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She wagged her pointer finger in front of his face. “No, no, no. I’m already imposing for your secure internet access and errand running. I’m not taking your bed.” She’d read too many “only one bed” romance novels. Taking the man’s bed turned into sleeping in the same bed and she could not let that happen. They had too much history; if they slept in the same bed, they’d end up in each other’s arms, and that would lead to more. Then he’d leave, and she’d end up devastated, again. “We can get a blow-up mattress. Some of them are as comfortable as a regular bed.”
His mouth twisted. “Probably more comfortable than mine. It’s pretty cheap.”
She forced a grin. “There you go. We drop by Missoula, get a few things, drive back to your place when it’s dark, and I sneak inside. Easy.”
He shook his head slowly. “Not so easy. I have to park this car back in the garage across the street. I don’t want anyone knowing about it. We might need an emergency escape again. You’ll have to stay there until it’s very late, and I give you the all-clear. Or if they’re watching my house, because I know they found your escape route, I’ll have to get out and smuggle you in. Might have to call the cops about a suspicious person or ask one of my neighbors to do it.”
Sam snorted. “Knowing Marcus, that’s already done.” Her neighbors reported everything, including a lot of things that weren’t real. “See something, say something is a way of life for some of those people.”
“Even if they have to make it up?” Trevor smiled.
Ugh. He was so good looking. Add a smile, and he was overwhelming. And still a rat. “They’re anticipating trouble, not making things up.” She chuckled. Some of her neighbors were ridiculous. But they looked out for each other, and that kind of community was priceless.
“We’re dealing with professionals. A bunch of nosy neighbors won’t even notice them. Although, with the publicity Koslov’s organization has gotten, they’re probably watching a lot closer.” He circled the SUV.
Some things didn’t change. Trevor had never been one to remain still. She didn’t interrupt him; he’d need to consider all the factors and find the best solution. But watching him wasn’t helping—the man was in amazing shape. He had the lean, muscular build of a runner or a swimmer and moved with grace. Although, his gait wasn’t perfectly smooth. Maybe he’d been injured in the military—so many women and men came back with physical and emotional damage. Ryan Walsh had lost his arm and his joy in life. Fortunately, Erin helped him recover. They were the perfect match.
She turned away from Trevor and plopped down at the picnic table. All of her friends had found love. She was happy for them but longed for someone to share her life. Being the only one without a partner in the group was difficult. One more reason to be on guard with Trevor, because she was actively searching for love, and she couldn’t mistake his desire for devotion. He was dedicated to his job and his family; she was third place or worse. An ornament to show off, a pretty girlfriend, not true love. No matter what he claimed, that’s how he’d treated her back then, and she didn’t see it changing.
Trevor plopped down across from her. “Okay, we’ll give it a shot. Because I want to keep you safe, but I don’t want to kill your career.”
She raised a brow. “Or yours. You go on the lam with me, you can kiss your job goodbye.”
He shrugged. “The job means nothing. Not next to your life.” Then he grinned. “On the lam? What are you, a zoot-suited mobster?”
“Yes. You should see me at the Daly Mansion fundraisers.” She snickered.
“I’ve seen the pictures. You look hot in a flapper dress.” He sobered. “But you look hot no matter what you’re wearing.”
Trevor had always been an excellent schmoozer; letting him work his magic on her was asking for trouble. Besides, she got compliments on her looks continuously. She had no reason to think his meant anything more than the sleazy men in the city or the kind but out-of-touch elders she helped with estate planning. “This is a professional arrangement. Got it?”
“Understood.” He stared into the distance, then met her gaze again. “And since this is a professional arrangement, you acknowledge that I have more training and information when it comes to the current situation, right?”
“Correct.” She’d give him that much. “Unless it’s a matter of the law.”
“Then if I say move, or drop, or run for the car, you’ll do it, right?” He raised his brows, piercing her with a look. “It’s for your safety.”
“I’m not stupid. Criminals are your area of expertise. I’ll follow your directions and intent.” She wasn’t Wiz or Erin; she knew nothing about guns, survival, or martial arts. “But you’ll take my advice on handling the locals, right?”
“Agreed.” He nodded once. “I’m not thrilled with our solution. There’s a chance that Koslov’s organization has already identified me, and they’re just waiting to take me out. You’d be a great bonus. Or if they haven’t yet, they could soon. If something goes wrong, you need to know how to escape and defend yourself. Also agreed?”
“Meaning what, exactly?” She wasn’t agreeing to undefined terms, even if she had her suspicions.
“Self-defense training, for one.” His brows rose, and he grimaced.
“I’ve done some with Wiz but have no problem doing more. I also carry pepper spray when I run. It’s in my bag.” She’d insist they stick to escape moves—she didn’t want to grapple with Trevor. Even a hostile embrace would be too much and could easily turn into more. He was too good at getting his way.
Trevor nodded. “Good. You’re also going to learn how to shoot.”
“I already know that. Don’t you remember teaching me?” They’d gone target shooting in the woods a lot. Twenty-two caliber ammunition was cheap, and it was fun. She’d gotten pretty good.
“Was that the last time you used a weapon?” Trevor frowned.
She shook her head. “No, I’ve shot with Erin and Wiz a few times at Wiz’s range.”
He huffed. “Of course she’s got her own range. Why would I expect less? Anyway, just pistols?”
“Yes. I’ve shot twenty-two, nine mil, and three-fifty-seven. Forty-fives are too much for me.”
