6. Elijah

Ididn't like this one bit.

Now that I was staring up at the platform, uneasiness shuddered through me. There were too many risks, too many variables, too many people.

Let alone the danger of the act itself.

"Have you ever bungee jumped before?" Luke asked, his teeth bright white beneath the sun as he smiled at me. As if this was a delightful way to spend a Monday morning instead of what it really was.

A death trap waiting to happen.

I was walking a narrow line between what I'd do to convince Luke to keep our contract…and wantonly putting his life at risk. If our contract wasn't already on thin ice, I would have barred him from doing something as reckless as throwing himself into thin air with nothing but a rope tied to his feet.

"I'll take your icy silence for a no," Luke said, raking a hand through his hair. "Unless you're considering doing a buddy jump with me?"

I pinned him with a look. "I'm assuming it's pointless for me to remark on the inherent dangers of this?"

"I take risks like this all the time, Elijah. It's kinda my thing. Or didn't you see that in my file?"

Then he spun on his heel, heading toward a tall, narrow building that connected directly to the platform above us. Past the parking lot, the adventure park had other activities like giant swings, zip lines, large climbing walls.

"I'm aware of your proclivities," I called after him. "If there's anything else you'll be doing, any parties or…"

He paused midstep. "What parties?"

"Social events require protection, though I'll stress that we're trained to be discreet."

A flicker of disappointment crossed his face. "Don't believe everything you read in the tabloids. Or anything my father might have said."

He turned and started jogging toward the building's glass doors. I flexed my hands once before following after him, scanning every person, vehicle and object for signs of a threat. Inside, Luke greeted a staff member warmly and then we stepped inside an elevator with the words Next Stop: Adventure! painted in yellow.

The arrival of that letter yesterday weighed heavily on me. No return address, no other information, just a single scrawled message: I know you have the flash drive. Give it back or you won't like what I do next. And written in big block letters on the front: FOR LUCAS BEAUMONT.

Lincoln had had an entire lifetime to court his enemies—enemies that now appeared to be targeting his son. Yet here was Luke, smiling in the sunshine as if his safety was a given and not something fragile, to be protected at all costs.

I'd worked with plenty of people like Luke over the course of my career. People like my father, really—their hubris only matched by their carelessness, their own happiness and comfort prioritized over everyone else's.

My father certainly hadn't cared. What were the needs of his children over his own?

The elevator doors peeled open, revealing a wide platform filled with loud, pulsing music. Directly in front of us was boat-filled Wallops Harbor and, farther in the distance, I could see the very top of Laurel Lighthouse. The adventure company was entirely new to me. The best I could do in the moment was shoot a text to the other members of my team, asking for quick background checks and any other issues I should be aware of.

It was sloppy and shortsighted at best. But I was the one who'd made the hasty decision to force my way into Luke's day.

My client was speaking in a low voice to the dark-haired man and blond woman who worked there. They exchanged friendly hugs. Luke said something that had them all laughing. Then he reached behind his head and yanked off his T-shirt, tossing it to the ground. His skin was deeply tanned, and his shoulders rippled as he held his arms wide, stepping easily into a harness that fit snugly around his waist.

The employees moved in one seamless line, clipping rings, tightening carabiners, checking the rope. It was fast, faster than I'd anticipated, and the slightly patronizing look on Luke's face had me grinding my teeth.

I won't have some babysitter in a bespoke suit following me around, telling me what I can and cannot do.

"It's not too late to join me," he said. "I promise it's more fun than it looks."

"For the record, I refuse to endorse this behavior."

"Your concern has been duly noted," he drawled, just as the employees swooped back in. They hoisted him by the arms and placed him carefully at the edge of the bridge. A slight breeze kicked up, ruffling Luke's hair. I noted every single place where his safety was secured—the double knots, the extra rope, the clips.

A countdown began, people shouting Five…Four…Three…

Luke sent me a wink. And he fell off the bridge.

Backward.

My stomach lurched violently. It took every ounce of willpower not to rush to the edge and yell after him. Maybe thrill-seeking was the prerogative of people like Lucas Beaumont. No fears of late bills or low bank accounts, seeking that zap of adrenaline to feel alive amid their soft privilege.

From down below, I heard a joyous whoop. Gears locked in place, the rope pulled tight. The staff worked effortlessly around me as I stayed planted in the middle of the bridge, my pulse thrumming beneath my skin.

Someone lightly touched my elbow and said, "Don't worry; he's coming up now."

I turned to see a trio of people gathered at the other edge, moving as one to haul Luke up with an ease that shocked me. A single word floated up in my brain as I examined my client for any signs of hidden injury.

Ecstasy.

Luke was ecstatic, but that description felt unprofessional. He stood entirely still as he was unwound and unhooked. Head tipped back, eyes closed, throat exposed. I glued my gaze to the center of his collarbone, ignoring the heaving of his chest.

When he opened his eyes, they locked on mine through the buzzing crush of people and activity. They blazed bright blue, full of life. A lopsided grin appeared on his face and my stomach lurched again.

"Did ya miss me?" he asked.

I shifted on my feet. "I remain unconvinced that this is a wise use of your time."

Luke laughed as if I'd been making a joke, then made boisterous small talk with the staff while he tugged on his shirt and snapped a few pictures. There was an ease here, a familiarity, that told me how often he was here. It was concerning, to say the least, because the last thing a protection agent needed was high-risk scenarios that made it easier for a client to get hurt—or worse.

I followed him back down in the elevator and out to the parking lot, noting his body's looseness, the smile that wouldn't dim.

When he caught me looking, he cocked a thumb back toward the platform. "I'm not joking when I say you need to try it."

"And I'm not joking when I promise you I would never."

