of her eventual come back would be worth it.
It had to be.
Chapter Eleven
He’d worried about her all day.
Adam was good at his job. He’d flawlessly executed all his duties on the afternoon protection detail watching over a pair of kids with overprotective celebrity parents, but he couldn’t seem to stop wondering how Elena was faring.
As soon as he dropped off the celebrities’ precious darlings, he headed back to the Elite Protection offices, using his Bluetooth to call the detective working Elena’s case. He knew better than to think they would have already had any breaks in the case, but he’d needed to hear it all the same.
There had been DNA on the envelope. It was being analyzed. That sort of thing took time. The fingerprints were being run. Which also took time—despite what cop shows would have people believe.
And no matter how high a priority it was to Adam, the threat against Elena wasn’t urgent enough to merit special treatment—which meant she would get the results when she got the results and there was nothing he could do about it.
The one positive thing that came from the conversation was the tidbit that their linguists had analyzed the note and suspected the threat might have come from a woman. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
Adam pulled into the employee lot behind Elite Protection, squeezing his Jeep into the space between Candy’s Tesla and Tank’s Escalade. On the surface, the Beverly Hills offices of Elite Protection were all understated class. A client entering through the street entrance might think they had wandered into a high end Rodeo Drive boutique, if not for the complete lack of anything resembling clothing. The public areas were designed to create an atmosphere of luxury, giving the impression that the clients weren’t just hiring bodyguards, they were purchasing status.
The staff areas were a different story. Everything was still top of the line—Max Dewitt didn’t cut corners—but the offices on the floor above and the training rooms in the basement below had been designed to spoil the guards not the clients. There were even rooms for them to crash overnight if they needed it. Which he might if he couldn’t pay his freaking property taxes.
Adam let himself in through the side door and jogged down the stairs to the lower level. Traffic had put him behind schedule, so he was a few minutes late to meet Tank in the gym. He was supposed to lift weights today with the former NFL lineman. Every EP employee needed to remain in peak physical condition—and standing around babysitting celebrities didn’t usually satisfy the cardio requirements.
He stowed his gear in the equipment room, relocking it behind him, changed in the locker room and moved quickly past the gun range to the gym, not wanting to keep Tank waiting. He needn’t have hurried.
As soon as he stepped into the gym’s main room, he saw two figures grappling on the training mat spread over the center of the space. Tank and Pretty Boy stood to one side of the mat, watching the show with arms folded.
On the mat, Cross and Candy were locked in combat—and Cross was getting his ass handed to him. He might have been a professional athlete, but Candy danced around him, moving with a fluid, confident economy of motion that made him look like a toddler learning to walk in comparison.
Adam moved to stand next to Tank, nodding
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