He let out a frustrated breath, lifting our entwined hands to rest mine on his lips. “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of,” he muttered. “Among other things.” The last part was inaudible to everyone but me.
“We’ll try and keep your identity a secret and rush the trial, but witness protection is a viable option—”
“No way, no how,” I interrupted.
“Ms. Walker,” Max warned.
“No,” I replied. “I’ve got a life here. A good one.” One that’s finally still. “No way am I running.”
Keltan squeezed my hand.
Max nodded. “Very well. We will offer you protection.”
“Yeah. You’ll offer it,” Duke spoke, sarcasm dripping in his tone. “We’ll actually provide it.”
“You’re a private security firm. We’re the police,” Max said coldly.
Duke stroked his chin thoughtfully. “And how many witnesses have you protected in this case?”
Max’s jaw hardened. “Three.”
Duke nodded. “And how many have died?”
There was a loaded pause, and I had to bite my lip to keep from outright grinning. I shouldn’t have grinned about the poor people dying, but the look on Max’s face and the red that traveled from his ears to his cheeks was rather comical.
“Three,” he gritted out. Finally.
“Riiiigghhtt,” Duke said. He looked to Heath. “How many of our clients have died?”
Heath’s mouth twitched. “None.”
“Lucinda Cross was your client, was she not?” Max cut in, far too smug about the fact that she was, and was now dead.
Duke smiled at him. “No, indeed she wasn’t. She fired us the day before she died. And, if I’m not mistaken, it’s your job as an officer of the law to protect the citizens of our fair city. So, if we wanted to get technical, she was your client.”
Max did not like that. Kittens rarely liked being presented with nature’s new, improved and much more dangerous version of them.
Especially when the lions could eat them alive if they so wished.
He stood. “Ms. Walker, you have my card. If this situation changes, or if you feel threatened in any way, please let the police department know. Otherwise, we’ll be in touch about the trial information.”
He gave me a stiff nod, then walked equally stiffly out the door.
“Out,” Keltan growled at Duke and Heath before anyone else could speak.
His voice was feral, the best impression of a lion speaking I’d ever heard.
The men gave him a knowing look before doing so.
When it was the two of us, I turned to him, expecting the fury.
Instead I was met with chaos. The good kind.
My panties were off and my ass was on the bare table we’d been talking testifying and witness protection over not moments ago.
His fingers plunged into me and I gasped at the beautiful intrusion.
Keltan’s head rested against mine, eyes holding me captive.
My breathing came in quick pants as one of his hands worked between my legs, the other caressing my neck gently, holding me in place.
“Lucy,” he murmured. “I need you. I need to know you’re alive. That you’re here with me. Need to fuckin’ drown inside you,” he growled.
I gasped as he stroked my magic spot.
Then at the loss of him.
“Drown, please,” I whispered.
He positioned himself at my entrance. “I’m not losing this,” he declared. “Not now, not ever. Not to any of this shit. Promise you’ll remember I need you to breathe and to drown?”
I sucked in a heavy breath. “Promise.”
And then he sank into me and the world fell away.
It was almost as if the chaos didn’t exist and it wouldn’t destroy us.
Almost.
Two Months Later
I loitered outside my building feeling irritated.
It had been two months, yet I was still sentenced to not leave the curb to go freaking shopping without an escort.
Yes, I was testifying against a very dangerous criminal, but it had been two months. No owl figurines. Nothing. Just one botched kidnapping attempt.
And a ruined pair of Prada slingbacks. Blood and brain matter did not wash off patent leather, just in case anyone was wondering.
I didn’t know how he noticed, apart from my funeral I had for them—my shoes were my babies—but a week after the incident, there was a Prada box sitting on the bed at home.
No note, no big show of the fact that he’d brought me six-hundred-dollar shoes. Nothing expected in return.
And yes, I said home. After a life-and-death experience, little things like socially appropriate dating times and cohabitation didn’t mean shit.
And two months in, they still didn’t.
Two months in, I didn’t think breathing could come much easier.
Apart from there being a drug lord out to kill me if I testified against him. But two months of silence and a lack of shootings or death threats had me thinking he’d just melted into the woodwork. The United States government had been working to expedite him using my evidence—maybe stolen from said government—combined with everything Keltan handed over and what they already had.
And enough for me to write a story that got me one heck of a promotion.