Page 7 of Working for the Enemy

I immediately lower her, setting her feet gently on the gravel and stepping back two full paces, raising my hands to show her they’re empty. "It's me. It's Kane."

Her back hits the side of her car, her chest heaving as she stares at me, wide-eyed and trembling like a leaf. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" she shrieks, her voice tight with embarrassment and sheer panic. "You can't just wrench open doors and yank people out of cars! Is this a normal Thursday morning activity for you? 'Oh, look, a sleeping woman, let me just haul her into the wild like a sack of potatoes'!"

Defiance flares in her eyes, sharp and blazing, but beneath it, I see the exposed vulnerability. Marlowe lifts her hand to the left side of her ribcage, wincing slightly as she presses down. Jesus, did I hurt her?

I swallow hard, hating myself. I scared her. Possibly hurt her. The one thing I swore I’d never do, and I did it within five seconds of seeing her.

“Are you okay? I didn’t mean to–”

“Fine! Totally great. Aside from, you know, being ripped out of my vehicle by a grumpy stranger.”

My gaze darts from her face to her hand, and back into those green eyes that hide so much. “Are you hurt? Did I…?”

“You can’t damage me that easily,” Marlowe replies, her sass in full bloom.

I narrow my eyes at her, thinking of what, or more troubling, who, could have hurt my precious girl. "You shouldn't be sleeping here," I rumble, my voice rougher than I mean it to be. It’s a far cry from how I want to yell at her to get her ass in my truck and let me take care of her, but still not as friendly as I was hoping. Not that I know how to be friendly, but I’m trying.

Marlowe takes a deep, shuddering breath. She closes her eyes for three seconds. I watch in real-time as she shoves every ounce of terror, embarrassment, and anger down into a dark box, locking it away.

I get it. Fuck, do I get it. I have plenty of demons imprisoned in the pitch black corners of my soul. Still, I hate the fact that she’s experienced enough trauma at her young age to have acquired that coping mechanism.

Who are you, Marlowe? What are you running from? What happened to make you this desperate when you’re just starting out in life?

Our obvious age gap should be like a cold bucket of water over my head. Instead, molten lava courses through my veins as I think about how much she needs a protector. A safe place. A home where she can be free to explore her interests and grow. She deserves that. Not a life lived in survival mode. I know from experience, that’s no life at all.

I’m brought back to the present moment when Marlowe opens her eyes. She plasters a bright, dazzling smile across her face. My girl is convincing, I’ll give her that. But she knows her little act doesn’t work on me the same way it does with most everyone else in town.

"Well!" she chirps, her tone completely artificial as she smoothes down her rumpled shirt. "Let's pretend that didn't happen and start over. Good morning, Kane! You caught me taking a little early morning nap in my vehicle before heading inside to get a nice, big breakfast at Kincaid’s!"

She acts like everything is completely normal. Like there isn't a case of water and a blanket visible right behind her through the open door.

I want to call her out. I want to tell her I know she’s broke, homeless, and running for her life. I want to grab her, put her in my truck, take her up to my cabin, and lock the world out.

Instead, I hold her gaze, forcing my posture to settle. I nod slowly toward the diner entrance, sweeping my thick arm out.

"After you," I say.

Marlowe looks at me, then glances back at her car, then at the diner's glowing neon sign. I know she doesn't have a dime to her name. She knows it, too.

She hesitates for two painful seconds before pulling her shoulders back and stepping past me, heading for the front door.

I follow half a step behind her, my eyes dropping for a fraction of a second to the lush curve of her hips. I snap my head back up, my jaw tight, stepping up to open the door for her.

She’s getting a meal. She’s getting a job. And before this day is over, she’s getting a roof over her head. Whether she likes it or not.

5

MARLOWE

Ishuffle into the vinyl booth, my movements stiff as I try to figure out what my next move is. My stomach lets out a quiet, treasonous growl, a sharp reminder that my wallet is entirely empty. I have no money for food, no money for gas, and absolutely no backup plan. But there is a zero percent chance I am admitting that to the man currently looming over me.

Kane folds his massive body into the opposite side of the booth. The overhead light practically vanishes behind his broad shoulders as he rests his forearms on the faux-wood table, leaning forward to inspect me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.

Before the silence can turn suffocating, a waitress slides up to the table, pen poised over her notepad. "Morning, folks. What can I get started for you today?"

"Just water for me, please," I say immediately, offering a tight, practiced smile.

Kane’s dark brows knit together. His blue eyes lock onto mine, piercing right through the casual facade I'm trying so hard to maintain. “Didn’t you say you were on your way inside to eat?” he asks, his voice deep and rough.