Author: Christine Bell

Once they were settled in the car and safely on their way, she decided it was probably time to get real and figure out what came next. “So what’s going to happen to me now?”

“Breakfast. Like I said.” His gaze stayed locked on the road.

“After breakfast. What then?” She tried to sound brave, but her voice cracked on the last word. Luckily, he seemed so focused on driving that he probably didn’t even notice.

“I’ll take you back to my place. Keep you safe ‘til the whole thing blows over.”

“Like, ‘safe’ as in locked in some kind of panic room, or what?” Her skin prickled with goose bumps and her hands went icy cold. Panic room was the perfect name for those things. Tiny space plus four walls and no windows certainly equaled panic to her.

“No, no, of course not. You’ll have your run of the house.”

She unclenched her fists and nodded. At least that was somewhat better. “So I’m just going to hang out there?”

“Not all the time, no. I’ll be taking you to work with me so I can keep an eye on you. We’re going to call you my apprentice. And while we’re at it, I might as well use some of our time to teach you some basic self-defense moves. Not that I think you’ll need to use them, but it can’t hurt.”

Visions of being sprawled on her back in a leg lock or some such with him plastered over her ran through her head and she shifted in her seat. Suddenly the panic room didn’t sound so bad.

“You’ll be fine,” he assured her. “There’s nothing to worry about.” He parked the car and got out without sparing her a glance. She fumbled with her belt, and just when she thought he would have kept going without her, her door swung open and he was on the other side, hand outstretched.

“Come on.”

He didn’t strike her as the kind of guy who opened a door for a girl, and it took her aback for a second. Then his brows rose impatiently and she swallowed a grin. That was more like it. She took his hand, amazed again by how huge it was. Like a bear paw. Warm. Strong. Capable. And with such a simple touch, her fears ebbed again. If Gavin said it was going to be all right, something deep inside told her she should believe him.

He led her into the diner up to the hostess station, and she glanced around. The early-morning crowd at the restaurant was exactly what she would have expected. Bleary-eyed men in construction uniforms on their way to work, bleary-eyed college kids who hadn’t gone home from their night at the bar yet, and bleary-eyed octogenarians taking advantage of the early-bird specials.

The fluorescent lights in the place were few and far between, and she wondered whether it was to hide the grime or in deference to all their customers who got the short end of the sleep stick.

A tall, bouffant-coiffed waitress sauntered over with laminated menus in hand, a bored expression etched on her face. Between the bright-blue eye shadow and shock of red lipstick, it was really an achievement that the most notable thing about her was still that look of perpetual distaste.

“Two then?” She glanced up at them for the first time, and the irritation that had been so prominent wore away, quickly replaced by an almost giddy excitement.

“Yes, please,” Gavin said.

“Right this way.” She led them to a booth in the back of the diner, secluded from the rest of the clientele. “You can sit in my section.” Her eyes were locked on Gavin and somehow the innocuous phrase came out sounding like a line from a porno.

“This is perfect, thank you, uh—” Gavin searched for the name tag on her chest, and the woman thrust her br**sts forward obligingly. “Ashlee.”

Her full lips curved into a smile, but just as an irrational kernel of jealousy lodged itself in Sarabeth’s gullet, Ashlee wheeled around and stared at her with curious, appraising eyes.

Sarabeth looked away quickly, obscuring her features with the curtain of her hair. This was her first time out in public since the whole car-explosion thing, and suddenly she felt very vulnerable.

“Thanks, Ashlee,” she murmured, trying to disguise her voice for some inane reason. It came out sounding like a bad Marilyn Monroe impression and she winced. Now Gavin and server Ashlee were both staring at her funny. Not cool when she was trying for inconspicuous.

The waitress hung there a few seconds longer, before stepping back. “Okay, well, I’ll be over in a jiff to take your order.”

She sauntered away, and Sarabeth slid into the booth. Once Gavin was seated across from her, she took a furtive glance around and leaned in. “I don’t like this,” she hissed.

“What, the hotel heiress has never been to a Denny’s before?” His eyebrows rose in faux surprise. “I highly recommend the Grand Slam.”

She blew out a breath and scowled at him. “Oh, stop, I’ve been to a…well, no, actually, I’ve never been here before,” she admitted, her cheeks warming. “But keep your voice down about that h-o-t-e-l stuff, okay?”

His slow grin only ramped up her anxiety. For a security expert, he sure wasn’t taking this very seriously, and all the warm fuzzies she’d felt five minutes before disappeared.

“Look, I know the early morning crew looks rough, but I’m pretty sure they can spell ‘hotel,’ Doc.”

“Whatever,” she muttered, smacking the scarred Formica table with her hand to get him back on task. “That’s not the point.”

His lips kicked up again and he shrugged. “What is the point, exactly?”

“The waitress is up to something. She’s using her…assets to distract you. She’s looking at me funny. You’re the one who’s supposed to be the expert. I’d have thought you’d have noticed too,” she said with a sniff.

