Page 10 of Defending You
She crept to the door and looked through the peephole. A tall, broad-shouldered man stood there, a shopping bag hanging from his left hand. No scrawny frame, no ugly glasses.
She unlatched the bolt and swung the door open, blinking up at the stranger.
Except, he wasn’t a stranger. He was an old friend. Somehow, that geeky kid from high school had turned into this man.
His dark brown hair, cropped short and neat, framed a face that had sharpened over the years. Strong jaw, high cheekbones, and ice-blue eyes. He towered over her, a few inches taller than six feet, his black T-shirt stretched over a muscled chest.
This wasn’t the awkward boy she’d known. This was…well, he was gorgeous.
She searched for an appropriate greeting but couldn’t think of anything. Finally, she managed, “What happened to your glasses?” She’d meant the remark as a way to break through the tension, but something hard and guarded flashed in his expression.
He stepped inside without being invited and closed the door behind him. After engaging the deadbolt, he spun to face her. “You need to change clothes.” His voice held no hint of kindness or even recognition, though he had to know who she was. Unlikehim, she didn’t look all that different from how she had a decade before. Just older.
She opened her mouth to say something—charm was her fallback, after all—but he moved past her and upturned the plastic bag onto the bed. A blond wig spilled out, followed by a shapeless gray sweatshirt and black leggings.
She wrinkled her nose. “What are those?”
“Your disguise.”
“They’re hideous.”
He gave her a quick once-over. “That’s the point, for you to look different. While you’re at it, take off all that jewelry. We don’t want them recognizing you.” His tone was clipped. “Sun’s down. We’re slipping out the back. Saw some questionable types in the lobby—don’t know if they’re the guys after you, but we’re not waiting around to find out.”
Her stomach twisted. “How could they know where I am? I didn’t tell anyone?—”
“No idea.” He cut her off, those cold eyes finally meeting hers. “Get changed, now.”
She bristled at the barked order. Who did he think he was? And what happened to the sweet kid she used to know? She was thankful he was there, but she didn’t appreciate his rudeness. “I’m not your underling, Asher. You don’t get to snap commands at me.”
“If you want to get out of here alive, you’ll do what I say.”
She was not accustomed to being told what to do, but the news coverage about the fire was still playing on the TV. She swallowed her words.
Asher was right. She needed to get away from those men, and she couldn’t do it by herself. She snatched the wig and clothes and stalked to the bathroom.
He’d provided a wig cap and bobby pins. Apparently, he’d done this before.
The blond strands felt cheap and scratchy, and the sweatshirt hung off her like a sack. She had worn her hair all different colors—bright red, dark brown with red streaks, even purple for a while. But she’d never gone platinum, for good reason. The pale color made her look washed out. Unlike her natural strawberry blond, the white-blond wig looked ridiculous with her light skin and freckles.
She felt naked without her jewelry. She always wore at least four rings, not to mention bracelets, earrings, a watch, and a necklace.
Sheesh, Cici.Who cared what she looked like? Someone was trying to kill her.
When she stepped out, Asher was waiting by the door, peering through the peephole. He glanced in her direction but didn’t comment on her appearance. His gaze cut to the high heels she’d worn that day, which were lying on the carpet. “Tell me you have sneakers.”
“Running shoes.” She folded her business suit into her suitcase and pulled on the shoes she wore to exercise. They were the only option she had that would go with her getup.
She zipped the suitcase, then stuck the velvet bag into her purse. She rarely carried it when she was working, usually shoving her phone and keys into her pocket. Her appraiser’s equipment was cumbersome enough.
All that equipment must’ve burned up in the fire. She’d need to replace it, and that wouldn’t be cheap. She prayed she lived long enough to deal with that expense.
She faced Asher. “Good enough?”
“Stay close. Follow my lead. We’re taking the service elevator.”
“Fine.” She didn’t like this—didn’t like him ordering her around, didn’t like needing him. But she’d trust him until she was out of this nightmare.
Then Asher Rhodes could go back to wherever he’d come from, and she could get back to her life.
