Bulletproof Princess (7 page)

She shut the door as quietly as she could behind her and watched Mack for any signs of movement, but there were none. Taking advantage of her stealth, she watched him as he read his tablet on the lounger. Intriguingly, his black t-shirt was thrown over the back of the chair he occupied. The late afternoon sun burnished his hair to a bright copper, and a light smattering of the same color dusted his chest and slid down into his cutoff jeans. It was a nice chest, too, muscular but not so much it whispered of vanity, and an interesting set of tattoos that started on one pec and slid down his side and across his nicely-developed shoulder and down to beneath his heavy-looking silver watch. Normally that wasn’t something she found attractive, but Mack made it look more than a little enticing.

Realizing she had crossed the line from ‘observing’ to ‘leering’, she figured she should probably make herself known. “Hey,” she breathed as she sank onto the lounge next to him. Turning to face the same postcard-perfect view he appeared to be enjoying, she found the view to be nothing short of spectacular: across the azure pool to a palm-lined walkway that led, eventually, to what looked like it might have been a stable, and further on beyond the foothills of the mountain.

Mack didn’t look up from his reading. “You sleep okay?”

“Fine, thank you.” The words felt stiff on her lips, and though she tried to attribute the heat in her cheeks to the setting sun, some of it was definitely from her earlier perusal of him and now being close enough to touch. Making a show of stretching out before kicking off her shoes and settling in to enjoy the sunset, she asked absently, “So where are we?”

From the corner of her eye, she saw him turn his head toward her and resisted the urge to meet his gaze. “My parents’ house.”

That much she knew, but something Ange said had been poking at her curiosity. “On Jefferson Peak?”

“Yes.” He didn’t sound agitated, but she felt a fine tension kick up between them.

Figuring she’d go for broke with her supposition, she offered, “Named for your family, I assume?” She couldn’t imagine buying a whole mountain, but folks in her circles bought islands with an alarming regularity, so it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. When he nodded, she shifted over on her side to face him. He watching her with a look on his face like he expected…something, she wasn’t quite sure what. “So then where is ‘here’ exactly?”

He didn’t answer, searching her face for a moment before turning back to his reading. “We’re outside Phoenix by a couple hours, and maybe twenty or so miles from Winslow. Just south of the Navajo Nation.”

Cassie resituated herself in the lounge chair, watching the strips of clouds try on new colors as the sun inched closer to the horizon. Winslow, Arizona. Her mind ran with it immediately and before she knew it, she was humming a song her dad used to play for her when she was very small.

Mack chuckled softly. “Yes. Like the Eagles song.”

If she didn’t know better, she’d think he sounded impressed. “Jackson Browne wrote it.”

“I’m aware,” he replied with a smile. Yeah, she could tell he was definitely impressed, which pleased her enormously.

The sun continued its leisurely sojourn to the horizon, and they sat in relative silence except for the lapping of the water against the stone edge of the pool or the occasional cry of a bird. Her first curiosity allayed, more had queued up to take its place, ranging from reasonably benign to horribly inappropriate. “So…what do you do?” She shifted in the seat again to find him with his tablet set aside and a raised eyebrow. “I mean, when you’re not rescuing damsels in distress?”

Mack’s light eyes narrowed, even as the corner of his mouth kicked up into a smirk. “I get paid to rescue damsels in distress.”

His non-response amused and piqued her at the same time. “I see, so then, since you’re not technically on the clock, does that make me a hobby?” Her mind cringed as soon as the words left her lips, but she was not going to back down now.

The smirk he’d tried to squelch bloomed full force, lighting his grey-green eyes up with devilry. “Not quite. Poker’s a hobby. Surfing is a hobby. Hookers might even be considered a hobby. You…” he looked up at the faint contrails crisscrossing the sky as he searched for his word, “You are complicated.”

