“Have you ever shot a gun?” Colin inquired as he laid his arsenal out on the blanket-covered, wooden bench in front of us.

I tried not to roll my eyes at his stupid question.

“You know I grew up here in Texas, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well? Then why’d you ask?”

“Not everyone in Texas owns a gun, smartass. And, sorry to say, you don’t really look like the huntin’ type.” My nose scrunched at the thought of killing a poor helpless animal. “I see I was right.”

“I don’t know what parts of Texas you’ve been to, that you’d draw that conclusion, but where I grew up, we all learned to shoot as soon as we could walk.”

“Walk, huh?”

Damn, his laugh was sexy. I was almost glad he rarely did it because when he forgot to scowl at me, his smile made him even more good looking. And the deep rumble of his laugh made my girly parts wake up and take notice.

“Pretty much. Daddy bought me my first Mossberg .22 rifle for Christmas when I was ten. He always said, if there were guns in the house, we needed to know gun safety.”

“Smart man.”

“That he is.”

I missed those days, when my dad was just my dad. When he wasn’t the governor or the president. The man who used to give me piggyback rides, go on hikes with me, and take me camping in the back woods of our property. I guess I couldn’t blame everything on politics. When I hit my preteens, I stupidly favored doing things with my friends. I’d thought my dad would always be there waiting.

“All right, Annie Oakley, pick which one you wanna start with.”

I looked over the selection of handguns he’d laid out and I knew exactly which one I wanted. I picked up the Smith & Wesson M&P 9mm. The grip was a better fit for my hand than the Sig Sauer, and would have less recoil than the Glock .45 ACP.

“You wanna make a bet?” I asked as I slid my eye protection on.

“A bet?”

“Yeah. You know, a wager.”

“I know what a bet is. What I don’t know is why you’d think it’s a good idea to challenge me.”

“Cocky much?”

“Sweet cheeks, you ain’t seen cocky.”

He wouldn’t be smirking for long, that was for damn sure. Colin had much to learn about me, one of those things being I was a damn good shot. I had the ribbons to prove I’d been the state 4-H shooting sports champion in both rifle and pistol.

“All right, Mr. Dead-eye-dick. Fifty bucks for the tightest grouping at twenty-five feet?”

“I can’t take your money, Erin.”

“Well, that’s a relief because I’m not planning on giving it to you.”

“You do realize I spend a good amount of time at the range?”

“I’m sure you do.”

“Winner gets a five-minute foot massage.”

“No way. I hate feet. If you’re so worried about losing your money, we’ll do a five-minute shoulder rub.”

“You don’t like feet?”

“Are you stalling?”

His head lolled back, and his deep, belly laugh filled the otherwise silent range.

“All right, Miss. Ladies first.”

With a shrug, I pulled my hearing protection over my ears and loaded the magazine. I settled into a shooter’s stance and brought the familiar weight of the Smith & Wesson eye level and lined up the sights. I slowly took up the slack on the trigger before I squeezed off the full ten-round magazine.

“Well, fuck me sideways.”

“Eh. I pulled to the right on a few of those.”

I had a fist-sized grouping, meaning that all of my bullets had hit within a two-inch diameter on the paper target.

“Went straight for the heart, I see.” Colin shook his head and smiled. “Typical woman.”

He picked up the Sig Sauer and moved over in front of his target. He, however, did not slowly bring the gun up eye level like I did. He pushed the barrel in the direction of the target and fired in rapid succession. When he was done, he had a silver-dollar sized grouping. From the distance we were from the targets, it looked like there was a big hole where the bullseye used to be.

“Show off.”

“Warned you. You’re not gonna renege, are you? My back is killing me after sleeping on the too hard mattress last night.”

“Glad I turned down the offer of the master bedroom then. The spare room’s bed is nice and comfy.”

I wasn’t buying the story about the hard mattress. I’d seen the invoice for the new furniture on the kitchen table. It cost a bloody fortune. I’d furnished my entire apartment on what he’d spent on the bedrooms alone, and I didn’t have cheap stuff.

“Guess you got lucky,” he said, talking about my choice of beds.

“Right. I think you just want me to touch you.”

“Maybe.”

He removed the magazine and cleared his Sig before setting it back down on the bench and coming to stand next to me.

“You’re aiming,” he told me.

“Um . . . yeah. Of course I’m aiming.”

