“I’m not willing to cancel all of my appearances and go hide in some cabin, Blayze.” Sophia folded her arms in defiance as Blayze yanked the shirt he’d worn earlier from the back of a chair and shoved it into his bag.

“Too bad,” he grumbled, storming to the closet. He tugged a long-sleeved shirt from the hanger and shrugged into it before snatching a pair of folded jeans from the shelf. “I’m about to drop my shorts so I suggest you turn around and get packing your own things.”

Before Sophia could register what he said, Blayze took hold of the waistband of his gym shorts at either side.

She jerked away fast, turning to face the open doorway instead. Anger raged within her. “You said you’d be respectful of my choices. That you wouldn’t just make executive decisions with my father and Roman.”

“I’m not,” he said. “This decision was all mine. You said the one you refused to miss was on November 4th. I’ll get you to that one. But the rest are canceled until further notice.”

“Tomorrow’s was really important to me too. It’s second on my priority list.”

“Which is probably why this guy upped the stakes tonight,” he said. “Now get packing unless you want me to do it for you.”

A vision of Blayze recklessly tossing her makeup into its case was enough to get her moving. They definitely needed to leave the penthouse; there was no arguing that. If she could just do tomorrow’s event, she’d trade it for all the others leading up to the one on November 4th. It was one of the most well attended events of the season.

Great. Sophia shouldn’t have kissed him. How was he supposed to see her as just a client now that they’d tested the romantic sparks between them? Ignited them was more like it.

Even among the anger and fear—the sheer chaos of the moment—a secret thrill rumbled deep in her chest. That kiss had been something else. Well, kisses, since they’d shared an exchange that could’ve lasted the entire night long if they’d let it.

Sophia shook her head and focused on the task at hand. Twisting lids on texture cream and toothpaste. Wrapping cords around the blow dryer and straightener. A rustle sounded from the room, and she stepped back to catch a view from the bathroom to the armoire. Blayze was there, removing her wardrobe bag and laying it flat across the foot of the bed. She turned her attention back to the vanity, listening as he unzipped the bag.

“I still have to get clothes on, you know?” she hollered.

“Am I safe to assume you won’t be wearing one of your business suits?”

“Skirt suits,” she corrected. “And yes, I guess.” Irritation stirred up again. “I’m almost done in here. I’ll be there in a sec to help. Why don’t you…”

“What?” he snapped.

“Nothing.” She zipped up her makeup kit, wedged it into the large cosmetic bag, and hiked it over her shoulder. “We knew this was coming,” she said, scurrying through the bedroom to the dresser. “I don’t know what the big surprise is.” She pulled open the bottom drawer where she’d placed a pair of jeans. Bringing them had been more of an afterthought, but she was glad to have them now. She settled on a light-knit sweater and scurried back to the bathroom, closing it enough to give her privacy to change.

“You’re just going to ignore my last comment?” She stepped into the legs of her jeans and tugged them over her thighs. “Huh?”

“Sophia, I’m focused on your safety right now. I’m not purposely ignoring you. Can we please put this conversation on hold and we’ll pick up once we’re in the SUV?”

She shrugged the sweater over her head before threading her arms through the sleeves. “Fine.”

“Roman just texted me. He’s heading down to the car and wants us to meet him outside the parking elevator.

Sophia remained quiet, but inwardly she was warring with herself. She couldn’t just back down and miss out on two of the most important events on her schedule. Why should they let him win like that? It wasn’t fair.

Blayze draped the wardrobe bag over his arm, snatched the cosmetic bag she’d rested on the floor, then nodded toward her upright suitcase beside her. The words, I’m letting you carry that were so clear in the action he may as well have spoken them.

She didn’t argue, only glanced toward the massive wall of windows as she followed him through the penthouse and toward the entryway. A vision of that pretty package came to mind, the way it disintegrated in a flash behind the glass. In her anger, Sophia had silenced the initial fear, but as she let her eyes drift back to their spot on the couch, the untouched bottle sitting in the ice bucket, that fear came back full force. Blayze wasn’t the only one who’d been influenced by their shared time. Because in that moment, the person she feared for most was him. He’d sworn to protect her. To risk his life for her.

The burden of that promise lay thick as the elevator made its descent, bypassing the main floor and going straight into the underground parking garage. Away from all the normal people experiencing normal things like late-night cocktails at the bar.

The double doors rolled apart with a heavy whoosh. A wave of cool, musky air rushed into the space. Roman stood on the other side of the doors, his back against the SUV. A whirlwind of opening doors, tossing luggage, and slamming the hatchback ensued, and soon each of them was seated.

Yellowed light cast shadows over the garage as they wound their way toward the exit. At the mouth of the cave-like structure, Roman took a right onto Concord Street at the edge of San Bernardino.

“How many men inspected the vehicle?” Blayze asked.

“Two besides myself,” Roman said. “One who specializes in explosives.”

The thought hadn’t even occurred to Sophia that the SUV could be rigged. She sucked in a long deep breath, held it while the oxygen fed her brain, then released it slowly. She repeated the action before turning in her seat to face Blayze.

He was already scratching at his notepad. Hurried scribbles that made sense to him and no one else. It deepened the mystery where he was concerned. So quiet one moment. Holding on to his past and his hurt like honored battle wounds.

And then… the moment he’d opened up to her on the couch. Blayze Brockton might be muscled, toned, and ruggedly handsome on the outside, but in that precious time they’d shared, Sophia caught a glimpse into the beauty he carried in his soul. Something she’d dare say very few had come to see.

“There was money in that package,” Blayze mumbled. “Which makes me think this guy wants revenge over lost funds. Theft. Embezzlement. Something along those lines.” He glanced over at her. “Your father, as District Attorney, can he determine what the sentences are?”

