“Jesus Christ,” I grumble, stopping and glaring down at the sidewalk. Some of the letters are worn a bit by foot traffic, but most of the words etched into the path are dark and stand out in sharp relief to the light concrete. “Dream. Rest. Balance,” I read. I shake my head and scoff. “Let me guess. All these little pretty phrases lead to the dorms.”

  I feel Annie stiffen beside me, and I immediately regret my choice of words.

  “Fuck,” I sigh, scrubbing a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry.” I jab a finger toward the sidewalk. “This is a goddamn security nightmare.”

  I step close to her and lower my voice.

  “Do you realize that this is literally a glowing neon sign pointing to where you live and sleep?” I turn and whip around, gesturing toward the street, the parking structure, all of it. “This place is as easy to access as the goddamn supermarket and easier to navigate than a preschool. A bad guy wouldn’t have to try very hard to do a lot of damage here.”

  She looks like she’s either going to curse me out or start crying, but she surprises me by placing a hand on my arm and squeezing. “You’re right,” she says in a choked voice.

  Her skin on mine is warm, and even though she’s only gripping my forearm… Fuck. She’s soft. Strong. It takes everything in me to keep my eyes from her long, toned legs as she rocks close to me.

  “I’m so grateful you’re doing this,” she says. “None of this stuff is anything I would ever notice. Not until now. You’re totally right. But now, it’s too late.” She looks down at her hand and releases my arm. “Sorry,” she murmurs, but something in her voice makes my cock take notice. I think she’s apologizing for touching me, not what she said.

  But I’m not sorry. Not even a little.

  I’m not normally attracted to clients, but then again, I’ve never had a client like Annie before. Hot, horny housewives are easy to keep at arm’s length. But this assignment is going to test my professional boundaries in a way that makes me very fucking happy I only signed on for ten hours of work.

  Ten hours of blue balls is more than any man should have to take. And the very last thing this woman needs is to feel any kind of vibe off me.

  I’m safe.

  Here to protect her. Not to get close to her. No matter that the way she’s looking at me melts my guts into a puddle.

  “Should we keep going?” I ask.

  She nods, but she pulls her eyes from mine a little too slowly. I’m cursing the heat of the afternoon and the heat from her that I feel in every inch of my body. I rub my eyes under my sunglasses and follow her along the sidewalk to a nondescript building. A small sign out front announces it as the Laura Woodward Residence Center. I glare at the building, only somewhat relieved to find a warning posted on the front door.

  Notice: This property is protected by electronic surveillance.

  The sticker affixed to the upper corner of the glass door is so faded by the sun, it’s hardly readable. But the icon of the video camera is unmistakable. I’m praying the sign isn’t for show. There’s got to be an eye in the sky someplace actually recording the premises.

  I nod without pointing to the sign. “Where’s the camera?”

  She widens her eyes. “What do you mean?”

  I lift my brows and look up at the sign. “Security surveillance. There’s got to be one somewhere.”

  “A camera? I don’t know,” she says, pushing the sunglasses onto her forehead. “I’ve never noticed. Honestly, I’ve never even looked at that sign before now.” She looks discouraged and tugs the sunglasses from her face. “How the hell have I never noticed this stuff before?”

  “Most people don’t,” I reassure her.

  My stomach knots, but I’m not surprised. Half these signs are old. Left up because just the idea that there are security cameras is often enough of a deterrent to make the bad guys think twice.

  I’ve had plenty of clients keep signs in their windows long after the security system broke, went down, or simply stopped being paid for.

  A sign does not mean there is surveillance. I can only hope a private school like this would do better, but my expectations are pretty fucking low at this point.

  “Come on,” I say, totally not surprised when I’m able to open the front door. No locks. No passcode. No keycards. Fucking great. “Tell me about this grudge.”

  I hold the exterior door open for Annie and keep my eyes as far away from her ass as I’m humanly able to manage as she walks past me.

