12. Elijah

Three days later, Sylvester and I were escorting Luke and Kenneth Bromley, TBG's board president, to the Cape Avalon Historical Society's annual garden party.

I rode along in the passenger seat, keeping a careful eye on our surroundings. Things had been quiet, all things considered. While the protests at Sunset Village raged on, Luke had been holed up in his father's office, digging through old files and searching for flash drives while I avoided his questions with every last ounce of professionalism in my body.

Avoided them while trying to forget my recent string of sleepless nights. Nights where I replayed, over and over, how close that soda can had come to hitting Luke square in the head.

A fucking soda can had me tossing and turning like some kind of amateur. I'd been shot at before. Had foiled kidnapping attempts and multiple bombs.

And yet I couldn't unsee it. Couldn't unsee the way he'd looked at me right before—cocky grin, the smooth unfolding of his body from the car, the sound the can made when it left a dent. The way I'd grabbed him by the shirt and shoved him behind me had been more personal instinct than professional. Our mission was always get low then get them back in the car.

Not grab onto them with no intention of letting go.

Behind me, Kenneth was informing Luke of Lincoln's relationship with the Historical Society, who would be there, who he needed to greet.

"Your father would be appalled at what you're wearing," Kenneth chided. "The invitation specifically said black tie."

"You don't like me in burgundy?" Luke asked cheerfully.

"I'd like you in a tie."

Luke clicked his tongue. "My chest refuses to be constrained. I've always preferred an open-air situation."

I heard the mirth in Luke's voice. Could picture his smile—the slow reveal of teeth, his eyes crinkling at the sides. He wore a bespoke burgundy suit and a white shirt underneath, unbuttoned to the center of his chest, exposing a swath of tan skin. When I'd held the passenger-side door open for him earlier this evening, the covert wink he'd sent me had set heat traveling in a slow wave along my spine.

Which was almost assuredly due to my recent sleeplessness.

Kenneth grumbled noisily, rapping his ring against the windowpane. "Is it any wonder why no one takes you seriously, Lucas? You act as if being a disgrace to this family is a good thing."

"It isn't?" he said tightly. "I had no idea."

"Listen to me," Kenneth continued. "You must speak with Senator Wallace tonight. She's already furious about the complications at Sunrise Village?—"

My phone vibrated in my pocket, tearing my concentration away from Kenneth's lectures to the urgent text I'd just received from Ripley. Sent this to Foster, the message read. Figured you'd want to see it too. No letter this time, email instead. It came through a server overseas so can't be traced. Same server as the other six.

My fingers tightened around the screen. The message was simple. You know what I want. Give it back.

And the picture attached was taken from the parking lot where the car bomb had exploded, capturing the smoke-filled chaos a minute after it detonated. In the photo, Luke's on the ground, propped up by a single elbow. I'm straddling his waist, my palm flat on his chest, the scowl on my face desperate at the edges.

The intimacy of our position poked at a primal possessiveness I had no business feeling. Of fantasies about my client I worked hard to keep fleeting.

Fucking Foster had seen this?

"What is it?" Sylvester muttered.

I slipped my phone back in my pocket. "I'll tell you later."

"Another threat?"

I nodded, my mind racing as we curved slowly up the driveway to a bright white mansion where party guests mingled beneath a large black tent sparkling with lights. The setting sun cast long, peachy shadows across the manicured grass and I was keenly aware of all that could hide there. Sending paparazzi-style photos to your victim sent a specific message. One that said, I'm watching you. I'm two steps ahead. I know everywhere you go, because I'm there too.

The car bomb was already a dramatic escalation tactic. This one was quieter, more subtle. In many ways, more dangerous. Someone had tailed us from Luke's house to the park that day, set a car bomb, taken our picture…and I'd missed it entirely. Was apparently too busy getting into an unprofessional argument with my client to do my actual job.

"Stay alert while you're watching the perimeter," I murmured. "We're being watched."

"Yes, sir," he answered, turning to speak to the valet station. Event staff wore all black with white gloves, bobbing between the wealthy patrons like seagulls on the breeze. My father believed life was different in the Hamptons. They're classier up there, he used to tell my brother and me. They've got style. They've got gravitas. A man can live like a king in a place like that. He'd wanted a life like this one, like the one Luke had—soft, cultured, opulent.

He'd flirted and seduced his way into events like this one while Mom worked third shift and I burned grilled cheese sandwiches on the stove for Christopher and me. This dream of his was only one of many. A whim, like so many others. Like fatherhood, even. But after years of working up here, I knew it to be no different from anyplace else. Just had a nicer sheen to it.