He held the menu up to his face, but his voice seemed choked when he responded. “Yeah, you’re right. We’ll be extra careful.”

“Good.” She sat back and nodded, glad he finally started taking her seriously. “All right, then. And we need to talk about this whole apprentice thing, too. I don’t think it’s going to work.”

“Mm-hmm.”

He didn’t move the menu away, and she frowned. “Could you at least pretend to listen to what I’m saying?”

“I’m all ears.” He set the menu down with a clap and crossed his beefy arms. “I’m listening with bated breath.”

Under the weight of his undivided attention, she found herself wishing she’d just let him ignore her. She toyed with her water-spotted fork restlessly. “Right, well, I’m thinking I’m not really the security, stealth-mode type.”

“You don’t say.”

She shook her head and shrugged. “I know it seems like I would be, but I’m not. And I think I might compromise your integrity if you take me along on your jobs. So, I don’t think it will work. For you.”

His gaze was so intense, she resisted the urge to squirm in her seat. Why did he always make her feel that way?

Finally he inclined his head. “Well, Doc, that’s very thoughtful of you.”

She smiled and shook her head. “It’s nothing, really.”

“And it has nothing to do with the fact that you’re scared, I’m sure.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off by the waitress, who had crept up on them.

“Coffee?” she offered, hoisting a black pot in the air.

“Yes, please. For both of us.” Gavin nodded and the waitress poured for him before turning to Sarabeth and promptly spilling a good third of a cup down her shirt. Luckily—for her skin if not for her palate—it was the temperature of used bathwater. Still, it was a shock, and she gasped.

“Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry.” Ashlee, if that was her real name, tossed a pile of napkins from her apron toward Sarabeth. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Why don’t you head to the ladies’ room and I’ll bring you in a cloth with some seltzer?”

Sarabeth took a moment to dart her best “I told you so” look at Gavin, but he either didn’t comprehend it or chose to ignore her. Maybe it was better he was teaching her how to defend herself. Apparently, she was the only person on the case.

“No, really, I hate this shirt anyway. I’ll take care of it at home.”

The waitress frowned but then shrugged and took their order before heading back to the “kitchens,” presumably to tell her boss that their target hadn’t taken the bait. It would be a good day if there wasn’t cyanide lacing her omelet at this rate.

“I wouldn’t drink that coffee if I were you,” she whispered, just as Gavin held the overlarge mug to his lips.

He took a sip. “No?”

She eyed him incredulously. “Well, there it is. You’ve just signed my death warrant. They probably doped that, and now you’re going to slump over on the table and I’ll be a sitting duck. Seriously, all the signs are here. How much clearer could this be?”

“You’re right.” He took another sip of his coffee. “And they didn’t even have the decency to properly heat up my poison. Best of luck when I’m gone. Remember to block your chin during hand-to-hand combat. Wax on, wax off.”

Maybe it did seem outlandish, but at this point, anything was possible and she was scared of her own shadow. The least he could do was reassure her. “You really think you’re hilarious, don’t you?”

“Most days.” He took another gulp before holding out his mug to her. “Coffee?”

The waitress returned with the food before Sarabeth had the chance to slap the drink out of his big, smug hand. So what if he wasn’t incapacitated yet? That didn’t mean the food wasn’t poisoned. Some poisons took longer than others. Didn’t he know anything? Clearly, he needed to watch that CSI marathon more than she did.

Sarabeth thanked her and began pushing the food around on her plate, careful to make it look like she was eating. Let her go back and report that to her boss. The woman didn’t seem to notice, though. She was setting down Gavin’s three plates of food with extra care, patting the side of one before saying “enjoy” and walking off again.

Gavin chuckled and tugged a scrap of paper from beneath the plate the waitress had patted.

Panic threatened to choke her, and she dropped her teaspoon with a clatter, staring at the white sheet. “What is it? A bribe? A threat?” She bit her bottom lip and bent close to whisper. “A blackmail letter?”

“Not quite.”

She swallowed hard, and her palms dampened. “What do they want, then?”

“She wants…attention. This,” he flashed the paper in her direction, “is a phone number.”

There it was, plain as day. A phone number with a scrawled note underneath that she didn’t have time to read before he set it back under his plate.

“What else does it say? Are you sure it’s hers? Maybe it’s a trap. Maybe that’s her bosses’ number, and when you call it they’re going to offer you a million dollars to hand me over. My face was on the news all day yesterday and—”

“It said, ‘Hey sexy, I get off at ten. Want to help me get off again at eleven?’ She also spelled ‘eleven’ incorrectly. Somehow, I don’t think she’s part of any criminal mastermind’s plan to murder you.” He chomped down on his bacon, and Sarabeth’s cheeks burned.

Partly it was embarrassment. The other part? A weird sort of bubbling feeling in her stomach. When the waitress arrived with the check, Sarabeth had the urge to stab her with her butter knife. God, this ordeal had made her into a different person in less than twenty-four hours. She was an animal just like her would-be murderers were. Still, when Ashlee winked at Gavin, sheer, unadulterated jealousy coursed through her veins.