The tastefully hidden exterior lights came on as the shadows settled over them and the sun gracefully swept off the stage, both of which concealed the blush at his description of her. The rational part of her brain knew he didn’t mean it how it sounded, but a small, vocal part squealed not unlike a twelve-year-old girl with her first crush. Given the circumstances, it was not an acceptable response to act on the squealing. “So does ‘complicated’ mean I can have my phone back?”

He shook his head as he turned off his tablet completely and set it on the concrete next to his chair. “Not quite. I know you’re not technically a witness, but I still need to know you can’t be tracked here. Until I get more from Ange, I’m sorry.”

Cassie sighed and nodded. She appreciated what he was saying, even if she felt a bit adrift without her friends and family with her. Leaning back on the lounger, she watched as the stars blinked on seemingly one-at-a-time, filling the sky with glitter.

They settled into the silence of the evening, listening to the desert tuning up as the heat of the day receded. She felt, rather than heard, when he turned to look at her. “I’m sorry for your loss. I know we didn’t really get into that last night because of everything, but I am very sorry.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. Cassie dropped her chin to her chest around the tightness in her throat. Her hands clenched at her sides as she actively fought against her tears. She didn’t want him to see her as some fragile, weepy woman, regardless of the brittleness she felt spreading through her.

* * *

Mack watched her slowly rein herself in. He’d gotten pretty good at that himself over the years and didn’t begrudge her. He didn’t mean to upset her or challenge her dignity. In his real life, he was more than happy to not get too emotionally involved with his witnesses. He looked after them, but was careful not to befriend them. This was nothing like his real life. “You gonna be okay?” The urge to reach out and touch her to offer her comfort was strong, but he ruthlessly kept himself in check. He wasn’t a touchy-feely guy, and the desire to be so for her was unnerving.

Cassie chuckled without humor. “Yeah, I’ll be all right. I just miss my friends.” She took a deep breath and admitted, “I don’t do separation well.”

He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the chair and braced his arms on his knees. “Let me guess, close family, small town?”

She still didn’t look at him, but nodded slightly. “Yeah, something like that. I don’t see my blood family as often as I should, but I spend so much time with Trista and Clint, it’s like they’re my family. We’re always together.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “And it’s not like Santa Fe is really that small.”

Taking advantage of the lightening of the mood between them, he shrugged as he stood up and grabbed his tablet from the table. “So what I’m hearing is that you’re just a small town girl. One who’s been living in a lonely world, right?”

Cassie snorted as she rose, her face in a scowl that was fighting valiantly against a smile. “Journey? Really? Besides, if you were raised out here, you don’t get to call yourself a city boy.”

He held the door for her as they went back inside to the cool embrace of the air conditioning. “Oh no?”

She shook her head and crossed her arms, ready to defend her position. “No, and this is about as far away from South Detroit as I can think of.”

Laughing at her outright, he tossed his shirt over his head and pulled it back on as a defense against the sudden chill. “Really, now? You ever seen Detroit?” Admittedly he’d only been there a couple times in the course of his work, and both times had been scarier than he would like to recall.

“Well, yeah.” She blinked at him like he was a special kind of stupid.

Now he was the one with crossed arms. “When?” he demanded skeptically.

Cassie raised her chin regally. “Last year on tour.”

Mack swallowed his instant bark of laughter at her answer. “I see, so then the answer to that question is ‘no’.” Rather than continue bantering, he turned and headed toward the kitchen. The squeak of her shoes against the floor told him she followed.

“I’ve been there, like May of last year,” she insisted. “It was a show with Luke Bryan and Chris Young. It was a good time.” She climbed onto the stool she’d occupied when they’d had breakfast while he went to the fridge.

“Detroit from an arena or a tour bus is quite a bit different than actual Detroit.” He really didn’t want to get into the whys and wherefores because that was a dark path most citizens shouldn’t be exposed to, so Mack sought to distract her. “What were you thinking of for dinner?”

Cassie blinked for a moment, obviously flummoxed by the question. “I…it’s not my house, I don’t know. What is there to eat?”

