“What did it say?” I ask. He watches the windows. Silence crawls up my spine.
“Another breach. DC office. Internal security. Someone close to your father.” He says it quietly, as if he doesn’t want the walls to hear.
“Here?” The word sounds tiny in the silence. “Not likely.” He’s lying, not to me but himself. “So what’s the plan? Lockdown?” I edge closer, static buzzing under my skin.
He exhales, rough and dry, and I can tell he’s switching gears. “Everything gets tighter. More agency guys will come after the storm.” He looks at the lantern, then at me. His eyes are so tired, the lines at the corners seem endless. “You don’t leave my sight. Not for meals, not for the bathroom. Even then, the door stays open. Understand?”
I want to rebel, do anything except what he wants. But his hands are shaking—this is real fear, not just something he was born with. He’s losing to it.
“Fine. But warn me before you barge in, or you’ll see something you can’t unsee.”
Something changes in his face. “I doubt that,” he says, voice rough. He pulls open the coat closet, grabs a loaded 9mm, checks the safety quickly, and puts it in his waistband. I stare.
“What, the kitchen knives not enough?”
He gives me a hard look. “This isn’t a joke.” He starts to say more, but stops. “Stay here. No exceptions.” Cade steps onto the covered porch. He pushes the door open with his shoulder, gun ready. Rain hits the roof so hard it drowns out every other sound.
I should be scared, but I feel anchored—to him, to this moment. He’s not gone thirty seconds when my phone rings. It’s my father. “Delilah, honey, are you safe?” His voice is frantic, so off-brand it spikes my adrenaline.
“I’m fine, Dad. Is this about the breach?”
“Listen to me.” It’s not a request. “Your man—Walker—he’s been flagged as compromised. He’d never hurt you, but the FBIand Secret Service want to pull him. They’ll send new security once the storm passes. I need you to comply with whatever they say until then.”
“Compromised how?” My lips go numb. Papers rustle on his end.
“He never should have been assigned to you. He’s too invested. That makes him a liability. If something happens—” He stops.
“Dad, I’m not an asset. I’m your daughter.” He sighs, rough and tired. “Please, Lila. Just do this for me.” I hang up before he finishes. The world narrows to rain, ozone, and a tightness in my throat. I fold and unfold my arms, then go to the window just in time. Cade is at the fence line, soaked, talking to someone I can’t see. Backup? No, the angle is wrong. He stands between them and the house, blocking the way. I watch, holding my breath, as things get tense. Cade’s jaw clenches. The other person, wiry and hooded, gestures. Cade doesn’t move, protecting me. My stomach twists. I press against the window. He comes back, dripping, lantern light in his wet hair. I notice the cut above his eyebrow before he does.
“Who was that?” My voice shakes, and I hate it.
“Courier. Dropped a package for your father.” He grabs a rag from under the sink, dabs at his face, and then tosses it in the trash.
“But that’s not why they came.” He locks the deadbolt, slides the chain, and puts the gun back in the kitchen drawer. His shoulders start to relax as his hands steady.
“They know where we are,” he says, quietly. “Means we’re done here.” He looks at me, really looks, and something melts at the edges. “You’re not safe until this blows over. So I’ll stay with you until the relief team shows. Understand?”
“No.” I step closer, nails digging into my palm. “You’re not going anywhere.”
He shakes his head. The mask slips; he’s about to break. “The job’s over, Delilah. I crossed a line. I can’t take that back.”
I want to laugh, scream, or punch the wall. “So what, you’re just going to abandon me to a bunch of rented suits?”
He doesn’t answer, so that means yes.
“Fuck that,” I say, and grab his wrist, still flecked with blood. I hold on. We’re closer than ever, both sober and uninjured. His pulse hammers under my thumb. He tries to pull away. I don’t let him.
“Why do you even care? You’re just a paycheck to my dad.”
He winces. “You don’t get it.”
“Then explain it,” I snap. “Why do you keep holding the door for me? Stay up all night? Why won’t you leave when you should?”
He bows his head, and for a moment I think he’s going to say something soft, something ruined. What comes out is even worse. “You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to protect for their own sake.” It’s so raw I almost flinch.
“You’re not a liability,” I say. “You’re the only one on my side.”
His jaw tightens, but he’s not angry. “That’s exactly the problem. They’ll use you to get to me. Or worse, make you collateral. I can’t let that happen.”