  “My dad’s girlfriend,” she explains. “Dad was seeing Cathy for a year or so. It was pretty casual at first, but I don’t really know what happened. Dad said she started getting serious. Wanted to move in together, but I guess he wasn’t ready for that, or so he said at the time.” Annie’s flip-flops echo against the tile floor as she leads me toward an elevator. “Don’t get me wrong. Cathy and I got along fine. I wasn’t a huge fan of hers, but there was no tension. No problems to speak of. Dad seemed happy enough to have someone, but it wasn’t this, like, love story. You know? I mean, if my dad had really wanted her to move in, I would have supported it.”

  “Would you really?” I press, watching as she pushes the button for the elevator. “First comes living together, and then, not long after, most women would expect a ring.”

  She frowns slightly. “I mean…yeah. I think that’s what Cathy wanted. After she and Dad broke up, she sent me a kind of shitty text.”

  I perk up at that. “What did she say?”

  Annie presses the number seven. There are eight floors in this building. I make a note to ride up to the top before I leave to check out roof access and anything else that might help me do my job.

  “The text was weird,” she admits, settling her back against the wall of the elevator. She looks me up and down, her eyes thoughtful. “She said, I hope you get what you want, Annie. He’s all yours now.”

  “That sounds ominous,” I mutter. “Not to mention fucking weird. She meant your dad?”

  She shrugs, and the elevator dings to announce we’re at the seventh floor. “I guess. Maybe my dad used me as an excuse to break it off? I don’t know. He’s been going through a lot the last year, and every time I brought it up, he was too tired to deal.”

  Once we’re off the elevator, I scan the hallway. The elevator is at the end of the hallway that leads right to student rooms. I can see decorated doors, some open with students walking or talking across the hall, and a few people out in the halls. The place is decidedly tame for a dorm full of artists.

  “Classes are in session right now,” Annie says, pointing to an old-fashioned clock on the wall. “There are usually more people around than this. Undergrads are on floors one through six, but seven and eight are grad students, so it’s normally a lot more boring up here.”

  “Great,” I say, meaning it. More people around meant fewer chances that a stranger could come and go unnoticed. That is, if Annie’s letter-writer is, in fact, a stranger. If it’s someone who belongs here, who blends in, that just makes the whole situation that much harder to assess.

  “So,” I say as we walk down the hall toward her room. “What’s the guest policy in the dorms? Is anyone going to check my identification? Will anyone even know I’m here?”

  Annie shakes her head. “There is a policy of no non-students staying overnight,” she says. She chuckles and rolls her eyes. “But I can tell you that’s really not enforced. The exterior doors are locked at ten. After that, there is a security guard posted out front. We have to take food deliveries out there, and no guests are allowed in. Other buildings have keycard access after they close, but I guess they had too many incidents with drunk kids losing their keycards.”

  I’m about to say I’m relieved there is a security guard someplace on this so-called campus, but Annie has stopped in front of a door and is jiggling her key in the lock.

  “That’s weird,” she says softly.

  “What?” I demand, stepping close to her. “What is it?”

  “I turned the key, and I think I just locked the door. Like it was maybe unlocked.”

  “Do you remember locking it? Do you ever leave the door unlocked?” I ask. Annie’s door is nondescript. Just a basic metal plate with the room number etched into it. No colorful decorations or her name signifying who lives there. I’m relieved for that much, at least.

  “I always lock it, but I did lose my keys for a while this morning.” She turns to face me, her eyes wide. “Shit, Josh…”

  Her hand is on the knob, and she’s turning it, looking back at me as though I can stop whatever scary thing might be ahead.

  “Annie, wait,” I say, but it’s too late. She pushes the door open, and we see what’s happened to her room at exactly the same time.

  “Oh my God…” She stops in her tracks just as I start to move forward. Her backpack hits me in the chest, and she spins on a heel. “I’m sorry,” she blurts, but I don’t move.

  The next thing I know, her face is buried in my chest.

