The Model's Bodyguard (Romantic Suspense) [COMPLETED]

Chapter 16 - Tuned Senses

So sorry for the mega long wait. I suck for that. But I had my reasons. -.- And I'm 100% updates will be much faster since I only have one story to work on: this one. Anyway, I truly hope you enjoy this chapter. It's nothing big but I don't think it will be boring. Please remember to comment, vote, and fan if you liked the chapter. 

Laters, baby! :D <3

_____________________________________________________________________________

We managed to escape the dozens of reporters and paparazzi waiting outside the Plaza. It was chaotic and quite frankly, they seemed to not give a damn that we had just left my mother’s burial.

We made it to my floor and I could not help but notice how fervently I wanted and needed to get out of these clothes and onto my mattress. But I also noticed something else and this something was nowhere near as pleasant as my lethargic wishes. The potent smell, or rather odor, that hit my nose and surely Cisco’s, was unlike any I had ever smelt. It had a cryptic feel to it, smelling of rust... and maybe even salt. If I had been a little more tuned to my senses, I might have vomited, for it churned my stomach in disgust. But lately all my brain could do was think and contemplate, and wonder, leaving out no room for much reaction. 

I found myself starting to move, judging there was no use in standing here, but the odor kept me rattled. What could it be? Rotten food? No, of course not. The odor only lightly lingered in the atmosphere, it didn’t take up the whole room as wasted food would do. It had to be something else. 

“Stop.” Cisco’s lethal command made me stop in my track; I only got to move an inch or two away from him. I looked up at him, a question in my furrowed brow. Everything about his expression told me there was something wrong, that I’d rather go to hell than move from where I stood. When he didn’t move, I took the chance to ask, “What’s that smell?”

“There’s a problem,” he answered, his eyes taking on that distant look, “That smell, is the smell of blood.” He said slowly, almost as if he wanted me to realize something. But I couldn’t. All I could think about was that someone could be seriously hurt. And so my muscles turned into gear and I was ready to find that someone. But Cisco was beside me in a second and his iron hold clasped my forearm. I looked up at him in horror. How was he so calm?

He licked his bottom lip before he spoke and I could see the hesitation in his eyes. “No, Mila. Sitting blood.” I froze cold. I wasn’t stupid; I knew what that meant. Rainy Sunday nights had been spent watching crime shows and if there was something they all said, sitting blood meant death.

“You mean...?” I asked, my mouth becoming dry. “H-How do you know?” 

I watched him for a second, his brow furrowing as he thought of the best possible way to word his reply. Why was he so worried about what I thought? About my reactions and feelings? I was no child. I could take the truth even if it disturbed me. Right? 

When he did speak, his explanation was brief, “The scent of fresh blood is very faint and barely noticeable. But older, sitting blood smells potently, indistinguishably.” I nodded once, looking down as I let his words sink in. I could handle this. I was strong enough to handle this. When I looked up, his eyes were apologetic, making me feel utterly useless. I hated the look of pity someone so strong as Cisco could give. It made me feel even more stupid than I would under anyone else’s pity. Before I could tell him how much I hated it, I saw him quickly dial some numbers into his cellphone.

“Hi, Dee.” Cisco smiled into the phone, his tone of voice emanating lifelong trust and confidence in the person he spoke to. But how could he call someone when he just told me there was a dead body on this very floor? I wanted to hit him across the head for his inconsideration. “Are you in town?” He asked, his expression of relief saying that his friend was, indeed, in town. “I need you to do me a favor,” he said, his voice taking on a serene tone. “Can you come pick up my client and take her to my place, stay with her until I get back?” The answering grin on his face told me his friend would carry out. I wasn’t pleased. How could he make such a decision without knowing how I felt about it firsthand? I was fuming, my fingers digging into my fist in response. “Thanks, Dee. I knew I could count on you.” He chuckled and put his phone away.