Four hours of sleep does me just fine and I wake at nine to the alarm I’d set right before bed. By ten, I’ve showered, downed two cups of coffee, and a bowl of cereal. By ten-fifteen, I’m out the door, a leather bag with a computer inside on my shoulder. I don’t bother with my car, which is parked in the Walker garage. I bought the BMW just because I wanted my father to know I could buy the damn thing. I haven’t seen him since driving in the city is hell, and I’m pissed at myself for being this fucking old, and still motivated to show him up.
I take the subway and by eleven, I’ve hit up a hardware store, a liquor store, and grabbed a bag of my favorite sweets. By eleven-fifteen, I’m at Sierra’s apartment, hoping she’s awake when I buzz her call button. She doesn’t answer. I buzz it again. Fuck. I pull my phone from my pocket and dial her number. “Hello,” she says.
“Where are you?”
“Standing right behind you.”
I drop the phone from my ear and turn around to find Sierra, the sunlight catching auburn in her brown hair, and amber in her blue eyes. “You’re up,” I say.
“I went grocery shopping,” she says. “Why are you here?”
“I went shopping too. Invite me up and I’ll show you what I bought.”
“Asher—”
“Keep saying my name, sweetheart, but don’t finish that sentence the wrong way. I brought gifts.”
“I don’t need gifts.”
“Actually, you do need these. They’re practical.”
“Practical.” She laughs. “Now I have to know how you define the word practical.”
“Then invite me up. Both of our arms are tired.”
“Okay, but just—”
“No limits. They aren’t practical.”
She shakes her head and laughs. “Fine. You win.” She walks to the panel, punching in the code: 1877. She looks over at me. “You memorized it, didn’t you?”
“Yes. I did. Now you don’t have to tell me.”
“How gentlemanly of you to save me the trouble,” she says, reaching for the door.
“I’m glad you think so,” I say, catching the door and giving her room to enter first. She starts up the stairs and I happily follow behind her, with a perfect view of her cute heart-shaped ass in snug black jeans. “Are you looking at my ass?” she asks one flight up.
“Yes. I am. Don’t tell me to stop. I can’t. It’s right in front of me.”
She stops walking at the first level and motions me ahead. “You go first.”
I smile. “That’s just evil,” I say, but I do as ordered, and one flight up, I say, “Are you looking at my ass?”
“Yes,” she says. “I am. Don’t tell me to stop. I can’t. It’s right in front of me.”
I laugh, and in morning light, I’m still fucking crazy about this woman. I want to know her story, and I want her to tell me, not her fingerprints. And I believe I can get us there. I reach the top level and step back to allow her to join me, and she sets her bags down to dig out her key. It’s all I can do not to reach forward and pull her to me, but the bags in my hands offer willpower. She pops open the door and grabs her bags. I follow her inside and she heads to the kitchen.
“Can you lock the door?” she asks over her shoulder, that locked door obviously important to her.
“No, actually,” I say, setting my bags down on the floor. “Because I’m going to change your lock out and install a chain and deadbolt.”
She turns to look at me. “That’s expensive,” she says. “I don’t have that kind of money.”
“It’s a gift,” I say.
“I can’t take that.”
“It’s already paid for,” I say. “And you need it.”
“How much?”
“I got this, Sierra.”
She folds her arms in front of her. “I don’t want you to spend money on me.”
I cross the room to stand in front of her but I don’t touch her despite the fact that I really fucking want to touch her. “I told you. I do work for Walker Security. They pay me well. I want to do this for you.”
“Why do you bartend then?”
“That’s a complicated story I’ll tell you another time.”
“I understand.” She grabs a jug of milk and puts it in the fridge, effectively giving me her back, but not before I note the discomfort and disappointment in her face. She feels shut down which isn’t wrong. I did shut her down because Savage was right. If she knows I’m undercover, she’ll act differently at the bar, and blink at the wrong time. Damn it. Fuck. Damn it.
“I’m going to get started,” I murmur, walking away from her rather than pulling her close and explaining everything. I cross to the door and grab the leather bag I left on the floor, squatting down and pulling out the MacBook inside. I set it on the desk which is what amounts to a hop away, and turn on Amazon Prime Music to a country channel.