He stuck his head back into the fridge for a moment. “We have leftovers from breakfast I can heat up, or I’m sure I could dig up some salad stuff if you’d prefer.” He rose with a plastic dish in his hand, opening it. He sniffed and was immediately sorry. “I have some cold pozole that may or may not take up arms if we reheat it…”

“Let’s just not.” She shook her head with a slightly apprehensive expression. “Is Conchita going to be eating with us?”

Still digging through the fridge, he called over his shoulder, “No, it’s her bingo night at Saint Joe’s. You don’t get between her and her marker if you want to live.”

His
mamita
had few rules, but this was definitely one of them. He remembered going with her to St. Joseph’s in Winslow when he was a child and his parents were out of town, and hanging out in the rectory with the
padre
. There were many things he learned spending time with the older priest, such as his love for baseball and the skills to fix the brakes on an ’81 Chevy station wagon by himself by the time he was eleven.

As he pawed through the fridge, an idea coalesced, and he stood and looked at her seriously. “How do you feel about bacon?”

Her eyes narrowed in confusion. “What? Philosophically? It’s bacon, what’s not to love?”

“Good answer.” The next few minutes he pulled a bunch of stuff out of the fridge and found a frying pan.

“You don’t have to do anything big, Mackenzie. I’m probably not going to eat too terribly much.” The more stuff he fried, chopped, sliced, and mixed, the bigger her eyes got.

He stilled when she said his full name, a little stunned by how much he liked it on her lips, but recovered quickly. “Trust me,” he said as he got out the whisk from a drawer and went to work on the small bowl in his hands. “This is not big at all; the prep work just looks imposing.”

“If you say so.”

He dipped into the fridge again and tossed her a bottle of water. “Here.” It was only a couple more minutes before he joined her on a stool at the breakfast nook, each with a BLAT.

“A what?” Despite her protestations to the contrary, Cassie laid siege to her tortilla wrapped creation like the walls of Jericho.

Mack held up a finger while he finished chewing. “Bacon, lettuce, avocado, and tomato. There’s Dijon and mozzarella on there, too, but I can’t find a good place to stick the ‘D’ and the ‘M’.”

“In my mouth works.” She nodded as she made her way through the sandwich.

“Glad you approve.” Tempted as he was to comment further, and inappropriately, he figured it was safer to finish dinner.

He showed her around the kitchen while she helped him clean up. “If you’re gonna be here, you should feel free to eat what you want, when you want to. This isn’t a prison.”

Cassie smiled shyly. “I appreciate that. Thanks, Mackenzie.” She put the last piece of silverware in the dishwasher and leaned against the counter next to him.

“No problem.” He opened his mouth to ask her why she called him by his full name when Ange’s ringtone filled the air. “Hey gorgeous,” he answered and winked at Cassie. “How’s it going?”

“Oy, I’m up to my ears in financials and bookies.” The weight of the sigh over the phone damn near made his shoulders sag. “So many bookies. The man bet on everything including the possible next Pope. It would be impressive if I wasn’t working on a two hour nap and a two-day hairstyle.”

Mack snorted a laugh and cut a glance over to Cassie, who was doing nothing to disguise her curiosity. “I see, and how’d that work out?”

“Not good.” He heard a click-hiss and her deep inhalation. It had to be bad if she was smoking again. “It started okay at first, he was winning and losing pretty evenly. Then it took a turn about six months ago. The bets got bigger and the losses started multiplying like tribbles.”

“How bad?”

“‘Sold my wife, sold my house, sold my kids…cocaine.’” She sang with no irony.

Mack hissed in his breath on a wince, glancing at his charge again, whose eyes had only gotten bigger. “Yikes.”

“Oh yeah, house, boat, horses, cars…it’s a laundry list I wouldn’t want to claim. And when he ran out of his own cash…” Ange trailed off.

Mack picked it up immediately. “Oh no.” Now he didn’t even want to look at the blonde practically leaning on his arm to hear the other half of the conversation. “At the risk of repeating myself, how bad?” The idea that Cassie’s dearly departed manager was skimming off her was not something he relished having to reveal.