Mission: Her Protection (Team 52 #1)(26)

“Whatever I have to do to keep you safe, I’ll do it,” he said, tone firm.

Rowan’s heart clenched. No one had ever said those words to her before.

Callie took another towel and covered the dead man on the concrete. “Police are coming. Let’s move.”

Rowan quickly looked away and Lachlan nudged her forward. They moved through the curious crowd, flanked by Blair and Callie. They skirted around the edge of the main casino and came out the front entrance. A second later, a black SUV pulled up at the curb. The door opened, and Rowan spotted Smith behind the wheel.

Axel and Seth materialized out of nowhere.

Rowan took one step toward the SUV, but Lachlan stopped her.

“Rowan’s with me tonight. I’ll get Brooks working on figuring out who did this, and report to the director. Blair, can you get her stuff?”

“Sure,” Blair replied. “What about the cops?”

“Call MacKade.”

Blair’s face didn’t change, but Rowan felt something shift in the woman’s demeanor. Behind her, Axel pressed his tongue to his teeth and studied his boots.

“Who’s MacKade?” Rowan asked.

Blair’s nose wrinkled. “An arrogant asshole.”

Lachlan made a sound. “A detective at the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police and our contact. Call him.”

“Fuck. Fine.” Blair stomped off, her blonde ponytail swinging.

Rowan had questions, but right now, her energy was flagging. She wanted to curl up and block out the world for a bit. “I need some chocolate.”

Axel grinned at her, and then Lachlan was pulling her away from the SUV. She frowned. Where were they going?

Lachlan stopped in front of a motorcycle. A sleek, modern-looking beast of a thing. He took the towel off her and tossed it over a low brick wall. Then he swung a long leg over and grabbed a helmet from the handlebars.

“I’m not getting on that,” she said.

Damn, he looked so good on it—tough and sexy.

“Yes, you are.” He looked at her, his eyes glittering again. “Someone tried to kill you tonight. I’m pretty sure you don’t want to end up dead, and I’m going to keep you alive. Now, get on the bike.”

She huffed out a breath. The man had dived off the building for her. “I’ve never been on a motorcycle like this before.”

His face softened the tiniest fraction. “I’ll take care of you.”

Rowan was starting to believe that. She gingerly climbed on behind him and he settled the helmet on her head. She tried not to focus on the fact that she was braless, in tiny pajama shorts, and no shoes.

A moment later, the bike’s engine vibrated to life beneath her.

“Hold on,” he said.

Rowan felt a strange thrill and wrapped her arms around him. She’d been on a motorbike before, but it had been a rattling death trap that they’d used on a jungle research trip in Central America.

This bike was nothing like that.

He took off, the bike zooming forward. She tightened her hold, pressing into him until she was plastered against his muscled back.

It didn’t take long for the warm wind to dry her wet clothes. They zipped through traffic, and a new energy filled her. This rocked. There was nothing but Lachlan and the wind on her skin.

He weaved in and out of cars, and soon they entered a more residential area not far from the Strip. It wasn’t fancy, but not rundown, either.

He slowed down in front of a nice condo building, and a second later they drove into an underground parking lot. He parked the bike, and reached back and took her helmet.

His gaze locked on her. “You okay?”

She blinked. “I think so. Uh, I’d love another ride sometime.”

The faintest smile touched his mouth before he took her hand and helped her off. He led her toward the elevator. Before she knew it, he was leading her down a carpeted hallway and into his condo.

As he flicked lights on and tapped a code on a fancy security system, Rowan looked around with interest. The place screamed “man lives here.” He had dark-stained wooden floors. A huge, black-leather sofa faced an enormous television. Off to one side was a galley kitchen with granite counters and shiny appliances, and a cool wall covered in shiny silver metal. The appliances didn’t look like they got much use. Lachlan didn’t strike her as the cooking type. Cart a rifle around, no problem, but probably not a spatula.

He grabbed her hand again, and this time, tugged her down the hall and into a bedroom.

Rowan sucked in a breath. The bed was huge and covered in a forest-green cover. Lachlan moved to a chest of drawers, opening one. He turned and handed her a T-shirt.

“We need to talk,” she said.

“We will.” He touched a strand of her still-damp hair. “After you shower and change. You’ve had a rough night, on top of a rough few days.”

He turned her and nudged her toward the adjoining bathroom. Then he stalked out.

He was still looking out for her. Her fingers brushed the soft fabric of the T-shirt. She’d almost been killed—more than once, in fact—and her parents hadn’t even returned her calls. But Lachlan had come to her and jumped off a building for her.

In the bathroom, Rowan looked in the mirror. She had dark circles under her eyes, and her partly dried hair was a tangled mess. She flicked on the shower inside the big glass enclosure. When she stepped under the hot water she stifled a moan. It felt like heaven.