He’s not for you.
Don’t get used to this.
He’ll be leaving soon.
Don’t like him too much.
Don’t love him even a little.
A daily mantra, five quick, magical incantations with which to safeguard her heart. But the scariest part of it all was that she didn’t think they were working.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“What?” Sam exploded, and he heard Colby sigh on the other end of the line.
“She’s been receiving them intermittently for the last month or so,” the woman continued, and Sam rubbed his fingers over his forehead, trying to ward off the headache that was forming.
“Why did no one tell me?” he growled.
“Because you were out of commission. Quite frankly, I didn’t want to tell you now, but Chambers was concerned about the threat she received last night. Somehow the note was slipped into her underwear drawer. Chambers has put extra security on her house and two more CPOs on her.”
Lally had been receiving death threats again, same MO as Marshall Weathers, the fucker who had stabbed Sam, but that bastard was still in jail and awaiting trial.
“It could be Weathers,” Sam suggested, “getting someone to do his dirty work for him.”
“That’s a distinct possibility,” Colby said, “and the police are investigating that angle, but the general consensus for now is that it’s possible but not likely.”
“Fuck it,” Sam muttered beneath his breath. “Okay, tell Chambers to keep the extra security around her house and the additional CPOs on her. Do not let her run roughshod over him. Cancel all public appearances, aside from concerts, until the police have concluded their investigation into Weathers’s activities in prison.”
“She’s not going to like that.”
“I don’t give a single fuck what she likes or doesn’t like. We’re taking this seriously, especially since she’s already been attacked once. I’ll get packed up and head back—”
“No.” Colby’s tone was frosty, and Sam’s mouth dropped open.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked incredulously.
“You heard me, you’re not coming back early. You pay us to solve problems. We have it under control. But Chambers has a point about your needing to know about it.”
“How fucking commendable of you to allow me to know about the shit going on with my own company.”
“Yeah, I thought so, too,” Colby said agreeably, and Sam glared at the wall at her response. “Look, if we think the place is going to fall apart without you, we’ll let you know. For now, we have it in hand.”
She gave him updates on a few other contracts before ringing off, after another stern admonishment that he was not to come home.
Sam stared at the lit screen of the phone for a long moment before putting it aside. He felt strange. He knew that if he’d heard this news just a few weeks ago, nothing Colby said would have prevented him from packing his bags and heading home. Injuries be damned. But today, the threat to pack up and go back had mostly been posturing.
Because he wasn’t ready to go home.
He had poker with Bertie and the guys on Sunday. He had promised Mrs. Beecham at the retirement home that he would teach her and a few others the Viennese waltz next week. Trevor—he had started to accept the dumb name for the dog because the animal was so mild mannered it actually suited him—was learning to sit and stay. Sam and Spencer were planning a Fast and Furious marathon on the weekend after the women left.
And Lia . . .
His thoughts stuttered to a halt.
Lia. There was Lia.
They were nearly a month into their fling, and it was still nowhere near over. He had stopped asking her to stay every night . . . but he hadn’t stopped wanting her to stay. Watching her leave every night was becoming increasingly difficult. He wanted to keep her with him—he was starting to resent every moment she spent apart from him. She would be going away with her mother, Daff, and Charlie on the weekend, and Sam was dreading the prospect of not having her around for two days.
So yes, Sam wasn’t quite prepared to leave Lia yet. Not at all.
He threw his head back against the sofa cushion and stared at the vaulted ceiling of the cabin.
“What the fuck are you doing, Sam?” he asked himself beneath his breath. “This is not the life for you, mate.”
“Talking to yourself, Sam?” Lia’s soft voice asked from the kitchen, and he sat up, startled. She smiled at his reaction.
“Ha! Did I manage to sneak up on you, Mr. Special Ops Close Personal Protection Man?” she teased, clearly delighted, and despite himself, Sam felt his lips quirk upward in a smile. She was so fucking cute.
“Close protection officer, sunshine,” he corrected.
“You know what I meant,” she said, airily dismissive. He jumped to his feet and walked toward her, loving the way her eyes stayed on his as he drew closer. He hooked an arm around her waist and tugged her into his embrace, dropping his mouth onto hers for a hungry kiss.