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No time for that. I wrap my arm around her waist, lift her against my side, and haul ass for safety. Another bullet whizzes by, where Sophie stood just moments ago.
Then we’re around the corner. We’re safe—for now. We can’t stay long, but we can regroup and strategize for a minute or two. Hopefully, it’s enough.
Panting, I lower her to her feet and press her back to the wall, blocking her from any possible threat. “You okay?”
More screaming fills the streets. Sirens roar closer to the scene. She presses a hand to her chest, struggling to catch her breath. “I-I’m not hurt.”
She doesn’t try to claim that she isn’t terrified out of her mind. I know she is.
“Are you familiar with this area?”
“Not really. I’m from DFW, but never spent much time in Arlington.”
Damn. I’m only slightly familiar with this chunk of the city.
We’ve got to get out of this alley—and this fucking vicinity—fast. Then we need a safe location without anyone knowing where Sophie is hiding. Only then can I figure out who wants her dead and why.
I scan our surroundings and come up with an idea. “Take off your dress.”
“What?” A whole lot ofhell nocrosses her face.
Does she think I’m propositioning her right now? Don’t get me wrong. In a less dangerous situation, if she was willing, I’d be more than game. Sophie may have been a pretty girl who burst on the music scene when she was still in pigtails, but she’s a hella beautiful woman now. I certainly wouldn’t turn her down. But that’s not why I’m asking her to disrobe.
“Your red spangly dress is a bright, shiny target to this shooter.”
“Oh.” She frowns. “But I can’t run around naked.”
As much as I might like the view, she’s right. Everyone has a camera on their cell phones these days, and she doesn’t need that kind of exposure. Hell, we’re lucky that everyone is too busy running for their lives to notice us tucked into this narrow alley.
I yank my T-shirt from my waistband and jerk it over my head, leaving my torso covered in a thin wifebeater. The T-shirt is damp with my sweat and it smells like me, but that’s all I’ve got to give her. “Put this on.”
Sophie takes the shirt from my hand, her gaze glued to mine. “Where am I supposed to change?”
But she knows the answer; I see it on her face.
“I’ll block you.” After all, she’s tiny. I’m pretty big. We’ll make it work. “But we don’t have time for modesty.”
She hesitates an instant, then drops one strap of her low, scoop-necked dress down her arm, followed by the other. As she does, one thing becomes obvious: Sophie Larsen isn’t wearing a bra.
I start to sweat again, and this time it has nothing to do with heat or danger.
Holy shit.
Jerking my gaze back to the street, I give her what privacy I can. I’m sure weirdos and jackoffs say skeevy things to her all the time. If not, she would never need to hire a guy like me.
From my peripheral vision, I see her lower her dress to her waist and catch her lipstick in her hand. She’s wearing some sort of nude-colored stickers over her nipples that adhere to the upper swells and lift her obviously full rack. But I’m not staring. Really, I’m not. But…they’re rightthere. I blow out a breath as she shimmies from the dress to reveal she’s wearing one of the tiniest, most transparent thongs I’ve ever seen. A single glance—damn, I did not mean to look—and I can tell she’s a natural blonde.
Seconds later, she whisks my shirt over her head, covering everything. It swallows her small frame and hangs to the middle of her thighs. It conceals way more than the dress she had on.
“Are you attached to this?” I fist the red fabric.
She shakes her head. “It’s horrible.”
Grateful for the nearby dumpster, I toss it, glad when the bright, glittery ball of sequins clears the rim and disappears into the heap. “What about your shoes? Can you run in bare feet?”
She steps out of one stiletto. The instant her foot touches the hot asphalt, she hisses and jerks away. “No.”
“Understood. Let’s do something about your hair.” Because pale curls hanging nearly to her pretty, swaying ass definitely draws attention.
