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“Isn’t big money attention grabbing?”
“Find options. I’ll decide.”
“All right,” I say, getting to work. I’m efficient. I’m resourceful. Things that were always a value to my boss in my legal profession as was my attention to detail. I type in the search as he powers up as well, and we work side by side. I don’t know what he’s doing. Yes, I do. He’s trying to keep us alive because our future is uncertain. That shakes me a bit, and I press my fingers to my temple. Bad people are after us.
“Hey,” he says, turning to me, taking my face into his big, strong hands. He tilts my gaze to his. “We’re going to win, remember?”
“Yes. I know. I just—I wish I knew how to fight a little bigger and a little better.”
“You’re what makes me fight a little bigger and a little better. A lot fucking better. They aren’t going to end me because I have you. Because I have you to live for now, Ashley, and you have me, which is why I’m going to teach you to be the biggest badass bitch ever.”
I laugh. “The biggest badass bitch?”
“That’s right. You’ll hurt any man who tries to hurt you unless I kill them first, and mark my word, I will kill for you, Ashley.”
Chapter twenty-four
Ashley
His promise to kill for me, spoken as if it’s a declaration of love and devotion, hits me as all kinds of wrong. Like killing for me is a badge of honor, as good as the ring that I no longer wear on my hand. Perhaps it is in some ways. He’d kill for me. He’d die for me. Perhaps that’s the highest level of devotion possible, but there’s a weird knot in my belly, a queasy, horrible knot that expands and shifts until I feel as if I’m being trapped in a cage.
“I know you’ll kill for me,” I say, grasping Aaron’s hand where it rests on my face. He’s big and strong. He’s the man I love, and yet, the next statement still comes out almost as an accusation. “You’ve already proven that. And I’m both comforted and tormented by that fact. Comforted and tormented by the fact that you’re both my Noah and a killer named Aaron.”
He pulls back to look at me. “A killer named Aaron? Is that who I am to you now?”
“That’s who you are. That’s who you’ve always been, and some part of me knew it. Some part of me always knew. Obviously, some part of me was always okay with it, too. So, you want to train me to be a killer? Train me. I want to live.”
He inhales, his broad chest expanding on that held breath, his gaze cutting to the door where it remains for long seconds. Too many seconds and I scan the area, starting to fear a problem he sees that I’ve ignored. I find an old man chatting with a waitress, his gray hair slicked back. His belly is big. Beyond those two people, we’re alone in the dining area.
“Do you know how easily a man can age himself with a wig, makeup, and a bodysuit?” Aaron finally asks, casting me a sideways glance. “And do you know how many old men are perfect shots? How many young girls dressed as waitresses are as well?”
I swallow hard. “You’re telling me that I dismissed one or both of them too quickly?” My hand slides to my purse, to my weapon, tension radiating down my spine.
His hand settles on mine. “Yes. You did, but those two are what they seem. They’re not targets because they’re not trying to kill us. I kill for duty, and I kill to survive or to make sure others survive. I’d spare you an understanding of what that means if I could, but I can’t. A killer hunts people down and kills them. You will never be a killer. You will always be a survivor. Don’t forget that.”
“And you? Have you ever hunted someone down and killed them?”
He gives me a long steely stare. “Find us a place to stay.” He reaches into his pocket, pulls out his wallet, and removes a card that he hands to me. “Use that to pay.”
I glance down at the card that has my new fake married name on it, and I feel a pinch of emotion. No. Two or three pinches of emotion. He has the resources to get this card. He is so much more than I knew him to be, even though my prior statement is also true. I sensed this. I knew there was more to him than met the eye. I was drawn to the many dark layers of this man. And, of course, another pinch comes from the fact that we’re pretending to be married, looking for a place to stay as husband and wife. I was supposed to become his wife. I had a ring. I had a fantasy proposal and wedding planning in progress when my world had fallen apart. Now, I'm just a survivor, and that can be the only dream I have: to survive.
I glance at the door again, watching the old man exit and the waitress turning her attention to the tip now resting in the palm of her hand, several bills I believe. She's twenty-something, a bit tired looking with pale skin, shadowed with dark circles. This, I decide is a second job, or being in her early twenties, the job she works while going to school. A smile touches her lips. She’s pleased with the money she's holding. She’s also unaware that I notice, that I know that she’s pleased. I can never be that oblivious to my surroundings ever again. She pockets the money and refocuses on the next tip. She hurries to the counter, grabs the coffee pot, and rushes in our direction. We're the next tip. I eagerly offer her my mug and let her fill it with dark, rich liquid. Aaron waves her off, uninterested in more brew, but he watches her depart with hard eyes, his body harder, unmoving.
He's on edge, but it hits me then that he’s always on edge. More so, he's always looking for enemies, waiting to be attacked. He's alone without me. He was always alone without me. His entire life, his future, changed when he stood up against a cartel member through the District Attorney's office. When he ensured the conviction of a man no one else would dare face off with in court. He was brave, but as a result, he’s been forced to see everyone as a potential attacker, to look at them as if they are ready to kill him. As if he would have to kill them or be killed. Always. Everyone, but me. He was always different with me.
I turn to him and stroke his cheek, urging his attention to me. He’s slow to turn, but when he looks at me, there’s a punch of emotion between us. His eyes, his soul, radiate power and torment. “Even when you hunt," I say softly, but no less intensely, "you’re surviving. You didn’t choose this life. It chose you. You fight. You survive.”
“What happened to the killer you called me?”
“I understand your message. I understood what you said to me. Sometimes being a survivor means becoming a killer.”
He doesn’t immediately react. He doesn’t confirm or deny my words. He just leans in, kisses the hell out of me, and then orders, “Find us a place to live, my fake wife, but know this: one day, you’ll feel safe with me again. One day, you’ll trust me again. And that day, that will be the day I’ll ask you to marry me and to become my real wife.” He kisses me again and sets me aside, returning his attention to his computer, but I'm not tuned out. I'm with him. He's with me. We’re together, and we're going to stay that way.
Furthermore, most importantly, my heart squeezes with the knowledge that he knew what was on my mind. That he knew that I was thinking about being his fake wife, that I was thinking about marrying him, or that perhaps he was simply thinking of marrying me. He is not a killer. He is a man who has been alone for far too long. Alone. I know that word. I know that feeling. The minute I met him, I was no longer alone. I lean over and kiss his cheek and whisper, “I love you, no matter what name you use or what war you battle.” I turn away from him and start looking for a place for us to safely hide away while we hunt for our enemies. We hunt them. They don’t get to hunt us. Aaron is right to go after them. Even if we ran, they could find us, and I don’t want that life for us. He ran. He ran from the cartel, and the CIA took advantage of his vulnerability. No more. I’m fighting with him. I’m fighting for our freedom.
“How about this place?” I ask, a few minutes later. “Or this one.”
We talk through a few options and decide on one in a row-style building where we’ll be secluded with our own entryway and door. There will be a gated entry point where we can point cameras. I pay, and we’re ready to go. We scan the restaurant, and we’re about to leave when three men in business suits walk in, and while they don’t sit anywhere near us, nor do they look at us, a feeling of unease slides through me. I want to be someplace safe. I want some time with Aaron to plan. I want to investigate and find out who is behind this. I don’t want to run. I don’t want Aaron to have to kill for me again.
