Chapter 5

Delaney has been drawn into the game—exactly as I knew she would be—and is now running with the kids, kicking the soccer ball around, her hair slipping from her ponytail, spreading out over her shoulders and flying behind her like a sleek, black cape.

It's a beautiful sight—anyone could objectively see that.

But it's not why I'm watching her.

Nope...it's the way a certain hockey player is watching her.

Eyes glued, gaze tracking in a way that I know means...it won't be long before her future is further entwined with these people.

Good.

Mission accomplished.

"Your girlfriend is beautiful."

I turn my head toward Lauren, but not in surprise. I felt her approaching, felt her presence coming close, and not just because of my training, but because my body is so in tune with hers that I can feel her take a breath within a hundred-yard vicinity.

Hyperbole.

But...I knew she was there.

Her words, though, don't make one bit of fucking sense.

"Who?" I ask, tilting my head to the side, studying her closely—and then more closely—when her cheeks go pink.

"Um." She nibbles at her bottom lip. "Your girlfriend." She clears her throat. "She's beautiful."

I frown, because I'm smart, but I don't know what in the fuck all Lauren is talking about. "I don't have a girlfriend, sweets."

"Oh." A beat, teeth worrying her bottom lip. "Your date then?"

My brows draw together.

Now a dash of impatience creeps into her eyes and she jerks her chin toward the game in progress. "The woman you came with?"

Clarity hits me like a two-by-four to the temple and I know I'm a dumbass. I can disassemble an M24 rifle, clean it, and put the pieces back together in under ten minutes, but I'm not good at understanding women.

Or women like Lauren, anyway.

Women with a golden soul and a beautiful heart and?—

I've lost my fucking mind.

I'm standing out of the shadows, having eaten ice cream—that's now sitting like lead in my stomach—because I'm trying to draw out my past, eliminate it, and disappear back into the shadows. I can't be talking about beautiful hearts and golden souls and?—

I need to focus.

"Delaney works for me at the security company," I tell her before turning back to the scene in front of us. "And she has a crush on a hockey player."

"Um."

I look back.

Lauren's brows are forming twin rainbows that are arched halfway up her forehead. "Which hockey player?" she asks, gaze swinging away, head tilting.

Studying the group for several beats.

Then she glances back at me.

I shake my head. "I don't divulge secrets."

Her expression turns incredulous. "You just told me that she has a crush on a hockey player!"

"But you don't know which hockey player," I point out.

Am I grasping at straws because she's right? Yes, I fucking am.

Luckily, she scowls, looking back out at the field again for a long moment before shaking her head. She glances up at me, nose wrinkling. "You're right. With all of these new guys on the team, it could be anyone."

Winning Stanley Cups. Retirement. Salary caps and injuries and trades. All of that means...rebuilding.

Fresh blood.

Young guys.

Young single guys.

Of which Delaney likes one.

My lips twitch and Lauren gives a disgruntled sigh that has them twitching further.

Because I haven't seen her annoyed—and I've watched her a lot.

Which means that this side of her has alarm bells blaring in my mind.

Because instead of making me less interested, less captivated, less fucking obsessed, I want to know more. What else irritates her? What else has her blowing out that tiny stream of hot air I can feel on the side of my neck?

What else don't I know about her?

It doesn't matter.

Get her safe. Find her a man to look after her, worship her, to complete hers and Matteo's life.

No matter that it makes that ice cream in my stomach turn to concrete.

No matter that it makes me want to commit murder—and I'm the one planning on orchestrating this shit.

"Right," Lauren says after a long moment, awkward quiet having fallen between us. "Well, I'd better get back to?—"

"How was Matteo's spelling test?" I blurt out, some part of me needing to keep her close.

A fucking idiotic part.

But...that part has spoken out loud.

Lauren freezes, looks up at me with wide eyes.

And I realize my idiocy knows no bounds.

Because how the fuck would I know about the spelling test?

Well, genius, I only know about it because I watched them study for it through the windows of her house.

But I can't exactly tell her that now, can I?

Sure can't.

Thankfully, I'm trained at removing myself from potentially volatile situations.

And I remember that, this year, her son is in the same class as Sara's. Sara is a former gold-medal-winning figure skater and client who needed my services for a short time. Her husband used to play for the Gold, and even though Mike was a dick of epic proportions at one point, he'd turned out all right.

They are both here tonight.

I nod toward them. "Mike mentioned it," I lie.

Her head tilts again as she studies me. "Oh," she murmurs. "Right. Well, he got a hundred percent."

Pride settles somewhere deep. "Of course he did." Then I say, fucking stupidly, "Because he has a mom who helped him study."

Information I couldn't know without being a Peeping Tom—or couldn't know for sure, anyway—but, thankfully, she doesn't pick up on that.

Likely because we have a gaggle of children heading our way.

Led by a secret agent with payback in her eyes.

Or maybe murder.

Either way, I hear Matteo even amongst that gaggle of excited—and loud—voices that surround us in an instant. "Pascal!" he shouts. "You're on my team!"

And then he takes my hand, drawing me forward, Vivi trailing us in that careful way she's done since I put myself between her and the gun. I know she sticks close because she feels safe, but her nearness reminds me of my failure to look after the people I was supposed to protect.

Now and then.

The past sweeps up, threatens to yank me back under.

I want to sprint for the shadows, slip back into watching instead of being drawn along with this family.

This is dangerous and stupid, and I have that past to track down.

But...I had to have ice cream.

And now, apparently, I'm playing soccer, unable to tell a kid who's been through too much no.

Fucking pathetic.

And I know the man watching me from those shadows will think so too.