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The woman turns, so sharply her sunglasses slide down the bridge of her nose. Our eyes meet.
Holy shit.
It is Paigelynn.
Three dog obedience classes in a row, I went back to see her. She and that dickwad, Rudy, never returned.
Now I know why.
I open my mouth to say something, but the younger dude grabs her and hustles her into the car. I hear muffled objections, my skin tingling.
This doesn’t look like a woman who wants to be in that car.
Arf! Arf! A dog’s bark breaks through, then it goes quiet as the woman’s tone changes, sweet and loving, before the car door snaps shut.
Winnie. Is that Winnie? Why is Paigelynn with these suits? Why is she thousands of miles from her home?
And where is her husband, Rudy?
The older bodyguard reaches into his breast pocket, and I close my eyes. This is it. I lower my hands and decide I have no choice. Time to go for my weapon.
If I’m going to die because I rear ended someone, might as well go out trying.
And Paigelynn looks like she’s in danger.
“Sir,” the guy says in a voice that makes my eyelids fly open. He’s holding a rolled wad of hundreds, and my eyeball guess is that there’s two grand in there. “Take this, and let’s agree nothing happened here.”
Are you kidding me? I want to scream, but instead, I hold my hand out in a gesture that says, Toss it in my lap.
He does.
And walks away.
Within ten seconds they’re gone, and I’m staring at a pile of cash I’m going to have to explain to Debbie.
And a hard on underneath it.
Princess, huh?
The car starts up, and I get out of it on legs of rubber, blood slowly calming down as I check under the engine. No leaks. The hood is damaged, bumper looking like a crumpled fast food bag, but the car drives.
I’ll fix it later. Debbie’s going to be pissed, but also intrigued. We’ll run a search for diplomats in the area. Not that many princesses in the world.
But plenty of celebrities I can imagine who would make their security detail call them princess.
And then there’s Paigelynn.
Never removing the scarf or glasses, that woman was Paigelynn. But she didn’t call for me. Ask for help. Defy her bodyguards.
“I’m making shit up,” I mutter, laughing to myself, knowing I’m right. It was her.
And my boner knows it.
I take the next exit, and ten minutes later find a parking spot in the lot of an old apartment building. It’s close enough to the safe house, but far enough away that we're under the radar.
I walk in the building and make my way to the elevator.
The ancient machine groans at me but rises up to the second floor just fine. Next time I’ll just take the stairs.
