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I twist in my seat to watch him move around the room.
“They’ll probably drop a bunch of mug shots in front of you, and hope you pick out the men you saw the other night.” He checks the door to make sure it’s locked, then peeks through the peephole and steps away again with a frown. “They’ll want a formal identification, and then they’ll walk you through the next steps.”
I turn on the couch, lifting one leg until the fabric of my robe slips away and reveals my thigh. Quickly, I fix it again and wish listlessly for a hairbrush. A phone charger. A toothbrush. Jesus, any of the small comforts regular people become accustomed to. “What are the next steps?”
He regards me with a fast look before wandering into the hall and checking my room, though we both know no one has come in. “Statement,” he calls back. “Identification. They might bring in some dudes and put them in the lineup. If you point out anyone who has affiliations with Vallejo’s world, then chances are, even if Vallejo himself is dead, it means his faction is still active. That means you’re in danger and will need to go into some kind of protection program.” He stalks back into the hall and drops a comb on the couch cushion as he passes. “Detectives Malone and Fletcher are primaries on this case.” He continues through to the next hall and checks his room.
Speechless, I pick up the plastic comb and run my thumbnail gently along the bristles.
“They’re running this thing,” he adds. “We’re gonna be dragged along for the ride about as elegantly as a dead body behind a bus.”
Mental imagery has always been my best friend and worst enemy. The images my brain can paint are both beautiful and too detailed. “That doesn’t sound like fun.”
“Nope. It’s gonna suck.” He emerges back into the shared living room and glances down at my exposed thigh. Nervously, I fix the fallen fabric again and straighten in my seat, before he shakes himself free of whatever is in his mind and heads to the front door again.
“What about you?” I ask, studying his broad back and wide shoulders as he peeks into the hall a second time. His actions leave me curious, but oddly, not panicked. He’s carrying that mental load for us both. And it’s strange that somehow, I feel safe with this man already, although I don’t even know him. “What’s your role in all this?”
“My role is to keep you alive.” He turns again and presses his back to the door. It’s not a nervous action. But rather, as he lifts one boot and rests it against the door, I understand he’s actually quite comfortable. “I’m not the cop running this case, and I’m no longer DEA. I’m not a fed, and if folks wanted to get noisy, I could be sent away completely.”
I wait for him to finish. To expand. To explain. To put me out of my damned misery. But when he remains silent, I lift a brow in question. “But?”
“But I’m the only person I trust, and I’d really like you to live. So unless they take me away in cuffs and slam me behind bars, I’m appointing myself your exclusive security detail. This is what we’re working with until further notice. And just so you know…” He drops his foot and wanders to the end of the couch. Bending, he sets his hands on the arm and meets me on my level. “I’mthe only one who’ll tell you a different plan. I’m the only one who will assign your safety team. So if some other cop strolls in and says things are changing, you don’t believe him, okay?”
“I-I don’t?” I stammer. “Even if he’s a cop?”
“Even if he’s the fucking mayor. You listen to me, okay, Little Bird? Only me. I’m gonna get you through this. Now get ready for bed.” He taps the arm of the couch gently, and yet, I still jump in place. “Malone’s in the hall,” he says. “He’s watching both doors, so either he’s really lucky, really stupid, or has insider information.”
I shoot a look toward the door and wish I could see through. “What’s your problem with Detective Malone, anyway? Specifically.”
“I don’t have one. Yet. But I know his toes dance amongst the world we’re trying to hide you from. That’s not to mean he’s our enemy,” he adds when my breath comes to a standstill. “Not everyone has to follow the plan their fathers set out for them. But it does mean I’m gonna watch him closely.” He snatches up the television remote from the coffee table and plops down on the other sofa. “You have a whole bedroom,” he murmurs, his tone caring, though his channel surfing implies a fire just beneath a calm exterior. “There’s only one access. No windows to come in or out of. Bathroom is all yours, and completely secure.” He leans to the side and digs his phone from his pocket, then setting the remote down, he unlocks his screen and begins typing, while talking out loud, “Go buy her some pain meds. Toothpaste and a toothbrush.”
He looks across at me and raises a brow. “You need anything else?”
“Um… a phone charger?” I swallow the bundle of nerves lodged in my throat and look down at the devices on the coffee table. “Laptop charger? Whoever picked them up for me didn’t get the cables.”
“Chargers for her phone and laptop,” he continues typing. “Fresh clothes. Size…” He looks me up and down, before easily guessing, “Size six jeans. Medium shirts? You don’t want it to be too snug, right?”
My cheeks blaze, but I clamp my lips shut and simply nod.
He goes back to typing. “Size six jeans, medium shirts. She’ll need underwear, and size seven shoes. Sneakers. Something comfy. Get her a new set of crutches. A hairbrush, hair ties, and maybe a stick of deodorant.”
Scrunching my nose, I discreetly lift my arm and take a whiff.
He laughs from the other couch and spares me a fast glance. “You smell fresh as a daisy right now, Little Bird. But by tomorrow afternoon, you’re gonna be feeling a little gross. So I’m getting ahead of the curve.”
“You know an awful lot about women’s hygiene needs for an unmarried man.”
Hitting send, he locks his phone screen and pins me with a stare. “I didn’t say I wasn’t married, Aurora. I said Violet wasn’t my wife.”
“Oh.” My heart splats in my chest and a furious blush burns my cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I’m not…” I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head. “My mistake.”
Soft laughter has my eyes snapping open again and narrowing. “I’m not married,” he teases. “Never have been. No divorces under my belt. No alimony taking half my check. And no kids I’m dead-beating on.”
“O-okay.” I’m stammering. I’m stuttering. I’m a friggin’ idiot. It seems I have a bounty on my head and bigger problems to focus on. But right in this moment, I obsess over the fact that men still make me nervous. “That’s cool. This is work,” I yammer on. “And that’s personal, anyway. And so you don’t have to—”
“You develop a bit of a speech impediment when you’re nervous.” Unlocking his screen again, he goes back to typing. “She’ll need snacks, too. You have a wife, Malone, so think of the things she’d want when she can’t access her everyday shit. Then bring us that. We’re packing in for the night. Catch you at oh-eight-hundred. We’ll head to the station together.”
Hitting send again and locking his screen, he tosses his phone to the couch and flashes a playful grin that arrows straight to my stomach and leaves it doing cartwheels. “Better than room service,” he taunts. “And you watch menotreimburse him for the money he spent. He’s got bucket loads anyway. He doesn’t need mine.”