  5

  ANNIE

  They’ve been in my room.

  And they’ve fucking trashed it.

  Any hope I had that this was a harmless prank fades away along with the last shreds of my courage. Maybe this isn’t the work of the same person sending me those notes. But something in my gut tells me that it is all related.

  It has to be. Just has to be.

  The reality hits me like a ton of bricks the moment I see everything I own wrecked.

  The sour taste of sickness rises in my throat. This can’t be happening. I don’t believe it. But it’s real. Even though the proof is right in front of my eyes.

  I have to face this. Whatever this is. But at least I took the first step in hiring Josh.

  But I can’t stop myself from closing my eyes and turning around, ready to run. “Shit. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” As soon as my face hits the smooth, hard muscles of Josh’s chest, I realize what I’ve done. If I weren’t scared half out of my damn mind, I’d have wanted to spend a lot more time chest-to-chest with him.

  Inappropriate, yes, but I can’t help it.

  I would be back in my car driving the hell out of here already, but there’s a massive, tattooed wall standing between me and escape. My personal bodyguard-slash-PI is sweet, smart, and freaking sexy. But he’s also big. There’s no way I’m getting around him and running away until he lets me go.

  “It’s all right. Just stay behind me.” His voice is a growl as he pushes me to his back.

  I’m just relieved he seems totally unfazed by the fact that I practically launched myself into his arms. I don’t have time to be embarrassed.

  I move out of the way and stand in the hallway as Josh shoves the door all the way open. I can’t very well run off while he walks headfirst into this, so I stand there, knees shaking and sweat breaking out on my forehead.

  “Bathroom?” he whispers.

  I nod and point to a closed door. When I first moved in, I was relieved that the rooms on the grad student floors had private bathrooms. Only the undergrads share showers and toilets. But now, all my excitement at the luxury fades to misery.

  Someone could still be in my room.

  But that doesn’t stop Josh.

  “Wait here.” He walks softly into my room, stepping around the chaos that has unfolded in front of us.

  My eyes sting with tears as I look at what’s been done.

  Whoever did this, they ruined everything.

  The mattress has been pulled off the bed. It hangs over the edge of the frame, sagging in defeat. My pillows have been shredded, even the pink faux-fur throw pillows that I hand-made. Clumps of pink fur have settled in piles of downy feathers.

  It’s more than just a mess. It feels like a message.

  The insides of everything I’ve loved are just gutted.

  My closet door is open, and every top, skirt, and pair of pants has been pulled from the hangers and tossed on the floor. Every drawer hangs open like gaping mouths, my underwear, socks, and tanks scattered like confetti.

  The books have not been tossed from my shelves, but I suspect that’s because that would have made too much noise. The books that I had on the built-in desk have pages torn out and crumpled.

  The few posters, mostly inexpensive art prints I’d hung on the walls, have not just been torn down but ripped in half.

  And all my art supplies—yarn, fabric, buttons—were dumped into a pile. It could take me days to sort through this mess. And even then, I might not be able to salvage anything.

  Everything I own has been touched by some stranger. Someone who took the time to come into my private space and terrorize me.

  My heart starts to thunder, and my knees go weak. I want to look behind me, make sure there’s no one there in the hallway, but Josh is saying my name.

  “Annie? Come on.” His voice is steady, and he extends a hand to me. “Bathroom’s clear. It’s safe.”

  I look at his tattooed forearm, the long fingers that beckon me to join him. I’m stuck in a fear spiral, not sure whether to run into my room, toward all the things that make my life mine, or run away.

  Instead, I stay rooted in place.

  I think I might be in shock.

  Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I’ve never even seen a car accident. I don’t have any clue what the right thing to do is.

  I shake my head as fear and the very beginnings of anger start to burn in my belly. “I can’t,” I say, squinting. “I can’t…”

  “Annie.” Josh has crossed the floor, stepping as carefully as he can around the piles of my belongings.

