Page 41 of The Bodyguard's Fall

“No.”

“I would kick my bodyguard underneath the table and tell him to get to work. What am I paying you for?”

I wasn’t sure why it always felt like a win when I got him to smile, but it did. And then I was taken away by a vision of Tate upending the table before running across the room to tackle Leroy, fists flying.

“And here I thought I was just doing this for the fun of it,” he said, a smile playing on his lips.

There was a casual intensity behind his gaze that unnerved me. Like he was playing detective, trying to piece together a puzzle. Before I could change the subject, my phone buzzed on the table.

We both glanced at it in surprise. It was a new number I’d only given to a few close friends. Instead of Spam Risk, like it usually said with unsaved numbers, this time the caller ID just said Unknown Number.

I froze, ready to ignore it.

“Answer it,” Tate said.

“Why?”

“Just answer it.” He slid my phone so it sat in front of me and clicked the answer button, switching to speaker mode, so we could both hear.

My eyes on his, I said, “Hello?”

The line was quiet. Almost sterile. There was no click. No five-second delay before a spam call. Tate leaned his ear down close to the phone. I did the same, my heart in my chest for some reason.

And then I heard it—the faint sound of raspy breathing.

Tate grabbed the phone. “Who is this?” he demanded.

The line went dead.

My eyes flicked to Tate’s. He was watching me.

“Was that him?” I asked, already fearing I knew the answer.

He breathed out a sigh. “I don’t know. Could be anything.”

“Liar,” I said.

He smiled tightly. “It’s probably too early for him to have gotten your number. It could be spam.”

I took a small bite of my hamburger, annoyed that my heart was still pounding.

“What would you do?” he pressed again. “If he came into the restaurant right now?”

Mild agitation coursed through my veins. The question bothered me. It needled and pricked at something I couldn’t pinpoint. I remained determined to keep this light. To get us back to the lighter tone between us when we first arrived.

I motioned to my biceps, flexing them. (It was extremely unimpressive, even to me.) “I’d probably just take him out with these.”

He shook his head, growing impatient. “I’m serious, Rawlins. What’s your plan? You have a gun you know how to shoot but don’t carry with you. So what’s your plan?”

“I know self-defense.”

The second the words flew out of my mouth, I knew I would pay for them. Tate looked way too interested in my statement.

“Really?”

“Yup.” Apparently I would have to keep digging this grave if it killed me.

“What kind? Jiu-jitsu? Martial arts? Taekwondo?” His eyes were shining now. “Ninja?”