by Em Petrova
He took the hose and pulled a knife out of his jeans pocket. He flipped it open and sliced into the fabric, lopping off the foot part.
“Pull your hair up and hold it in place.”
Not a flicker of response crossed her beautiful features as she did as he ordered. She bound the mass upward, off her milky neck, and anchored it to her head long enough for him to pull the hose over the mass.
While he did this, he felt her eyes on him and slanted a look down at her. “You have thick hair, but I think it’ll work. Okay, the wig.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew it again. The larger size accommodated her thick hair, and he examined her.
“You don’t look anything like a man.”
“Is that what I’m going for?” The waver in her voice was the first indication that she might be afraid.
He sought to soothe her. “It’s going to be all right. I’ll get you out of here safe.”
She gave a slight nod, but her lips thinned into a grimace.
“Your jeans and shoes are fine. That top covers up your curves. But here, take my coat.” He shucked off his jacket and held it out for Sloane.
She hesitated before sliding her arms inside the long sleeves. He eyed her appearance. “Stuff your hands in your pockets.” After she did, he grunted. “We need to conceal your eyes.” He reached into the pocket of the jacket she wore and removed his own shades. “Put these on.”
Once she wore the shades, jacket and wig, he thought she might pass.
“When we leave this apartment, keep your head down the whole time.”
“How will I see where I’m going?” Her voice took on a throaty edge.
“I’ll have you by the hand.”
She jerked her stare up to his. “I don’t see how this is going to work.”
His lips quirked. “The paparazzi’s looking for a woman to leave the building, and right now, you can pass for a small man. You ready?”
She hesitated.
“Here’s your chance at an Oscar, Sloane.”
She didn’t respond as he led her through the apartment, decked out in modern metal and glass. At the door, he paused and stuffed her purse into the simple black duffel.
He looped the bag over his shoulder and yanked his elastic free of his hair, letting his longer locks fall around his face.
“Why did you do that?” she asked.
“The paparazzi watched a man with a bun walk into this building. I’m hoping when a man with long hair walks out with his boyfriend, they’ll ignore us. C’mon. Be brave now and don’t look up at them.”
The ride to the ground floor took only a minute, and they stepped out into the lobby. A man stood to the side, collecting his mail from a private area, but he didn’t glance around at them as they walked out.
“Oh God. Why are there so many cameras out there?” Sloane rasped.
“You should always be traveling with at least two guards.”
“I do. They should be around here somewhere.”
“Don’t look up,” he murmured and clasped his fingers around hers, swallowing her much smaller hand with his own. Several men stepped out with cameras poised to snap a photo that would earn them big bucks.
North inwardly groaned, but he murmured, “Fuck. This has to be done. I’m sorry.”
Her eyes flared a moment before he turned her from the door, cupped her face and kissed her.
Damn, it felt good to be back in the game.
* * * * *
Sloane was so stunned by the kiss that for two solid heartbeats, she didn’t move, react or even breathe. His big palm covered her cheek, blocking her face, as he guided his lips softly against hers.
A shudder of irrational attraction threatened to take over her body, and she forced herself to reality, just as she did after the film stopped rolling.
Those times weren’t real, and this wasn’t either. The kiss was a pretense, a disguise to mask that she was a woman. To anyone looking on, they appeared to be male lovers.
North pulled away enough that his lips barely skimmed across hers. “You’re doing great, and I’m sure they’re out of the way now. Let’s go.”
He released her abruptly and caught her hand again. Instead of hauling her out at the fast pace she expected, he leisurely sauntered to the door and held it for her. The man must be crazy. There were paparazzi everywhere.
To her relief, she heard one of her own guards say, “There’s nothing to see here, guys. It’s not the actor.”
Feeling completely exposed, she followed North’s lead out of the building and down the sidewalk to the parking area. She stole a peek at his face and saw him grinning at one of the paparazzi with all the boldness in the world.
Her stomach rolled over, and she scarcely held on to her poise as they passed too many people with cameras that could capture her escape. Her knees turned to jelly, but she chalked it up to exhaustion and her long night and not the fact that her life rested in the hands of a complete stranger.
Before she knew it, she sat in North’s car. He locked the doors and turned to her, expression unreadable. “You all right?” he asked.
She nodded.
He started the car and drove. Her mind finally caught up to the mess she was in, the fog clearing.
“Who hired you? Angela?”
He gazed at the road. “That’s your agent?”
“Yes.”
“She didn’t hire me.”
“Then who did? And who do you work for? Do you know who’s threatening me?”
“We know the threat’s coming from the owner of the drilling company with thousands of people walking off his job. He’s not too happy about it and is trying to pin blame on somebody.”
“But I didn’t write the script! I just acted it. Why am I to blame?”
“Like I said, he’s lashing out, looking for someone to hold accountable, when really he’s to blame for breaking environmental laws and hosting unsafe labor conditions for his workers.” He sliced a look her direction, and she realized for a breathless moment just how handsome North was. With sandy-blond curls, he should look feminine, but nothing could be further from the truth. He resembled a Viking, with strong, chiseled jaw, angular cheeks and a straight nose.
