Page 52 of Her Remarkable Protector
“You liked that, huh?” I grin, leaning closer. “What do you think? World tour next?”
Laramie’s expression shifts into something that can only be described as a scowl—a full baby grimace, complete with furrowed brows.
I laugh. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad, was it?”
For a second, I swear her tiny face mellows. Another maybe-smile? Or a look of pity? Either way, my heartstrings aren’t just pulled—they’re tangled into knots.
The warmth of the moment wraps around us, so cozy that I almost forget where I am. Almost.
Then the lights flicker.
A split-second disruption. First, the overhead lights dim, then the faint hum of the appliances dies, leaving a hollow silence in its wake.
I freeze, my grip on Laramie tightening slightly. The lights click back on, but the moment of stillness lingers.
“Probably a surge,” I murmur to her, trying to keep my voice steady. “Chase said the house has backups. Nothing to worry about.”
Still, I glance around, walking toward the windows. Each one is sealed tight, the world outside unmoving.
Everything’s quiet.
The phone buzzes, breaking the silence.
“Hello?” I answer cautiously.
“Honor?” The voice is deep. He doesn’t sound rushed. “This is Huxley. I’m outside.”
“Oh, hi!” I press the phone to my ear, rocking Laramie lightly in my other arm. “You didn’t have to call, you know the code.”
“I know,” he says, and I can almost hear the shrug. “But it felt rude to just waltz in. First impressions and all that.”
I laugh at his remark. “Consider me impressed. Actually, I was already impressed with what you’ve done for Laramie.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I can’t promise I picked the right paint swatches.”
I laugh again, picturing the muscly Red Mark agent holding up pastel cards in a hardware store.
Just as I’m about to tell him to get in, I hear a faint metallic rattle over the line.
Huxley speaks up, his tone shifting slightly. “That’s weird. The door’s not opening.”
“Not opening?” I frown, stepping toward the front of the house. “What do you mean?”
“Code’s not working.” There’s a pause, followed by a faint beep in the background. “Did Chase change it again?”
“No,” I say, the knot in my stomach tightening. “At least, not that he mentioned.”
“Can you check the lock?” he asks. His voice is still calm, but there’s a note of quiet authority there now, the kind that makes you move without thinking.
With Laramie still in my arms, I pad toward the front door, bare feet against the hardwood. I peer through the window first. There’s Huxley, tall and—well, unexpectedly handsome despite his scar—his phone still at his ear as he stands near the keypad. He gives me a small wave, reassuring, but my nerves are already buzzing.
The lock looks… fine. Exactly the way Chase had shown me. No scratches, no dents, no signs of tampering.
“I don’t think so,” I say finally, my voice quieter now. “It looks normal.”
Huxley doesn’t respond right away. Through the glass, I see his jaw tighten slightly, the scar on his face standing out as he examines the keypad again. He punches the code in one more time, but this time the door doesn’t even give the courtesy of a whir.
“Hang tight,” he says. “I’ll check the back.”
