Page 55 of Asher

“Harley named him after Alex. Couldn’t have Big Alex and Little Alex, so it got shortened to Little A.”

“Really? Harley named one of his sons after his boss?” That was weird, but Marlowe recalled Kelsey’s story about how Harley rescued Alex and her. That made Harley their hero. Like Asher was her hero.

“So, what do you think? Stay here until—?”

“What’s really going on, Doc Fitz? Asher’s no weakling. I can take care of him at his place as well as I can here, and you know it.”

“What’s going on…”

Uh-oh. Marlowe cringed at the stern male voice behind her. Yikes. Alex. In her doorway. She looked over her shoulder. “Yes,” she declared loudly. “I’m not stupid. I know when I’m being strung along, so tell me what’s up.”

He walked in and closed the door behind him. “Thanks, McKenna. I’ll take it from here. You’re welcome to stay if you’re not too busy.”

“I’m never too busy for you. Fire away.”

When Alex crossed his arms over his chest, Marlowe couldn’t help the sneer that tweaked her upper lip. He was dressed to kill this morning, in a crisply pressed charcoal-gray business suit and white shirt. An American flag tie tack adorned the black and silver striped tie at his neck. This man was twice as big, maybe even twice as tall, as Marlowe.

She stiffened her spine to add a couple inches to her height, but in no way was she as intimidating as he was. She hated feeling like she always needed to be ready for a fight, but his height and breadth and width—“Fuck off,” she snarled, automatically lashing out, declaring her boundaries. He could respect them or leave, she wasn’t backing down. Not to him. Not to anyone.

Alex had the nerve to look up at the ceiling and laugh. “Son of a bitch, you are the one, aren’t you?”

“The one what?Wonder Woman? Bitch? What the—?”

“Enough cussing,” he whispered, crouching down to the floor to look her in the eyes, one hand on the bed to keep his balance. “You’ve never been safer, Ms. Rich, and—”

“Marlowe. My name’s Marlowe. At least get that right.”

“Yes, ma’am—”

“Boss, please don’t call her ma’am,” Asher said from the doorway.

Doc Fitz threw up her hands. “Get your butt in here and sit down, right now, Asher. You know darned well you shouldn’t be on your feet. Doesn’t anyone listen to me?”

Marlowe smiled at the pale knight at her door. Asher came to rescue her again. Man, how she wanted to kiss him.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Asher limped over to Marlowe’s bed and sat as quickly as he could. Alex jumped out of his way. Good thing. On the verge of blacking out, Asher put an arm around Marlowe’s taut shoulders and focused on the floor, fighting waves of black spots at his periphery. He refused to faint. Not in front of his boss. Certainly not in front of Marlowe. She was stressed enough.

He’d heard Alex walk past his room. Which meant he was headed for Marlowe’s. Why, Asher didn’t know, just knew Alex and Marlowe together were gasoline and a lit match. So he’d staggered in here like a drunk, to defend her. But shit. The short jaunt took everything. He should’ve used the walker like Doc Fitz told him to. Hell, he should’ve stayed in bed. But noooo… He had to play hero, and he was paying for it.

“Marlowe doesn’t like being called ma’am,” he quietly told the floor. No sense looking up. Alex had ears and Asher was dizzy enough. Wasn’t going anywhere until the floor stopped dancing. Crap. This might not have been his brightest idea.

“Understood,” Alex replied. “But now that she’s here, she might as well earn her keep.”

Asher had no idea what Alex meant. He was more focused on breathing and not passing out. He flat out wasn’t strong or smart enough to argue with his boss right then. It’d take too much energy. Why was he out of bed? Oh, yeah. To defend the woman who’d single-handedly brought him to his knees? Definitely not smart.

“Doing what?” Marlowe asked, interrupting his slow-witted brain. Like that was difficult. There was nothing but attitude in her question. This could get ugly.

“I need someone to work with the women you helped bring to America,” Alex replied evenly. “You speak their language. You know what they’ve been through. Hell, you know them personally and the pay’s good.”

Not what Asher was expecting, but it seemed to work. Marlowe’s shoulders relaxed. So did those tiny, fisted hands. She was a ball-buster, no doubt about that, but she needed to learn her limits.

“Okay. Yeah. I can do that,” she said, her tone not nice, but less nasty than before.

“Boss, you need to teach her to shoot. She needs a weapon. Shit” —now that Asher said that— “and I need mine. Where are they? And where’s Scorpion? Gizmo?” Lifting his heavy head, he made bleary eye contact with his boss. “You got my pistols or did I leave them in Syria?” A man without his sidearms wasn’t a man at all.

“Relax. The drones are back at McCormack Research and your weapons are upstairs in my office. You bet I’ll teach Marlowe to shoot.” Alex looked at her. “You up for target practice? This afternoon?”

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