Sylvester negotiated the key exchange with the valet while I stepped out into the balmy night air, buttoning my jacket with one hand while opening the back door with the other. Kenneth stepped out with a barely concealed scowl, which quickly became a polite smile as he waved to a few guests.

Luke was next, bringing his scent of saltwater and sunscreen. He tried to get my attention but I ignored it, slamming the door and giving quick instructions to Sylvester.

I followed Kenneth and Luke into the party, comforted by the fact that we'd done our due diligence with the location and the guest list, a task made easier by the fact that I was one of twenty personal security guards in attendance.

I wondered if any of them had demanded to be let into their client's bathroom to treat a minor cut from a razor. Had felt the delicate thump of his pulse beneath their fingers while inches away from the vulnerable tilt of his throat.

A dozen people approached Luke to give their regards or comment on the sudden passing of his father. His smile came easily but there was a blankness to his expression. A fatigue in his movements as soon as the spotlight shifted away from him. With every lull in conversation his eyes sought mine, and I kept scanning the party to avoid them.

The air suddenly shifted—voices hushing, the flash of a few phone cameras. A team of security guards moved through the crowd with the grace of a battering ram. When they parted, Senator Rosamund Wallace stood there, striding up to Luke with her hand outstretched. The state senator—and former Cape Avalon mayor—was a pale-skinned woman in her sixties, her gray hair pulled back into a low bun, dressed in a black pant suit.

Luke was midsip of his gin and tonic when she finally reached him.

"Hello there," he said, bemused. "You're?—"

"Rosamund Wallace, it's lovely to meet you, Lucas," she replied, gripping his hand tightly. "This is my chief of staff, Grady Holt."

The man next to her coughed into his fist without taking his eyes off his phone. He wore the stressed but stoic expression I'd grown used to seeing on the staff of politicians.

"I was a huge fan of your father's," the senator added. "I knew him for years even before I was mayor. His death is a massive loss for our community, although you've taken to the role quite nicely, it seems."

Luke clinked the ice in his glass. "It certainly came as a surprise."

"You must be in charge of the Sunrise Village project now, yes?" Rosamund asked. "Lincoln was so excited for it. It's heartbreaking to think he'll never see the finished product. I may no longer be the mayor, but I so love seeing new development come to Cape Avalon."

Luke pressed his lips together. "Well, a bunch of artists have chained themselves to the building, with no intention of leaving. I spoke to the lead organizers a few days ago. The construction is stalled, possibly for good."

The senator's eye twitched—just barely—but her expression stayed agreeable. "I'm sure you'll figure something out. We both know the condos need to be built."

"Do they? Seems to me that a lot of people are angry. And for good reason."

She tipped her head. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

Luke pressed a hand to his chest. "I'm new to all of this, so feel free to call this question rude. But does it need to happen? Or do you merely want it to happen? Because the residents need a place to live. And TBG evicted all of them."

The senator didn't even blink. "Surely they'll find a new place to live."

"It's not that easy, Senator, and you know it. Especially in a town this expensive," Luke said smoothly. Though his fingers plucked nervously at a loose string dangling from his jacket, making me wonder if he was thinking about what Mía had said to him at the end of their meeting, the power he had to stop the destruction from happening.

His empathy for the protesters was obvious and Luke seemed to openly disdain his father's business. But I didn't believe him when he claimed there was nothing he could do.

"And yet this town takes care of its own," Rosamund said. "Those artists are valuable to our community, and I know they'll land on their feet. It's pointless to contain art to cottages and bungalows when art is simply all around us." Her smile broadened, her body positioned in a way that made it clear she knew she was being filmed. "It's truly so lovely to meet you, Lucas. I'll have Grady set something up for us. I would love to learn more about you. Although there's really no replacing your father, is there? Lincoln was simply a lion among men."

Then she was a blur of motion and armed guards, moving her along to the next person. Luke appeared briefly dazed, a troubled bent to his mouth. Next to me came the sharp sound of glass breaking as a server's platter crashed to the floor. I stopped to help them, scooping up the largest pieces of glass as they ran to get help. When they returned with towels and a broom, I stood and immediately realized Luke was missing.

"Where is he?" I bit out, my pulse spiking.

Kenneth, looking tense, was on a phone call. He waved vaguely toward the back of the house, which faced the shoreline. I saw nothing in the crowd—not Luke's broad shoulders in burgundy nor his crooked grin. I moved as quickly as I was able to without stirring up unwanted attention, pushing past attendees dripping with diamonds and gold watches. I rounded the side of the carriage house just as the last rays of the sun slipped away, plunging the night into a purple twilight. The ocean was an inky black against the shore and the first dusting of stars appeared overhead.

