Lance wouldn’t let that happen. “We kill him too then.”
The solution was simple.
Keltan leaned back in his chair, eyes wide. “Jesus Christ, Lance. He’s a fucking senator.”
Lance didn’t reply. He was aware of his position and that meant exactly shit to him.
“We’re not goin’ round killing people. We gotta do this smart. If not for our sakes, then for Elena’s.”
Keltan hit his mark and he knew it.
“Now go see her and that kid home,” Keltan said.
Chapter Five
Elena
Lance had seen us to my car, stared at it with a stiff jaw as we got in and then informed me that he’d be following us home and taking the first watch.
His sentence had not been as articulate as that, but I figured the rest out.
I wanted to ask a lot of questions about this. About the logistics of such a thing, but my five-year-old was tired and hungry and needed to go home.
I needed to go home, I was dead on my feet.
Which Lance obviously noticed because he put his hand to the driver’s door to stop me opening it after I’d strapped Nathan in his seat in the back.
I stared at the corded and muscled arm, it was one of the most attractive arms I’d ever seen up close. Sure, Robert worked out, but it was hard to appreciate muscles used to beat the shit out of you.
I didn’t doubt that Lance beat the shit out of someone, but I had the distorted certainty that it was people who deserved it and certainly not women.
I had a sense about the man.
Beyond that, Keltan would not employ a man who hurt women.
“You good to drive?” he clipped.
I blinked, looking up at his empty eyes. I wished that one day someone would fill them. It was a strange wish to have for a practical stranger—albeit a hot one—but it was sincere to my bones. I guessed it wasn’t strange to wish the man who helped bring my son back to me be rewarded with something to light up his life.
I got the feeling it was pretty dark.
“Good to drive?” I repeated.
He nodded once. “You haven’t got shit for sleep in twenty-four hours. Barely eaten.” He looked to the back seat. “You even think you’re not good, you tell me now. Not havin’ you take risks.”
It was the most words I’d heard him say since I’d met him.
And from what I understood, they were words of concern for the safety of my son and myself. Not spoken kindly, but the meaning behind them was.
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“I’m good to drive,” I said with confidence. “I think I’m still on adrenaline or something, because I feel tired emotionally, but not physically.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “I wouldn’t just say this to be independent or whatever. If I wasn’t good to drive, I’d frickin’ say so. I wouldn’t drive in the first place.”
He inspected me. Like he was rooting around inside my head, throwing out junk he didn’t find useful and looking for the good stuff. It was violating. That stare. Uncomfortable. Addictive.
His eyes cleared and he nodded again, seeming to find what he wanted.
He opened the door for me.
Robotically, I got in, throwing my purse on the passenger seat. It was then I realized that a pair of panties were hanging off the edge. I’d stuffed my dirty clothes in there earlier, complete with the panties because Polly had made sure to include them.
And now, my bright red donut panties that were not a lace G-string were poking out the top of the bag that had been on my shoulder the entire time Lance was standing right in front of me.
Heat bloomed in my cheeks and I gripped the steering wheel, willing him to walk away so I could comfortably die of mortification.
He didn’t.
He stayed, keeping the door open with his arm. No way could I fight him trying to get it closed.
I didn’t speak.
Neither did he.
His eyes did not move to the passenger seat. Maybe he didn’t see the panties. No, this was not a man who missed anything. I was pretty sure his job required him to notice everything. Not just his job. Something inside him, the intensity of his presence told me that he needed to control his environment and in order to do that he had to know everything that existed in his environment. Including my dirty, totally unsexy granny panties hanging outside of my cheap and worn purse.
Nathan was having a conversation with Feebo in the back. He had no idea what kind of emotional and physical mortification his mother was going through.
What did I do here? Did I swallow the shame and act like I meant to have my panties hanging out for the world to see? Ignore it all completely? Slyly move over and tuck them back in? But that option wouldn’t work with Lance’s glare gluing me to my frickin’ seat.