Suddenly, she remembered she wore his jacket and realized how comfortable the oversized depths made her feel. She curled her fingers in her lap.
“Men walked off the oil rig because of my movie?” She couldn’t quite wrap her head around it.
“Yes. Something hit home with those workers, and it sounds as if your performance convinced so many people to stand up and take notice that a lot of injustices and issues were brought to light.”
“Oh God.” She pressed her fingertips to her throbbing eyes.
“Isn’t that what you want? To give a performance so believable that it moves people to act on their own beliefs?”
She dropped her hand and stared at his profile. “I never thought of it that way. I just take the roles as they come to me.”
He snorted. “In it for the money, are you?”
“No!” she whipped out at him. “I prefer to take roles that challenge me, but I never thought about using what I do to…” She trailed off, thinking of how the money she made really did help those girls she rescued from their abusive, illegal marriages.
She issued a low sigh and focused on the current situation. They sped through Atlanta, headed north. He drove with a practiced ease, hitting high speeds and overtaking cars as though he made getaways on a daily basis.
“Who sent you?” she asked. “You said Angela didn’t hire you.”
“No.”
“And you don’t work for the protection company that provides my bodyguards.”
The corner of his lips tipped up, but he didn’t remove his attention from the highway. “The people I work for are a few steps above your bodyguards. Let’s just say that I have enough ability and experience to handle anything.”
Looking at him, she believed it. Biceps bulged from the sleev
es of his black T-shirt and one look at his rock-hard body told her that not many dangers, if any, slipped by this man.
“How many people are after me?” she asked.
“At least one threat has been made, but in situations such as this, we typically see more crop up.”
Great—now she had at least two men after her. Going up against John Flint scared her, though not enough to make her back off. She wouldn’t be happy until the man stopped his marriage trade and each and every young woman was recovered. Including her sister.
With Flint, she knew what she faced. This other threat scared her even more, for all its uncertainty.
“Surely this drilling company owner can’t kill me, because the whole world will know he’s at the root of the crime.”
North slanted another look her direction. Something about the way he did that unnerved her. Each glance seemed to pierce her deep, to see things she didn’t reveal to people every day.
“He’s not the only person affected by your movie.”
She gasped and leaned forward in her seat. “There are others?”
“Yes.”
“Boy, you don’t sugarcoat things, do you?”
He chuckled, the sound deep and low. “Part of the job. The movie brought so much to light, and now the entire industry is under a microscope. Their practices are being examined, and now more blame for spills and disasters is laid at their doors. It’s being questioned whether any of the oil dumps in the ocean are actually accidents.”
“Just like the movie,” she whispered to herself. “I was paid to bring a fictitious issue to light.”
“Well, it’s not so fictitious. People are looking to lash out at anyone, and you’re the most public figure.”
“I did give an interview with my beliefs on the matter. That probably didn’t help,” she said.
“No. I didn’t have time to watch the movie, but I will as soon as I take you to a safe place.”
She didn’t ask him how he planned to do that, when the film was still in theaters. But a man such as North probably wouldn’t visit a cinema—he’d find the information he required.
“Where are we going?” She watched the city vanishing in the side mirror.
“You’ll find out when we get there.”
She couldn’t stop herself from watching him from the corner of her eye. He had his seat slid back the entire way to accommodate his long legs. She worked with a lot of male actors, but this one topped most of their heights. She could only guess him to be six feet two.
The wig she wore itched, and she reached a hand toward it. “Can I take this off now?”
When he looked at her, his brows creased in a way that made her think it was a habit of his, maybe one associated with him being deep in thought. After a silent moment, he nodded.
“Go ahead.” He glanced in the rearview. “You’re safe for now.”
Chills crawled up and down her spine and spread across her shoulders, leaving her in goosebumps. Did a safe place exist for her with so many people after her? Not only Flint and the angry men she’d stolen wives from tailed her, but now what sounded like a worldwide threat involving several angry oil men.
She pulled her wig and pantyhose off her head and let her hair tumble down her shoulders. She shook her head again. “I don’t understand any of this. It’s ridiculous. I just acted in a role. I didn’t blow any whistles on these business practices.”
“Either way, they’re blaming you for it. Playing controversial roles sometimes gets a person in trouble.”
She shook her head to try to clear it, but the fog taking over her brain again proved too thick to clear with so little information. Once they reached their destination, she’d regroup.
“When was the last time you ate? Or slept?”
She turned her head at the concern in his words. Why did his tone make her feel warm inside, like somebody gave a damn about her wellbeing and not only how much blood, sweat and emotions they could wring from her while in front of the camera?
“I had a few hours of sleep yesterday afternoon. And I ate…” She trailed off, thinking of those slices of pizza she fed to Molly while eating nothing herself, too twisted up from what she did to get the woman out of that hell-hole.