And there, leaning against a gazebo, was Luke. I prowled toward him as my nerves settled and his face was briefly illuminated by the flame of a lighter. His cheeks hollowed, then he exhaled a puff of smoke.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. He was smoking a joint at the Historical Society's garden party.

"Knew you'd come and find me," he said, blowing another stream of smoke to the side. Standing like that, lit like that, the cut of his cheekbones flared in my awareness. His lashes, ridiculously long. The dip of his collarbone and the casual confidence in the way he stretched his long legs out in front of him.

"Lucas," I said, in more of a growl than I intended. "How many times?—"

He raised a palm in the air. "Before you yell at me, I got Sylvester's permission to come out here." He waved that palm to a point past my shoulders, and when I turned, my colleague gave a quick nod of affirmation before slipping back to the perimeter.

"I wasn't going to yell."

"Yes, you were." His lips curved up slowly. "I think you like putting me in my place, Elijah."

A pause here, thick with tension. His throat bobbed, eyes steady where they met mine. It was too fucking easy to picture this man on his knees for me—and that smart mouth twisting into a taunt, a tease. A plea.

Finally, I said, "I need to know where you are at all times."

"Well, you found me," he said lazily. He took another pull on his joint and said, with smoke flowing from his lips, "It's probably pointless for me to offer this to you, yeah?"

"About as pointless as asking me to bungee jump," I replied. "You want me focused. Not stoned."

He nodded then narrowed his gaze. "How do you wear a suit all the time anyway? I've been in this thing for less than an hour and it makes me want to crawl out of my skin."

I wrapped my right hand around my wrist. "It's the uniform. It's part of the job. We're to appear anonymous to our clients. Nameless and faceless if we have to be."

Luke glanced out toward the dark ocean. "I don't think of you as nameless or faceless."

"That makes you extremely unique."

"You own sweatpants, though, right?" he asked. "A hoodie? Basketball shorts that you lounge around in on Sundays?"

My fingers tightened on my wrist. "I don't lounge often."

"You should."

"There's too much to do," I countered.

His answering chuckle had the hair standing up on the back of my neck. "So I've been told. Do you ever, I don't know, get a little too drunk at your local bar? Get high and watch a funny movie?" He pushed off the gazebo and took a few steps closer to me. "Do you ever pretend you're someone else for the night and take a total stranger back to your bed?"

I arched a single eyebrow. "The things I do outside of my time spent protecting you are irrelevant."

"Says who?"

"Says anyone who wants to do this job well. Which requires a focus and diligence honed to its finest point."

His blue eyes traveled the entire length of my body before sweeping back up again. "I see. You're my weapon."

"I'm your shield," I corrected. "Nothing gets past me."

"Who's your type then?" he asked, head cocked.

"Excuse me?"

"Your type. The kind of person you like to date. If you like dating." He shrugged. "I'm curious."

I glanced to my left, watching the crowd for any signs of strange movement. "I cannot even begin to tell you how inappropriate this line of questioning is."

"No worries. I'm only making conversation," he said easily. "My type is everyone. You could say I bring a kind of ‘disaster bisexual' vibe people can spot from a mile away. My dad always hated when I talked about it. The day I came out to him, he told me he didn't care what I was or who I fucked as long as I married a woman. His words, not mine. I thought coming out might make us closer, because I'm nothing if not pathetic."

I wrenched my gaze back to his. "You're not."

"Not what?"

I swallowed. "Pathetic. Obviously."

His face softened and something squeezed in my chest. "I'd spent the morning watching emotional videos on YouTube of people my age coming out to their parents and it had me believing my father was a completely different person than he was. I wish my mom had been there. Really wish my mom had been there. But I'm pretty sure I just said something like ‘cool, thanks,' then booked it out of that office before he could say anything worse."

I tugged at my cuff links. "It's…it's normal to have hope. Hope that people can change. Especially when it's a parent."

Luke rubbed a hand through his hair. "I guess you're right. And I was just a kid."

Every rational bone in my body was screaming at me to end this conversation—especially in light of the picture currently sitting in my supervisor's inbox. A supervisor expecting to hand me the keys to his kingdom in a month. There's only one person I want filling that role, and it's you.

So close. Everything I'd been working for was so close.

But the problem was that I'd been that kid once too.

"Men," I said, as Luke studied me in the dwindling twilight. "Men are my type. I'm gay."

