Diva (Ironclad Bodyguards Book 2) by Annabel Joseph, Molly Joseph Page B

and dozens of people die. The truth is, you don’t know what you’re getting unless you do one of these tests.” He sounded like a cop giving the Just Say No talk to a bunch of sixth graders. Whatever. She needed it. “So, having done the tests, we understand that this pill’s not too bad. You could take this and not have too many problems.”
    He looked at her and waited. She blinked at him.
    “No, Ransom. I would never, ever consider taking that. Sooo unsafe, even if it’s relatively pure. Where’d you get it?”
    “None of your business.”
    He’d bummed it from someone in the groupie crowd outside the bus last night. Two guys and one girl had offered ecstasy to him in hopes their favorite DJ would get high off it. Ransom had accepted all three tablets even though he only needed one. Did he think taking three measly pills out of circulation would do anything about EDM’s rampant drug culture?
    Sadly, no.
    He capped the test reagents, then went to the bathroom to wash the tablet and powder down the drain. By the time he returned, Lola was curled up in a pile of pillows, strumming through a series of chords. She hadn’t offered him any more lessons since the bus ride to Amsterdam, but he’d come to enjoy her impromptu concerts. As it turned out, she’d written a lot of songs, some of which she played for him, quietly, like secrets.
    He understood why she kept them a secret. If her sweet, folksy emo songs ever got out, they would mortally wound her dance cred. Her guitar tunes had no beats, no rolls, no drops, nor were they very much like the heavy blues her father played.
    Ransom had searched Mo Reynolds online and watched a few videos of concert footage from crowded Memphis clubs. In one of them, he’d seen little Lola Mae sitting off to one side, knobby knees resting against the side of a speaker. She’d been about seven years old in the video, nodding her head to the thumping cadences of southern blues. He hadn’t been sure it was her until the little blonde smiled. That impish grin had barely changed in the ensuing years.
    No, her music was nothing like her dad’s, even if she’d watched him play back then with worshipful eyes. A couple minutes in, Ransom had closed out the video, feeling like a stalker. He’d only searched “Mo Reynolds blues” because of his fascination with Lola, and that was inappropriate because she was a client, and almost two decades younger than him.
    He took off his tie and sat back on the bed to rest his mind before they headed out to dinner. Grandpa needs a nap. Between the two of them, he was more fit, but she had boundless energy and amazing creativity. She never did her hair the same twice. She wore outfits that both puzzled and attracted him. Then there were the wistful tunes she played on her guitar.
    “Are you going to sleep?” she asked, switching to a lullaby.
    “No.”
    “Your eyes are closed.”
    He sighed. “I’m not going to sleep.” He never slept unless she slept, and she only slept at night. He didn’t trust her to be awake and on her own, even trapped in the room with the door alarm.
    He cracked an eye open as she began to sing in a soft, sweet voice. “Lullaby, and good night, go to sleep Mr. Ransom. Lullaby, and good night, time for bodyguards to sleep.”
    “I’m not sleeping,” he muttered.
    She ignored him, continuing her made-up song. “I won’t take off your clothes. Or at least I’ll try not to. I’ll protect you from harm…” She thought a moment. “As I stare at your arms. Hmm, that’s kind of tame. Oh, I know!” She started the phrase over. “I’ll protect you from shock, as I stare at your co—”
    “Lola.” His sharp voice brought a high-pitched spate of giggles. He wanted to be irritated by those giggles, but the sound of her laughter aroused him just like everything else. No, man. No. Get over it.
    He knew he wouldn’t feel so drawn to her if she wasn’t always flirting with him. She had no clue about couth and