“At twenty-five feet you don’t need to aim. And if someone was coming at you and already that close there’s no time to line up your sights. Pick up the Smith.” I did what he asked, and he stepped behind me and wrapped his arms around me. His work-roughened hands covered mine, and he squeezed. “Tight grip. Keep your hands close to your body. Bring the gun up chest level and push straight at the target. Don’t worry about your sight picture. This close all you need to worry about is grip and trigger control.”

I was having a hard time concentrating on what he was saying. I’d forgotten about his hands covering mine and was more focused on the fact his very hard front was pressed against my back. Heat from his body was radiating through the layers of fabric separating our bare skin, but it did nothing to stop the warmth from penetrating.

“Are you listening to me?”

His hot breath was at my ear, and all I had to do was turn my head and we’d be face-to-face. I didn’t dare move, or breathe really. For months, I’d tried to beat back the attraction. It hadn’t gone over well the one time I’d given into it and, in a moment of unusual boldness, kissed him. It only proved Colin wanted nothing to do with me.

“Of course I am. What else would I be doing?”

“Daydreaming.”

“Whatever. Tight grip, push the barrel toward the target, and trigger control. Got it.”

“Last thing, you’re anticipating the shot. That’s why you’re pulling high and to the right.”

Now that my body had caught fire, I was anticipating a lot, however, recoil wasn’t one of those things.

“Got it. Can you back away now?”

He let go of my hands and stepped back, and I immediately regretted my request.

“Go ahead and reload. I’ll reset the targets.”

Over the next hour we shot hundreds of rounds, and, by the end, my grouping, while still not as tight as his, was much better. All in all, it was a fun day. Much different than any day I’d spent with Colin thus far. Normally, it was him escorting me as my bodyguard to different functions around D.C. and Maryland. Or he was pacing my apartment like a caged beast on afterhours babysitting detail.

The drive back to his house was pleasant, albeit mostly silent. Until we pulled into his neighborhood and he asked about my relationship with Olivia Cox-Newton, now Olivia Gillonardo, since she’d married Leo. I was a little taken aback, Colin had gone out of his way not to ask me anything personal. Most of our conversations consisted of schedules, logistical issues, and my father’s need to wrap me in cotton—especially after Olivia had been kidnapped.

“What about my relationship with Olivia?” I asked for clarification.

“Why haven’t you accepted any of her invitations to visit?”

“We’ve both been busy. Besides, now that I have my own security force following me around, it makes it a little difficult to do anything.”

“Right, because you haven’t had the secret service around you for the last seven years.” He called me out on my lie.

“She has Leo, and her mom’s been sick, and she just found out who her dad is.”

“All the more reason she needs her best friend.”

I was fast becoming annoyed. He pulled into the garage and I debated asking if I could move into the apartment above it, even though Colin had already told me it wasn’t furnished yet.

“What do you want from me?”

“The truth.”

“The truth is,” I snapped, “I was supposed to go out with her that night. But we got into a fight so I didn’t go. It’s my fault they took her.”

“Your fault? There was nothing you would’ve been able to do to stop them.”

“As you said, I’ve always had secret service with me. They stay in the background and try to blend into the crowd when we’re in public, as if that’s really possible. If I’d been there, she would’ve been protected.”

I hated thinking about Olivia’s kidnapping. I hated that I still couldn’t face her. I missed her so much but I couldn’t forgive myself. I let her down.

“Then they would’ve taken her when she went home, or the next day, or the one after that. She was snatched from the bar because they found their opening. She was being kidnapped one way or another. The plan had been set in motion, and no one, especially you, was going to be able to change the outcome.”

The look on Colin’s face told me he believed what he was telling me. And that was fine. But it didn’t mean I had to. If I’d been there with my security detail, Olivia wouldn’t have been taken from the bar, that was a fact. And it would’ve meant one less day in captivity, one less day being scared, one more day safe in her own home. I should’ve been there and given that to her. Instead, I was pissed at her and refused to go out. Then she was gone.

Colin, being the perceptive man he was, caught on that I was done talking about Olivia, and with a sigh you’d expect from a five-year-old not getting his way, he got out of the car. I knew better than to exit without him scanning the area first and then opening my door. I’d been scolded enough in the past I didn’t think I’d ever open my own door again. Even if I thought he was being overly cautious, it wasn’t worth another argument.

He led us into the house and went straight for the alarm panel before turning back to me.

“Hungry?”

