Ronald swallows hard. “Well . . . uh . . . when you put it that way . . . ”

He sends a copy of the footage to Callum via email, then deletes an hour of video out of the database.

“Thank you,” I say sweetly. “Now keep your mouth shut about this, and you’ll see evidence of my continued gratitude in your Christmas bonus.”

We leave Ronald alone in the security booth.

“You’d better come back to my place tonight,” Cal says. “Or to Mom and Dad’s.”

I don’t love either of those options. Cal has a brand-new baby. While I appreciate my one-and-only nephew on an intellectual level, I’d like to preserve our relationship by not being woken up ten times in the night by his yelling.

My parents’ house is barely more appealing. I just moved out on my own—I don’t want to be back in my old room, especially not with my mother and father fussing over me in the wake of the failed drowning.

“I think I’ll stay at a hotel,” I tell him.

“Someone should keep an eye on you,” Dante grunts.

I know that’s his way of offering to do the job. But Dante has a kid now, too, and a fiancée—he and Simone are getting married in just a couple of weeks.

I shake my head. “I’m fine. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Don’t check in under your real name,” Cal says.

“I know.” I roll my eyes. “I’m not an idiot.”

“This is serious,” Cal says, fixing me with his cool blue stare. “Whoever that fucker was, he’s a professional. He planned this out ahead of time. He knew the building. The security system. He knew your schedule—when you get off work, and when you swim laps at night. He went out of his way to make this look like an accident. That’s top-tier hitman shit. Whoever hired him for the job isn’t fucking around.”

“I know,” I say again, with less sarcasm. “Trust me, I’m taking this seriously.”

I remember the water closing over my head, and those iron arms dragging me down.

“We need someone to keep watch on you until we figure out who did this,” Dante says.

I frown at him. “Who are you talking about, exactly?”

“A professional,” Dante says.

I cross my arms over my chest. “You better not mean who I think you’re talking about . . . ”

“I called him on the drive over. He’s flying back stateside tonight.”

“DANTE!” I shout, thoroughly annoyed.

“He’s good,” Dante says. “Very, very good.”

“I don’t need a babysitter. Especially not him.” I curl up my lip in distaste. I met Raylan Boone once before, and I wasn’t impressed. His cocky country-boy schtick is the last thing I need right now.

“Who is he?” Cal asks curiously.

“We were in Iraq together,” Dante says. “He helped me save Simone.”

“What’s he done to offend you, sis?” Cal asks, failing to hide his smirk.

“I don’t want somebody following me around,” I say coldly. “Especially not someone . . . chatty.”