His loose body language went taut, like he was smoothly stringing a bow. "We have at least one thing in common, then."

I rubbed the back of my neck. "Sure. I mean, yes."

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

I shot him a look. "Luke."

"What? Sorry, I'm nosy," he said with a laugh. "You give off a real heartbreaker vibe. I imagine you're slaying men, left and right."

"Nothing could be further from the truth," I said without thinking, and tore my gaze away when Luke brightened like a golden retriever being shown a treat. When I didn't elaborate further—focusing on the horizon instead—Luke leaned over until he could finally catch my eye.

"Whatever boyfriend let you go was an asshole," he said.

"You don't know that."

"Sure, I do," he said cheerfully.

My cheeks burned and I hated it. Every relationship I'd ever been in had ended for similar reasons—work dominated my life. I was too distracted, too ambitious, too unwilling to unwind. I didn't believe that made my past partners terrible people. They were wise, sensing the danger ahead.

They were certainly all wiser than me in this moment.

"Your brother was being shitty to you the other day," I said, the words landing awkwardly in the silence. "I just…wanted you to know that. Part of this job is being in the room when people are having conversations not meant for the ears of total strangers. I don't usually say anything. And I wasn't listening on purpose. But it needed to be said."

Luke eyed me with a wary surprise. When he didn't reply, I continued, "I had a person in my life who took great pleasure in belittling me too, whenever he was in a bad mood. The trick was to keep him in a good mood."

"And how did you do that?"

"Told him what he wanted to hear," I admitted. "Smiled through it. Kept his secrets for him. He had a lot of them."

A pause. Then Luke said, "Was it your dad?"

The scars on my cheekbone itched. "Yes."

"Elijah—"

There was a loud rustling sound to our left and I startled, grabbing his wrist. Heart in my throat, I raised my radio to my mouth and barked, "Any updates?"

"Nothing, sir. Perimeter's been clear," Sylvester replied.

I tipped my head to listen but there came only the safe sounds of the party in the background.

"It was only a bird," Luke said. "We're good. Are you okay?"

I hid a scowl that became a blush the moment I realized I still had Luke by the wrist. Could feel the steady thrum of his pulse beneath my fingers. It beat more rapidly than I expected, his skin there soft and tender. When his focus darted down to the place where our hands touched, I let go and stepped away.

Luke flexed his fingers once, then slid them into his pocket.

"You received another threatening email tonight," I said quickly. "I'm on high alert for a reason. It's why we need to head back to the party."

"I…what? Wait, really?" he asked, slipping out his phone.

"I wouldn't look at—" I started to say, but he had it open before I could get the words out. He was silent as he stared down at it. Another flush crawled up my throat while I wondered if the image meant anything to him other than protection.

"They took this picture of us," he said roughly.

"I know it can be jarring, knowing someone's watching you?—"

"Watching us," he said. "Someone is watching us, Elijah."

"They are."

His forehead wrinkled. "The message here… ‘you know what I want, give it back.'You think they're talking about the flash drive? The one mentioned in the letter?"

"Most likely. We haven't been able to trace the emails. That's something law enforcement is supposed to be working on. I'd like to assume they're all coming from the same person but I've learned enough on this job to know that these things can also be random and unrelated. Which doesn't mean they're not dangerous. I know you feel compelled to uncover if your father was up to something nefarious, but we have to start accepting that they're openly targeting you now. Not Lincoln."

Luke's gaze sharpened. "Or they're lashing out because we're getting close."

"You've not gotten close to anything," I said, shaking my head. "The only thing you've succeeded in doing is frightening them into action, which means they'll get more reckless. Be willing to risk more to see you hurt. I can't let that happen."

"No, we had a deal," he argued. "You help me dig up dirt on my dad and in exchange I keep your big, expensive contract. You were with him for five years. I know you know more than you're letting on."

"Helping you is one thing. Knowingly putting you in danger is another," I said harshly. "I still have a job to do."

His expression turned smug. "You can't tell me my dad let himself be babysat like this. That man did whatever the fuck he wanted to do, whenever he wanted to do it."

"When there were threats against his life, he did. He took it seriously. This isn't a joke, Lucas."

Hurt rippled across his face. "Who said it was? I'm letting you do your job the best that I can. But you're not going to stop me from seeing this through." He brushed past me, stalking back to the glowing lights of the party. "And Ethel and Clarita are coming by tomorrow to meet with us. Thanks for the tip, by the way."

I had no choice but to follow, even as the lengthening shadows threatened to swallow Luke whole, right in front of my eyes.