"You can't say never," he said. "You might end up wanting to someday."

"I won't."

"You could though."

My jaw ticked. "Lucas."

He raised his palms. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. You're not into it. But I do highly recommend it as a way to clear your head when you're stressed. Like if your dad, who openly mocked and despised you, dies and leaves you his company as some kind of cosmic punishment."

I frowned at that and Luke must have sensed my unease, because he halted next to me. Slid his sunglasses back on and relaxed into an easy grin. "Forget I said anything. I'm always too chatty after a jump."

An awkward silence hung between us. Finally, I said, "You do this often then."

"Just one of my many proclivities." He shrugged. "Skydiving, rock climbing, whitewater rafting. The greater the risk, the greater the reward."

"The risk to your life, you mean."

"Exactly," he said. "Yet another reason why it won't work having a bodyguard. Though I did appreciate the ride out here."

I narrowed my eyes with irritation. "It's not only foolish to be so irresponsible, it's absurd. You wouldn't bungee jump with half a rope. So why take on a job that comes with a giant target on your back and be so cavalier about your own safety?"

I expected anger in return. Instead, Luke's smile only widened. "Finish out your contract this week, Elijah. That's fine by me. I'll ensure everyone on your team gets paid and then some. But I don't want the trappings of my father's lifestyle."

Maybe it was the arrogant grin, the way the sun burst around him like he was some kind of king. His jaunty body language, bringing up a host of bad memories. Because I opened my mouth and only fury came out.

"That's a ridiculous fucking thing to do," I snapped.

His smile faltered. "Excuse me?"

"It's ridiculous," I repeated. "Risking your life for no reason just because personal security might inconvenience you in the slightest."

Luke's cheeks flushed red, though his eyes flashed with barely concealed frustration. "Damn, don't hold back on my account, Elijah. You wanna share any other misinformed opinions about me while you're at it?"

I took a step closer, watched him crane his neck to maintain eye contact. "You're about to fire a group of highly trained security specialists just to be petty. There are plenty of people in this world who would do anything to feel the kind of safety my team can guarantee."

"‘Just to be petty,'" he drawled. "That's a cute interpretation. But you don't know what you're talking about."

I tipped my head. "You're right. I don't know what it was like to grow up in a mansion with a private jet at my disposal. Nor have I had the distinct privilege of inheriting a billion-dollar company without having to do a goddamn thing." I lowered my voice, watched his nostrils flare. "Perhaps I'm misinformed. Sir."

A heavy silence landed after my words. Regret curdled in my gut immediately. It was my own fault. I had never, not once, spoken with such frankness to a client, and if Foster were here, I'd be fired within the hour.

Pure pain flashed across Luke's face—so intense, I reared back.

"You don't know what it was like growing up with that man," he said harshly. "He taught me that my safety was never guaranteed."

An explosion rocked the parking lot.

I threw Luke to the ground and covered his body with mine, wrapping my hand around the back of his head as a wall of vicious heat passed over us. A surge of adrenaline wiped my mind clean of thoughts. My ears rang as a dozen car alarms went off at the same time. I reared up on my knees, searching for the source of the blast. The air was hazy, smoke-filled. Sirens rang out in the distance.

And fifty feet away, a car blazed with fire.

My car.

Luke struggled beneath me. I had him pinned to the ground with my knees bracketing his hips. When he tried to raise his head, I pressed him back gently.

"Do not move," I ground out. "You could be injured."

"What the fuck?" Luke said weakly. "Elijah, I think that's…that's your car."

I was already dialing 911. As I barked out the situation and the address, I searched Luke's body for signs of injury. His blue eyes caught mine, halting my inspection. They were a whirlpool of emotion—fear, shock, disorientation. The vulnerability there tugged at something primal, deep in my brain.

I wrenched my gaze away. There was no blood, no head wound I could see, only a few scrapes and some dirt. Then I realized where my hand had landed…in the center of his chest, with the distinct thump of his heart thrashing beneath it.

For fuck's sake, I was still straddling him.

I forced myself to move into a crouch by his side before I could fully register the corded muscle of his thighs. When the 911 call ended, I shot off a message to Foster. The back of my suit was growing hotter by the second, warmed by the blaze fifty feet away, bursting out of the car we'd been moments from stepping into.

Would have stepped into, if we hadn't been bickering in the parking lot.

"Elijah, I can stand up?—"

"Do. Not. Move," I snapped, with my palm back on his chest again. "The ambulance will be here shortly."

"I didn't hit my head, thanks to you," he continued. "At least, I don't think I did. Maybe a little? Wait, no…no, I didn't."

Flashing lights appeared in the distance and relief coursed through my body. "This completely inept medical assessment is exactly why you'll do as I say."

His lips twitched. "Do you think now is the best time to insult me?"

"I'm not insulting you, I'm merely?—"

"Dude, you just called me inept."

My hand flexed against his chest, my fingertips digging softly into his T-shirt. Luke raised a single eyebrow. I snatched my hand back and stood so I could wave down the ambulance. "I was criticizing your assessment. I did not criticize you."

"You did earlier," he shot back. "Pre-car bomb."

I avoided eye contact. "I'm sorry about that. Truly. I was out of line and unprofessional. If you feel compelled to report me to my supervisor for misconduct, I would understand completely."

"Report you? No, Elijah, I…" He tried to prop himself up on his elbows and I almost snarled at him. It must have shown on my face, because he sank back to the ground with a penitent look. "I'm no car expert or anything, but they don't usually explode, correct?"

"Correct."

An ambulance rolled to a stop in front of us, followed by a handful of police cars and a black sedan driven by Ripley. Just before they swarmed, Luke flicked his gaze up and asked, "So who the hell did my dad piss off?"