She leans on the counter, facing me. “I didn’t take you for a country boy,” she says, as Luke Bryan’s Light It Up fills the air.
“I’m a clusterfuck of contradictions, sweetheart,” I say, standing up, my bag in hand as I walk back to the kitchen. “I love country and I was in a rock band for several years.” I have no idea why I just admitted that to her. I don’t talk about that part of my life, and I quickly pull out a six pack of beer and the cookies. “I brought snacks.”
She laughs. “Beer and cookies? That’s a crazy combination.”
I unscrew the top on a beer and hand it to her before grabbing one for myself. “I told you. I’m a clusterfuck of contradictions. Try the cookies. Best black and whites in the city. And I know my black and whites.”
“Are you from New York?”
“Born and raised right here in the city. What about you?”
“No,” she says. “I’m not from here.”
“Where?”
She hesitates but gives me a little morsel. “Colorado. Don’t ask why I’m here.”
“Where in Colorado?”
“Denver,” she says.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight for a little longer. My birthday is next month. October 22nd. How old are you?”
“Thirty-three. My birthday is next month as well. The 21st.”
She smiles. “Really?”
“Yes. Really.”
“You get older sooner than me.”
“I’ve learned that any time you actually live long enough to get older, is a good day, and so I’ll happily get older.”
“Yes. Yes, I do believe I appreciate that statement.”
I don’t ask why. She barely told me where she’s from and I want to draw her out, not push her back. “Then we’ll celebrate together.”
“Yes. That would be nice.”
“Yes,” I repeat. “It would be—nice.”
She laughs. “Nice is not a word that works for you. You can barely even say it.”
“I’ll practice.” I walk across the room and kneel by my leather bag.
“Please don’t,” she says, crossing to sit on the side of the bed, her beer in her hand. “Nice doesn’t fit you.”
“You might be surprised how well nice can fit me,” I say, pulling out a variety of tools. “A lot of things about me might surprise you.”
“When were you in a band?” she asks, sipping her beer.
I test the electronic screw gun and hesitate. “Before the SEALs.”
“And the real story?”
“I don’t talk about the real story.”
“I understand.”
I rotate and lean an elbow on the door facing her. “A little too well.”
“Is that a problem for you?”
“Yes. It is.”
“And yet you don’t talk about you?”
“I’m not the one running,” I say.
“If you won’t talk about it, you’re running from it.”
“Says who?”
She gives a choked humorless laugh and looks away a moment before looking at me again. “Not me. I know nothing. I’ve proven that the past nine months.”
“What happened nine months ago?”
“Nothing. Everything. Except…”
“Except what?”
She downs a big swallow of her beer. “You seem different.” She sets the bottle down by her bed and lays back on the mattress.
I don’t ask her what different means. There had been a soft rasp to her voice and a softening to her eyes that tells me different is good. And I’ll take that.
I start working on the lock, and by the time I have a deadbolt installed, she hasn’t moved. I walk over to her and sure enough, she’s breathing deeply. I look around for a blanket to pull over her and there isn’t one. I try the closet, and my gut clenches when I realize just how little she owns. There sure isn’t a blanket. I cross to the bed again and stare down at her, watching her sleep. She’s peaceful and that tells me a story. She’s exhausted emotionally and physically. She’s always on edge, but with me here, she feels safe, whether she consciously knows it or not. That’s the biggest fucking compliment she can give me, and she doesn’t even know she offered it up. That’s progress. That’s trust. Quid pro quo. Which means I can’t keep giving her standard answers. I have to give to get.
I walk back to the door and add a chain to the top above the deadbolt. Next comes a camera that I program into the MacBook. Everything else I have with me, I need to show her how to use. I walk over to the bed and sit down next to her. She doesn’t move. I lay back and she rolls over and curls to my side. She’s asleep, but she instinctively came to me. And I’m not sure any woman has ever done anything that rocked my world. She trusts me. At least in her sleep. I just have to convince her she can trust me when she’s awake.
And what the fuck happened nine months ago?