Guarding Grayson by Cathryn Cade Page A

coffee and took a grateful sip, then another. Ah, that was better. It was hot, dark and bitter, just the way he needed it.
    He turned to the table, and found Brynne-E’ea already seated, her gaze on the granola she was pouring.
    He set his mug down and snagged the box from her grasp. “Whoa,” he said, eyeing her brimming bowl. “Brynne wouldn’t eat that much—wait, never mind. Knock yourself out. You’re right, she can stand to gain a few pounds.” He handed her the milk.
    He sat, glugging coffee and watching as she shoveled in granola with the determination and enthusiasm of a child. If this kept up, she was going to gain weight in no time. And add some killer curves to Brynne’s body. He imagined that, and then her reaction to that, and grinned inwardly.
    Then he remembered how obsessive she was about her appearance and everything else, and his humor fled.
    “So how long are you planning on sticking around?” he asked, scowling into his own bowl.
    She drained the milk from the bottom of her bowl by funneling it in a tidy stream into her open mouth, then licked her lips and sighed. “I do not know. This morning I will reconnoiter the area to determine the points of greatest vulnerability and ascertain whether intrusion has already been attempted.”
    “Intrusion?”
    “Yes, by your intended assassin.”
     
    Gray nearly chocked on his first mouthful of granola and milk. He managed to swallow somehow, and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, staring at her.
    “Assassin,” he repeated.
    She nodded. “Yes.”
    “So … whoever trashed my studio did follow me here? Shit, we need to get you—I mean, Brynne out of here, and to the sheriff’s office.”
    She shoved him back into his chair with a move of her hand. “No, Gray-son. The sheriff cannot assist us in this.”
    “Oh, not you too,” he said in disgust. “If we’ve got hitmen after us, I think the law is the best equipped to deal with them. You may be able to push people around with your powers, but not sure that will stop a bullet or a knife. And keep in mind you’re using my girlfriend’s body here.” His ex-girlfriend, but whatever. He just wanted Brynne safe.
    “Oh, the assassin will not use one of your weapons. It would not be necessary.”
    “You think I’m that big of a wimp?”
    “Wimp—human slang for a weak and cowardly being. No, Gray-son, I do not believe you are a wimp. You are a strong, virile specimen of human maleness. But you are no match for a being who can do this—among other things.
    She pointed at the refrigerator, and it creaked and then rose off the floor, bumping gently into the cupboard above it. As Gray stared, it settled back with a rattle of the contents.
    “Now picture that, and other even larger objects flying through your air at high speeds, on command. How would you foil such an attack?"
    “Think I need more coffee,” Gray muttered. He shoved his chair back, went to refill his cup and leaned against the counter as he sipped.
    “Okay,” he said after he’d drunk half a cup. “Hit me—with information, I mean. Not with the toaster or something.”
    She cocked her head and then made a strange sound—kind of a snorting gargle. “You have made a humorous statement, called a joke.”
    Gray stared at her. That had been a laugh? He tried to imagine Brynne’s reaction if she heard herself making that sound, and chuckled behind his mug. She snorted again, looking very pleased with them both.
    “You were gonna explain?” he reminded her. He was not—repeat not —getting sucked into any warm fuzziness here with Brynne. Option one, she was being inhabited by an alien who glowed and had kinetic powers like a giant magnet, or option two, he and she were both nuts—either way, he couldn’t see this ending well.
    She nodded again. “Yes. As you know, your paintings have angered someone very dangerous.”
    “Yeah, I think I got that. Ivan Bondar wants me to stop painting, Rico Fenretti wants me