When he pulls away, he motions the men on the porch across the threshold. “I hope you don’t mind, but I brought two guests I need to introduce you to.”
The two men move into my home, with the two Secret Service agents following. But when my uncle holds up his hand, they stop. “If you two will just wait on the porch.”
“But, sir,” one of the agents protests.
“I’m adequately protected, gentleman,” is all he says before he closes the door in their faces. He gestures to the first man, a tall blond with warm brown eyes and a stylish goatee. “Barrett… this is Kynan McGrath. He owns a company called Jameson Force Security.”
This mildly piques my interest, and I shake his hand in greeting.
The other man steps forward. Before my uncle can speak, he introduces himself. “I’m Cruce Britton. I work for Kynan.”
A bell goes off in my head when we shake hands because while I don’t recognize his face, his name is well known to me. “You used to be Secret Service. You saved my uncle.”
Cruce gives me a nod of acknowledgment, his lips curving up only slightly—seemingly more in embarrassment than amusement.
My uncle takes a deep breath, dramatically inhaling as he rubs his stomach. “Dinner smells delicious, honey. I’m starved.”
Suspiciously, I cross my arms over my chest. “What’s going on? Are you in danger or something?”
My uncle blinks before giving a nervous laugh. “Of course not, but how about we head into the kitchen and you serve up some of that famous tuna noodle casserole?”
“Uncle Jon,” I murmur warningly. I don’t have the patience to wait if there’s something wrong or if I should be concerned about him.
“I swear I’m okay,” he assures me, then hurries toward my kitchen. Kynan follows him, leaving me in the foyer with Cruce.
He hadn’t seemed intimidating before, but now he has a certain overwhelming quality. He’s taller than the other guy by a few inches, and I have to tip my head way back to see him. His hair is dark, neatly swept back, and he has a trim beard and mustache.
His eyes are disconcerting, though. A light crystalline blue that seems to slice right through me as he stares.
He’s an incredibly handsome man. Intense is the word I’d use to describe him. In fact, his expression is worried, and it raises my suspicions about my uncle being in danger.
Cruce makes a motion with his hand, silently indicating I should head to the kitchen and he’ll follow. Instead, I adjust my stance, putting myself in between him and the hall that leads into the kitchen.
“What’s really going on?” I ask. “Why is the man who saved my uncle here? What kind of danger is he in?”
Cruce appraises me, seeming to size up my ability to handle bad news. I brace at his scrutiny, then become frustrated when his eyes cut past me to where my uncle and Kynan wait because it seems he’s going to put me off.
Instead, I’m stunned when he says, “He’s not the one in danger. You are, and I’m here to protect you.”
?
“I don’t understand,” I say for the third time. All three men sit at my kitchen table, working on second helpings of my tuna casserole. I’ve barely had two bites, but my stomach rebels against the idea of food right now.
My uncle shoves a huge forkful of noodles and creamy tuna into his mouth, so I turn to Kynan, who owns the company hired to protect me. “Until we can determine the full extent of what’s being planned, we have to assume the worse.”
“And you think they’ll kidnap me?” I ask, even though they’ve already told me this.
“It’s the most logical assumption,” Kynan replies. “That they’d take you somewhere and force you to finish the formula for them.”
“But I’d refuse,” I point out.
“They’d force you,” Cruce says quietly, and the surety in his voice causes a tremor to run up my spine.
But no… I can’t accept what they’re saying. “It doesn’t make sense. The formula is nothing without the ability to test it, and fusion reactors can’t be bought at Target.”
“True,” Kynan says, but then proceeds to burst my bubble. “But there are plenty of foreign countries and terrorist organizations with the funding and access to the materials needed.”
“And you want to hire protection for me?” I ask. This time, I direct my question at my uncle, who is still chewing the last bite he’d taken.
He swallows, then wipes his mouth on a napkin. “It’s only until we can ferret out who these people are and shut them down. But until then, I can’t take a risk—”
“I’m already protected at work.” I say, cutting him off with an impatient wave of my hand. “And if you need to assign someone to escort me home, that’s fine. But I don’t need—”