We’d skipped lunch while on post, and I was starving. “Yeah. I’ll cook tonight. You did it last night.”

“Do you know how?”

“Why would you ask that? Do you really think I’m some spoiled bitch who’s been pampered my whole life?”

I hated that he thought so poorly of me. I shouldn’t have cared, but it rankled he constantly mistook me for a mollycoddled girl who’d never done anything for herself.

“It has nothing to do with me thinking you’re spoiled and everything to do with being hungry.”

“Sure, it does.”

Not wanting to debate the state of his hunger, or how he’d placed me in this box of affluent indulgence where people waited on me hand and foot, I went into the kitchen. I searched the fridge and pantry and found both well-stocked. Figuring Colin was a steak and potatoes kind of guy, I pulled out everything I needed and went to work. The mundane task reminded me of my mom and the time we’d spent in the kitchen together when I was younger. She’d always told me the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach and while she thought a woman should and could do anything she wanted outside of the home, it was still important to know how to run a household. When my father became president, our time in the kitchen was one of the many things that had changed. My mom had happily taken on more responsibility in my father’s White House. She refused to become what the media had portrayed her as, nothing more than arm candy. It was true my mom was stunning, but she was smart, too, and played an active role in many goodwill trips overseas.

Unfortunately, that left me locked inside the confines of the White House grounds most of the time. Complaining about my upbringing or the luxuries I’d been afforded because of who my parents were made me sound like an entitled cow. But I wasn’t. I was very aware of all the extras I’d received and the top-notch education. However, other than the grades I’d received while in school, I hadn’t earned anything, it was all given to me, and I didn’t like that. Even the apartment I lived in was well above what I could pay, but the building was chosen for me because the agents that guarded me deemed it safe. So my father paid for it. He also paid for my car. My college education was taken care of by them as well. I was an adult and still living off Mommy and Daddy. Most days I felt like a failure.

An hour later dinner was ready and on the table, and I went in search of Colin. I found him in a downstairs office, I scanned the space, noting there were no personal items in this room either. The whole house had been furnished but looked like it was staged to sell, rather than to live in. No part of the house told me about the man who resided there.

“Dinner’s ready.”

“Okay.”

If he hadn’t been so caught up in what he was looking at, I would’ve found his lack of attention rude, but when I got a look at the images spread out over the desk in front of him, I felt like I was going to vomit.

“What are those?”

“Pictures that were sent to your father today. They obviously didn’t make it to his desk, but they were given to the secret service.”

“They’re of me.” I knew my voice sounded shrill, but it wasn’t every day I saw surveillance images of myself. “Who took those?”

“No clue. Zane and the team are analyzing them now.”

I stepped closer, getting a better look. “Who in the world would want to take pictures of me getting in and out of a car?”

“To prove they can. Or to show how close they’d been to you. These were not taken with a high-powered lens.”

“These are from a lunch meeting with the board of Hope for All.” I pointed to three pictures grouped together. “There you are in the back. We were in the private conference room.”

“Yes they were. Other than the men you were meeting with, the only other people in the room were the two waiters.”

He was right. We’d been discussing donations and opted to eat lunch away from the crowded dining room of the hotel where our monthly meetings were held.

“Wait. A woman came in right at the beginning to give Mr. George a message. Look, there’s no food on the table yet. These had to be taken before the servers came in to deliver our lunch, and my day planner is still in front of me on the table. I put that away when lunch was served.”

Colin picked up one of the glossy, four-by-six images and gave it a thorough examination.

“Fuck, you’re right. I totally missed the timing. Good eye.”

Something that felt a lot like happiness swelled inside of me. It was nice to be on the receiving end of his praise for once.

“Maybe if you kept me in the loop I could be of more help. I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”

His gaze shifted from the picture to me. “I don’t think you’re stupid, Erin. Far from it. I haven’t told you everything because there’s no reason to cause you unnecessary stress. It’s not only my job to keep you safe, but to allow you to continue to live your life as normally as possible.”

“Normal? You call having people following me all day, every day, normal? I don’t even remember what normal feels like.”

I had no control over my own life. I hadn’t for the last seven years. At least when I was a kid, before we moved to Washington, I had the same freedoms all the other kids my age had. Then D.C. happened, and I wasn’t just any other teenager, I was the first daughter, fair game for the tabloids and news outlets to take potshots at. My whole life was under the microscope. It fucking sucked.