“That’s what I thought. If you reach behind my seat, you’ll find a bag of food.”
Her chest burned. He kept food for the people he rescued too? How was it that they were so alike right now?
“Are you a cop?” She wasn’t really hungry, but she unbuckled her seatbelt in order to lean over the console and grab the bag of food.
Once settled with her seatbelt fastened again, she peered into the cloth bag to see beef jerky and power bars as well as an energy drink. She took that out and opened it. She didn’t want to sleep yet—she was far too on edge to even close her eyes for more than a moment or two. The vitamins in the drink would wake her up enough to continue for some time—at least until she crashed from it.
“No, I’m not a cop,” he answered. “I’m a bodyguard, but not the kind you’re used to.”
If she was going to stay safe, she needed North’s help.
“Can we go to the police with this threat?” she asked, swigging down the foul-tasting drink in one go.
He watched her as if impressed and then returned his focus to the interstate they just exited onto. “We can take it to the police, but they can’t keep you safe the way I can.”
A shiver ran through her, and she didn’t believe it was due to the drink.
“Do you have family members I need to look out for?” he asked.
Her sister’s image rose in her mind, as she’d last seen her before heading to school one day. Her father told her that Scarlett was staying home from school with an illness. But when she returned in the afternoon, Scarlett was gone.
“No.” Her response sounded so final that it almost made her double over with the pain of her loss. “I don’t.”
For a moment, she wondered if she needed to confide the rest of her situation to North. To protect her, he needed to know everything, but could she trust him with what she did on the side? Her cause felt so close to her heart, so personal, that she didn’t think she could even put it into words.
They drove on in silence, and Sloane looked out the window, deep in thought.
Then it hit her.
Another girl, one Sloane was meant to save…the call would come in soon. She jerked upright in her seat and dug her fingers into her hair.
“What’s the matter? Are you going to be sick?” Concern etched around his lips and brow.
She might be. The window of time to move this girl out of her desperate situation was small, and she had everything planned down to the tiniest detail. With her on the road—on the run for other reasons—how would Sloane ever get word to her contact that she wouldn’t be there?
Unless she could somehow make it in time.
If she missed the window, the young woman might not get another chance at freedom. Sloane’s stomach cramped at the thought.
“Do I need to pull over, Sloane?” North’s voice jogged her back to reality.
Drawing deep, steady breaths, she regained her composure. “No, I’m okay,” she told him. “Keep driving.”
His gaze penetrated her, but he didn’t ask her again if she was okay.
She wasn’t, and now she had a choice to make…whether or not to trust the man with the rest of her secrets in order to save her next victim.
Chapter Three
“Take a seat.” North slanted a look at the armchair angled in the corner of the room, away from all the windows.
Sloane hesitated and then slowly moved toward the chair. After she sank to it, he gave a nod of satisfaction. The past hour of driving had him on edge, and not because of all the normal reasons. They weren’t followed, and they hadn’t faced any danger. He simply didn’t like how pale and distraught his ward had become.
Leaving her in the chair, he made a sweep of the safehouse. Nestled in the Georgia
foothills, the place served as a safe haven to any of the wards The Guard protected.
He moved through the rooms, knowing it was safe but doing his job anyway, a hand on his weapon along his spine.
Satisfied everything was clear and they were alone, he circled back to Sloane.
She slumped in the chair, head in her hands. His gut gave a hard twist, like a knife in the pit of his stomach. Everything about her pose drew him in and tugged all his protective strings.
Damn, he always grew attached to a ward—felt a bond of friendship—but never this early in the game. Maybe he’d sat behind the screen too long, become too entrenched in his maps.
Glancing over Sloane, he read the despondence in the set of her shoulders and the way her fingers splayed upward into her hair.
“I can’t stay here.” Her words came out as a mumble.
He watched her for a moment longer and then walked through the house, decorated simply in shades of blue and green that matched the view of sky and trees. The fridge was fully stocked, as he knew it would be, and he grabbed two bottles of water before returning to his ward.
She hadn’t moved. He extended the water to her. “Here, drink. You’re going into shock.”
She lifted her head, eyes bloodshot as if she’d been crying, though he didn’t see a single tear on her pale cheeks. She accepted the water and twisted off the cap. After she drank some, he took up the armchair opposite her.
“What is this place?” she asked faintly.
North watched that twist of her lips. He’d noted the small quirk in the car, and his analytical mind sought out the reason she didn’t twist her lips with all of her words. Now he realized she was trying to cover her native Southern drawl. Many actors dropped their accents in order to be more versatile and employable.
He uncapped his water but didn’t immediately drink. “This is a safehouse, Sloane. You’re safe here.”
She cut her fingers through her thick hair again but didn’t speak. Watching her, he drank his entire bottle of water and set the empty container on the floor at his feet.
“We’re going to remain here for a little while,” he told her.
She didn’t respond, but her expression revealed so much she didn’t voice—fear, distress and hopelessness.