Sophia shook her head. “No. But he does decide which cases go to trial. He has the power to dismiss a case or see that it’s pursued.”

He made a few more marks on his page, drawing a solid line from the center of the page to the top left corner. He made a circle there, then drew a dollar bill sign inside. “I’m going to have them narrow their search to cases related to money. Starting with every case he passed on to trial during his time as DA before your mother’s death. If nothing lines up with names at the motel around that time, we’ll go further back.”

She nodded, eyeing the darkened view beyond the window. They were getting on the freeway now, which caused that stubborn irritation to flare up once more. “So, we’re heading to your cabin, even though I’m against the idea?”

“No,” Blayze assured. “We’re going to drive until we can come to an agreement.”

Roman eyed her from the rearview. “Your father wants me to ring him in for a conference call,” he said.

“In a minute,” Blayze growled. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. There’s more defiance when parental figures are involved, and I’d like to eliminate that element for now and talk with her, just the two of us first.”

Sophia’s face scrunched up. “You think I’ll be more defiant if my father’s involved? You can’t just decide that.”

Blayze tilted his head, studying her for a moment. “Some of us are more likely to fold under parental pressure. Others tend to dig in their heels, for lack of a better word. You’re the latter. And I didn’t just decide that. I can tell.”

Sophia felt her eyes widen in irritation. “Well, that’s rich.” She could hardly believe the nerve of him.

“For what it’s worth, I agree,” Roman piped from the front seat.

“You know, I can’t wait to turn the tables on you guys. Start spitting out a bunch of psychobabble that stuffs you into some… neatly labeled box.”

“Your father alerted the university about the threat,” Roman said. “The staff and security team will meet in about five hours to discuss the best course of action. But the representative he spoke with said they probably won’t tell you not to come.”

Sophia’s shoulders lifted a notch.

“They will, however,” Roman continued, “likely ask that you reconsider. They may suggest you explore replacement options. Not only for your safety but for that of the other attendees.”

Sophia’s shoulders drooped. “Now the press is going to get hold of it.”

Blayze nodded. “Yes. There’s no avoiding it. A bomb poses a very wide threat, and that can’t be taken lightly by anyone who catches wind of it. Especially when we consider the damage this guy’s proven to be capable of.”

Sophia’s shoulders tensed up so tight it hurt. The rigid clench of her jaw was an ache all its own, but she held firm, willing her bottom lip to stop trembling. “I hate this,” she spat, wanting to punch an angry fist through the glass. “I hate this so bad.” Her chin began to tremble. Every detail of this moment had her feeling like an angry tiger she’d seen once at the zoo. Roaring and raging, clawing at bark and leaves and air.

“Here.” Blayze ripped the page from his battered notebook and handed it over with the pen.

Sophia looked at it, distracted before glancing up at him.

“Put your thoughts on it. Take your anger out on it. Tear it into shreds. Whatever you’d like.”

She shook her head.

“I mean it,” he urged. “Try.”

“It won’t help.”

“What would you like to say to the guy right now? If he was standing right in front of you?”

Sophia glared down at the paper, imagining she could deliver a message right to his face. She snatched the pen from him first, then the notebook. “You don’t care if I ruin this?”

“Plenty more where that came from,” was all he said.

With a hard grip on the pen, Sophia dug letters into the top page. Big angry ones, the tip of the pen cutting into the paper below it.

I can’t stand you.

I hate the things you have done, she wrote next.

I hate that you took my mom from me. I hate that I live in fear because of you. I hate that my father has to worry about losing me too.

Sophia shook her head, mad that she was censoring herself, even in the simple exercise. She tipped her head back, forced out an angry breath, and told herself to let go of whatever stopped her from writing what she wanted to write. She tore off the top three pages, saw indents of her declarations etched into that page as well. And there, she made new ones.

I hate you.

I hate you for killing my mother.

I hate you for making my father cry.

For making him lonely. Hurt. Broken.

Because of you she’ll never see me get married. She’ll never hold a grandchild. She won’t grow old with my father. And I hate you for that!

With each declaration, the smothering impotence waned. Determination took its place. She wouldn’t cower if they came face-to-face. Stand there helplessly while he marched in with explosives ready to do his worst. She would fight. Do what it took to preserve her own life.

You have robbed me. But you WON’T take my life.

I’d rather kill you myself than let you take it.

It felt like enough energy had surged through her to power the White House for a year. With a shaky hand, she dropped the pen onto the tattered page, scribbles, rips, and messy declarations. She could feel the heat of Blayze’s gaze on her, but she didn’t mind sharing the intimate moment with him. He was safe, and she knew that.

She glanced up at him through her lashes and let out a jagged breath. “You were right,” she said, tension draining from her so fast she went weak. “That felt good.”

He grinned, unfastened his belt, and scooted close enough to toss his arms around her. “You did good,” he murmured into her hair.

A small piece of Sophia was vaguely aware that Roman was keying in on their interaction. Ready to report back to her father. She didn’t mind. She knew Papa well enough. He would’ve never suggested Blayze take her for an evening out if he didn’t already have his stamp of approval. Something he didn’t hand out freely.

They stayed that way for a long while, flashes of light coming few and far between as they stayed their course, whatever that was. Which reminded her of what Blayze had said: they’d drive around until she agreed on a place.

The last thing she wanted to do was put others in harm’s way; may as well consider her replacements. Michelle Marshall sat at the top of that list. She’d do an excellent job. Proudly. Boldly. And for the sake of her mother and the threat over Sophia’s head, the woman would deliver with all the gusto she could muster.

With the decision made, Sophia pulled away from the warmth of Blayze’s strong arms and broad chest. “I’ll allow for a replacement,” she said. “Michelle Marshall. I’ll notify my father about it now. Then…” she added, searching his handsome face. “Then, we can go to your cabin.”