Audition (North Security 4)

Of all the words Josh could have chosen, this one has to be the most…unexpected. “Quiet?”

“Silent.” Josh shakes his head. “It was fucking eerie, is what it was. It made me wonder if the rumors are true. I’ve heard one in particular that stands out.”

I can’t help myself. “What was it?”

He does a slow turn, and it’s with a mixture of relief and disappointment that I realize he’s walking me back to my house. “I heard he had a disagreement with one of his patrol partners, once upon a time. That man went on rounds one night and ended up with a bullet in his brain.” He says it so lightly, like he might be telling me about the high school yearbook or a football score. Fear wraps around my belly and pulls tight. We cross back over the boundary into the backyard. Josh leans in close. So close that his breath tickles the shell of my ear. His lips brush the delicate skin there. “The official record says the man was killed in action.”

I suck in a breath. “Are you afraid of him?”

“I probably should be. There are worse things in the night. Auribus teneo lupum. Have you heard that before?”

“Latin?”

“Yep. It means you’re fucked either way. That’s what I am in this situation, between your brother and Noah and the US Army—and you. You, most of all.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Goodnight, Bethany.” He turns to go as abruptly as he appeared.

The swing creaks in the night breeze against a backdrop of crickets. A fresh wave of goosebumps and heat erupts over my skin. “You came here to tell me that?”

“No,” he says over his shoulder, his figure already disappearing into the night. “I came here to see your face.”

Bethany, present time

At the end of the day I walk down the concrete steps. A man in a black T-shirt and tactical pants leans against a black SUV, his face framed by sunlight. Even before I get close, I know it isn’t Josh. Disappointment weighs heavy in my stomach. I shouldn’t care about Joshua North. In fact I should be relieved that he’s sent someone else. Features form out of the shadows. Noah. Panic seizes my body for a heartbeat. Only when my foot touches the next step can I breathe again. I’m not a dumb teenager anymore. I’m not at the mercy of violent men anymore. That includes Josh.

“Fancy meeting you here,” I say.

A curt nod. “Ma’am.”

That makes me snort. “What are you doing here?”

He opens the back door for me. “Escorting you home.”

“Where exactly is home?”

“A safe location.”

“I knew you didn’t mean my apartment. That would be too easy. Has it occurred to you that Josh is doing exactly what my brother did? Having me watched? Controlling where I go?”

“Do you need to stop somewhere on the way?” he asks, his tone bland.

I glare at the open door with its cool leather seats. Does it have to look so appealing? I want the safety the dark interior promises. That’s always been the problem with Josh. I want what he offers, but I know better than to trust it. “Does North Security keep safe houses in every city? That seems excessive.”

A pause. He doesn’t stop scanning the perimeter even as he answers, “This isn’t a North Security property.”

“Then who owns it?”

Those dark eyes meet mine, bringing with them a flash of painful memory. When I was young and foolish and halfway in love. “Joshua North.”

Josh owns property in New Orleans? Why the hell would he want to? He was only ever here for Caleb. Maybe that’s still why he’s here. To keep tabs on the man he once brought down. It couldn’t possibly be for the little sister who gave her heart away. There’s no way this ends well. No way this leaves me anything but heartbroken all over again.

The allure is too strong. Even safety I might have been able to withstand. It’s the curiosity that propels me inside the back of the SUV. That I’ll be able to see a place that Josh calls his own.

I settle into the leather seats, holding back a groan as the plush cushion meets my aching muscles. It’s not like I enjoy using public transportation, clutching a frayed leather strap for the stop-start ride. I don’t enjoy being bumped or groped. I don’t enjoy shielding my wallet deep in my purse so I’ll still have it, but I do enjoy the independence that comes with it. I can afford the bus, and that makes it the only choice for me. I never want to ask my brother for help.

The life of a dancer isn’t a lucrative one. The New York Times praised my dancing as “a revelation.” A two-inch write-up in Vogue called me “incandescent.” Unfortunately most landlords don’t accept critical praise as currency to pay rent. The position with the avant-garde dance company is enough for me. Unless I’m being stalked by some crazy fan. That’s been hard to accept. Sometimes people talk to me like I should have limos and private security—who’s going to pay for that?