Page 16 of Guarded By the SEAL
Teslyn kept her cool, speaking in a calm, teacher-like voice. “We’re going to be right here. We’re not going anywhere.”
“But it’s dark in there.”
“It’s only for a few minutes, sweetie, and it will keep you safe.”
“I want my dolly.”
“I don’t have your dolly, honey. Come on, it’s time. You need to lay down in here for me.”
Ivy’s exhausted whimpers made his heart squeeze, and he reached for the soft, thin blanket he’d given to Teslyn, then passed it back. “Try this.”
“Oh, look at that nice soft blanket Wyatt got for you.” The sniveling died down. “Now come on, it’s almost our turn. Can you get in there for me? Good girl…”
“There’s a latch inside that opens it. Find it and show it to her, just in case.” He didn’t want to sayjust in case we don’t make it through. Teslyn knew what was at stake.
Sweat broke out on Wyatt’s forehead as his truck inched one car-length closer to the roadblock. They had three minutes, maybe five, and he had to believe Teslyn still looked every bit like she had in the surveillance video taken at the truck stop. Hiding Ivy was only part of the solution to their problem.
He eyed them in the rearview mirror. Teslyn was speaking calmly to Ivy, trying to make her feel better about being closed in the under-bench storage box. “You’ve got to get back up here, Tess. We still need to make you look different.”
“Okay, I’m going to close it now. You’re a big girl.”
“But I’m scared.”
“You’ve got this, right? You can do it, Ivy, I know you can.”
“Okay.”
“You ready? One, two, three…”
The storage box latched, and he held his breath, waiting for Ivy to cry out or scream. But she did not, and Teslyn climbed back over the seat. “What are we going to do about me?”
He eyed her from head to toe. She wore nondescript gray pants and a conservative pink sweater that made her look like a model for Lands’ End. “Is this what you were wearing at the truck stop?” he asked. The car in front of him pulled forward another spot.
“No, I had on a sleeveless turtleneck and a pair of white slacks.”
“Slacks?”
“Dress pants.”
“What are you, ninety?” Her face fell, and he almost felt bad for his comment. But the last person he’d heard use the word slacks had been his Great Aunt Lucile. “Was your hair like that at the rest stop?”
She touched it. “Like what?”
“Up. Was your hair up?”
“Yes, I usually wear it up when I’m not going anywhere special.”
“We need to change it, make you look like a different person. Take your hair down.” He reached into the back seat, grabbing a red plaid flannel he kept there. “Put this on.” She threaded her arm through the sleeve. “No,” he corrected. Not over the sweater, instead of it. And keep the top couple of buttons undone. Show some skin.”
Her head whipped around and she glared at him. “Excuse me?”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to make you look like a different person. Do you have a better idea?”
She growled in frustration. “Fine. But don’t look at me.”
He turned to look out his window, the dashboard lights illuminating her body, the image reflecting off the glass. If they’d had time for chivalry, he would have told her he could see, and she needed to find someplace else to change if she wanted privacy, but there simply wasn’t time. She tugged her sweater up over her head, momentarily revealing a dark lace bra before pulling his plaid shirt down over her body.
“This is ridiculous,” she grumbled. “Getting changed in a car with a man I barely know.”
