She didn’t wait for him when they deplaned.
As much as she annoyed him, he watched her walk toward the restroom and decided she had her head on straight. And when he came back out of the men’s room, she was waiting.
“Well, we’re here,” he stated as he walked up to her. “Ready?”
She nodded. “Let’s go catch a cab.”
They walked down to baggage claim and picked up her bag then went out to the curb. She was unbelievably efficient, and was probably the kind of person who never had bad luck—like losing luggage.
The wind gusted when they exited the building. The cool air blasted Malcolm’s face, reminding him he hadn’t shaved in a few days. He’d been debating how professional he needed to look to meet this Dimitru. He scratched at the scruff, waved a cab over, and opened the door for Marie.
“Thank you,” she said as she threw her bags into the open door and climbed in. When she turned and sat, her skirt twisted up and bared her leg. She lifted her rear and tugged the skirt down over her ankles. “Marriott City Center.”
The driver looked from her to him. “What she said,” Malcolm said. “Do you ever throw a pair of jeans on?”
She lifted a brow, which didn’t make him feel any better. No. It made him feel like he was transparent. He sighed. Working with her so far hadn’t included such close accommodations. He’d always been able to get away from her when necessary.
“Necessary” had grown since their trip to Qatar. Somehow in the heat of the desert sands, he’d caught the want-a-woman bug.
He hadn’t had this virus since he’d divorced Heather, since he’d come home to an empty house, empty bank accounts, a missing dog, and an ex-wife. Sounded like a country song. He hated country music. Every fucking song a love song.
“You’re thinking a lot.” Marie had her bag in her lap, and she’d pulled a length of hair around her head, twisting it and tying it behind her ear.
“Thinking about the meeting with Dimitru tomorrow.”
“I imagine a wonderful tea party. Pleasantries…”
Malcolm almost laughed and rolled his eyes. “Pompous, self-centered ass.”
“No, seriously. Tell me what you really think.”
“Sorry. A bad vibe from the guy since day one. And I don’t see why we needed to fly all the way across the country to meet with him when he has one of my best systems in place. I can give him a better rundown of what’s going on at his place than his own security team. And we could have video-conferenced if he was concerned about something.” It felt good to get those thoughts off his chest. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding them in. “We should be out of here tomorrow. And I don’t plan to cater to any ridiculousness.”
“Did you say ridiculousness?”
“Yeah, so?”
She grinned, her shoulder lifted, and then she worried her lip. His gaze caught on it for a blink before she started speaking again. “So, you think he’s crooked?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But it’s kind of how you sound.”
“Lots of people are douches; doesn’t mean they’re crooked.”
She nodded. “Maybe.”
“What’s your history with this guy. You date him or something?”
The guy was older. He knew women to hook up with an older man, though. Plenty. And Dimitru had a GQ look, so he wouldn’t be surprised.
Marie burst out laughing. “No. No, we never dated.”
“But you know him.”
“Not really.” Her answer was pregnant with the words not spoken.
Frustration gripped him. He frowned at her. “It’s not good to keep secrets. Didn’t you learn anything working with Hawk these last months?”
“I’m serious. I swear. I never met the guy.” She hesitated. “I have heard of him, though.”
“Okay—”
The sound of crunching metal and shattering glass interrupted his thoughts. “Whoa.”
Marie leaned forward and looked over the front seat.
“Looks like a fender bender in front of us, folks.” The little man driving them turned in his seat a bit. “I’ll try to get around it, but it could be a few extra minutes.”
Malcolm checked his watch and glanced out the window. “How far are we from the hotel?”
“Not far. Not far at all. Only a few blocks up the road, then east.”
Malcolm took a minute to pull up a map app. “Not even a half a mile.”
She wore cowboy boots. A far cry from heels.
“Do you like country music?” he asked, even as he knew it wasn’t what he really wanted to know right now.
“Love it,” she answered, wiggling her foot back and forth. “What gave it away?”
With a sigh, he opened his door. “We’ll walk. You pay the driver.”
She didn’t balk at the idea, merely scooted over, dragging her bags with her.
Malcolm hefted his own bag onto his back and reached for her duffel. She strapped her messenger bag over her shoulder and dropped her backpack onto her shoulders. When she reached for her duffel, he stopped her. “I got it.”
“But—”
“I got it.”
She rolled her eyes, opened a wallet and paid their driver, then started forward.
Hawk left an impression, Malcolm hated to admit. When he’d first joined up with Hawk Elite, he probably wouldn’t have bothered, not taking the bag or even offering to pay. Maybe it had been Stacy, who worked so damn hard without simpering or looking for a handout. Maybe he was sexist. Had he become a sexist since working with Hawk? Who the fuck knew?
Chivalry—sexist or not—wasn’t dead, not if you worked for Hawk Elite Security.
At the next corner, Marie took two steps forward and then turned to walk backward, facing him. Her skirt whipped around her ankles and a few stray hairs blew across her face. God, she was pretty. And very young looking, even though he knew they were the same age.
She lifted a hand to catch the hairs and tuck them behind her ear, and then smiled, as if glad she was there and he was there. And damn it. He didn’t need to be thinking along those lines.
A steady footfall behind him had him slowing.
Marie’s smile disappeared, her eyes widened. “Hey—”
He dropped her bag to the ground, ducked, and turned, bracing himself for an attack.
He wasn’t disappointed. The guy in black had gone high, missing him, and then swung low. Brass knuckles caught him in the side, hurting like a son of a bitch, when Marie came forward with a side kick to make Tancredo very, very proud.
The guy stumbled back with a grunt, but righted himself and hurtled forward again.
Malcolm’s world slowed, narrowing to detailed focus. Long fingers, chewed nails, and the tattoo circling the guy’s wrist and creeping out from the edge of the black long-sleeve shirt. And the curled fist took one more swing, this time aimed at Marie.
Rage like he hadn’t felt in years coursed through his veins, and he moved in, blocked the punch, which glanced off his arm, and put himself in front of her. She gripped his shirt and steadied herself behind him as he sent one blow, straight to the asshole’s face.
The guy grunted, taking a knee and a harsh breath.
“Jesus,” Marie whispered, and let out a breath.
Malcolm didn’t move, though, as his lungs finally managed to suck in air. His hands shook.
The guy shook off the daze, grappling to get up, and met Malcolm’s gaze. Fear.
Malcolm took one step forward, and the guy ran.
The world came alive around him as the ringing in his ears cleared and cars honked in the road. A few people passed by, speaking in low tones and staring at him.
Malcolm lifted her bag off the sidewalk, took her hand, and hurried down the street toward the hotel.