  I try not to notice the bras and boy briefs lying right there in the open for anyone to see. I swallow back a sob.

  “Annie.” Josh is close now. He offers me his tattoo-covered hand. “I need you to come inside, please. We need to see if anything was taken or if the place was just torn up. You’re safe with me. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I promise.”

  I look down at the hand he’s holding out to me again, willing myself to accept his help. To trust him. My palms break out in an immediate sweat, but I take his tattooed hand. I take one step inside the room, and Josh reaches past me to close the door. I sway a little bit on my feet, and the next thing I know, his hands are around my arms.

  Holding me up. Supporting me.

  “Hey,” he says, dipping his chin to look into my eyes. “Hey, hey, Annie. Look at me, okay? Stay with me.”

  I give him a weak smile and look into his deep blue eyes. “I’m not going to faint,” I tell him. “At least, I don’t think so.”

  “Good,” he says, his voice reassuring and smooth. He sounds relieved, but there’s something in his tone that’s encouraging in a way that makes the tiny hairs on my arms stand up. “That’s good, Annie.”

  The praise in his voice makes me feel a confusing mix of reactions. It’s completely the wrong time and totally the wrong place to feel anything for my bodyguard, but the way he croons at me, it’s hard not to imagine him calling me a good girl in a very, very different situation.

  I nod, trying to brush away the traitorous thoughts about Josh. “So, what…what do I do? I mean, it’s all ruined. Everything I own.”

  His face looks grim, and a shadow passes over his handsome face. “Fuck, Annie. I’m sorry. Can you look through what’s here? Can you tell if anything is missing? Just don’t move or touch anything. We’re going to need to call the police in a minute. They’ll want to know if anything was stolen or if this is something else.”

  I should have known that’s what he’d say. And I know it’s stupid, but the thought of calling the police is the thing that makes all of this real. I drop my backpack and cover my face with my hands just as the tears start to fall.

  “Tell me it’s a coincidence.” I wipe the tears from my face, but I don’t know how I’m going to pull it together. Where to go from here? I mean, my God. I can’t sleep here tonight. But I also can’t go to my father’s.

  My thoughts must be plainly readable on my face because Josh is close to me again, his hands on my arms. “Hey,” he says. “One step at a time. One minute at a time. You got this.”

  But I don’t got this. I literally don’t have anything. Not anymore. And definitely not the feeling of safety I used to have.

  I stand there quietly, absorbing the calming strength that his touch brings. I’m grateful for it. I need it. Even if it makes me feel weak to need it. Isn’t this exactly what I hired him for, though?

  It’s okay, I tell myself. He’s doing his job. He probably hugs weeping women every day. This is just that. Nothing more.

  I take a few steady breaths when a sharp knock at the door has me leaping out of my flip-flops and straight at Josh.

  “What the fuck,” I blurt out. My heart starts rattling in my chest in time with my irrational thoughts.

  They’re back. Whoever did this is here. They’re back. I know then that I don’t have what it takes to be a fighter. In a fight-or-flight situation, I’m more likely to grow wings and freaking fly than open that door and fight back. I hate that about myself. It’s not the kind of thing anyone wants to believe, but it becomes clear what kind of man Josh is when he laces his fingers through mine and tugs me so I’m standing behind him.

  “Who’s there?” he barks.

  “Who the hell is in there? Annie Hannie? You okay?”

  I place a hand on Josh’s back as relief washes over me for a moment. “It’s my RA,” I tell him, my voice shaking. “Resident adviser. She supervises the floor. She’s like a peer counselor.”

  “You want her here?” he whispers. “I can tell her to bug off.”

  “No, let her in. She’s going to have to find out about this anyway.” I squeeze his hand and then release him, immediately missing the comforting heat from his touch.

  He nods once and turns the knob, opening the door to Neveah.

  “Who the hell might you be?” She’s glaring at him, and I can see her trying to peer around him to look for me. “Annie?” she calls out. “Hey, babe, you okay?”