TAG (6 page)

I close the door behind me and look around to acquaint myself with each boring empty corner of my new bedroom. I hate moving. I drop my bags onto my bed, observing the slight resistance within the springs.

Now this looks comfy.

Whatever. I’m sure I won’t be here long.

TANGO

I sent my confirmation to the number I was given by Eli:
She’s in my possession. All clear.

Damn. She’s a firecracker. I haven’t ever turned down a
challenge, but taking on an assignment with a hot chick who has a bad attitude is a new one for me. It’s definitely different than any of my previous
missions—mostly since I never had to work with a female. Plus,
knowing
my hormones and how they react, I’m not sure I’m capable of completing any job with a chick hanging over my shoulder.

Thankfully, there was no place for flirting or relationships in the Marines, so it was rare when it happened. Definitely didn’t happen with me. Plus, I haven’t really had time to focus on women outside of the Marines since I was deployed more than I was home. Well, unless I was at the club.

The club. God, it’s been so long since I’ve been to one. Thinking back to it now, it probably wasn’t the best place to focus on women. They looked at me the same way they looked at every other dude
who walked into that place. Money. Money. Money. But for some reason I was able to convince myself to forget this whenever I was in there.

Being around Cali now, she is the purpose for me being here, and she is the focus. I feel like I’ve been told to stare at a briefcase full of money and not touch it. Not imagine what it would be like to experience having that type of money. Not to spend it and do both
good and bad things with it. Although with her hiding in her room and avoiding me—for all intents and purposes, the briefcase will remain closed, keeping me from staring at the goods—which will probably make this a lot easier.

Fuck. I need to get laid and probably not by the task at hand. I should find a club around here. I wonder how hard it would be to convince her to join me. I can’t exactly leave her, so I’d have to bring
her.

On second thought, imagining this scene isn’t hot. I could see
Cali knocking out a stripper or two for the simple reason that they might look at her the wrong way. Scratch that thought. Back to this
situation sucking ass.

CALI

My phone lights up with a return message saying,
Invalid Number.
Of course.

I unpack the few things I have and organize them in the closet. I remove my laptop from my other bag and place it on the small metal writing desk.

I settle into the firm wooden chair in front of my laptop, waiting for it to power up. While waiting, I glance out the window at the
mess of
trees butted up against each other. It’s the only positive feature about this place so far. I can’t help but to feel jealous of those trees.
It’s almost as if they’re teasing me with their freedom. They’re allowed to dance
in the wind and enjoy the security of being near other trees who live exactly the same way. It’s a simple enjoyment I’m not allowed to experience. Although, the last few weeks were the longest I’ve been without a bodyguard. And it was wonderful, exuberating really. I made an asshole kill himself. I can’t think of anything better than
that.

The ping of my inbox pulls my attention back to the screen. I
don’t keep my email account on my phone like most people, mostly since Dad has always given me hundreds of reasons why it’s a bad idea.
Not that I like to listen to him, but I can see some legitimacy to some of his reasons. My laptop is pretty secure and it’s a little harder to lose than my phone. I click on the e-mail icon and twenty unread
messages show
up in a bold stream. Most of them are from Lex. I think it’s safe to
assume she’s wondering where I’ve gone. She’ll forget about me in a week. They all do. I open the e-mail from Sasha. She knows not to ask me
where I am or who I’m with, but she still sends me an email every day telling me about her life in a corporate office, and the hot men cloaked in expensive clothes, who all appear to be oozing with
money. She’s
the center of attention in her office, being the only female in her department. She’s stunning, which I’m sure is blatant to all of her male co-workers. She also works part time at a small restaurant in the center of town every night. She doesn’t like to be bored, so she
spends every free minute she has working.

Our moms were best friends when they were our age. Sasha and I were born only a few months apart, making us as close as sisters, which is why she knows enough to know not to ask anything. She’s connected to me, which is why I can’t be around her. Reaper knows her. And he’d do anything to find me. After Krissy’s funeral, I made Sasha move out of her apartment and change her number.

She seems happy in her new town now and finally admitted to
having her eye on someone at the restaurant she works at. I guess he’s the chef or something. From the way she was talking, I had a feeling someone had to have been attracting her attention for the
past few
weeks. She was careful to tiptoe around the subject, though,
probably knowing how miserable I am right now. Probably knowing how little I care about who’s dating who . . . even if it is her. She’s aware
of the ‘no boyfriend’ rule I’ve declared for myself. I don’t want to be the cause of another innocent person’s death. Therefore, I will remain single, alone, and dejected for the time being, but that doesn’t
mean she
can’t live a normal life. She doesn’t realize it makes me happy to know she’s making friends and meeting guys. I want her life to be normal. She wasn’t born into this mess and shouldn’t have to live
like she was.

I send her a quick note telling her how happy I am for her. I want her to live the life I hope to live some day. I want her to marry and have a family—to leave the thought of my horrible past in the
past.

I click send, which brings me back to the rest of the unread
emails. Most are spam. I delete all of them except the last one—the one that has gone unread for the past year. Krissy’s last email to me. I can’t read it. I don’t know if I can handle what she didn’t know was going to be her last words to me. Even thinking about clicking
read
forces a
burn behind my eyes. I have spent the last year crying whenever no
one was looking. Every time I feel like my tears are drying up, something else pops up that reminds me of her. I still can’t read this. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to.

TANGO

I’M SURE
we won’t be here long, so I’m not going to think twice
about the fact that this room is meant for a miniature person. The ceiling is
angled, and I can’t even stand up straight in most corners of the
room. I haven’t seen the other bedroom, but I’m assuming it’s twice the size with a full height ceiling.

Unfamiliar with this area, I pull my phone back out and open a map. I’m sure she’s starving and when a woman is hungry, things only go south from there. And this chick would probably prove that theory correctly in the worst way possible. My truck won’t be dropped off until later, so I need to find shit in walking distance. Although, I’m guessing she wants to stay locked in her room, and if that’s the case, I’ll grab a pizza and leave it at her door. On second thought,
knowing my luck . . . she probably doesn’t eat pizza. I’m sure it has too many calories. Ugh. What have I gotten myself into?

I pull open my bag and straighten the neatly folded pile of clothes, knowing they’ll be staying like this until I need them. I guess I could have told her not to bother thoroughly unpacking. Although she’s been on the run long enough, so she probably lives like I do.
And if she does, I’m sure she knows living out of bags doesn’t get old. It’s actually comforting—knowing I can pick up and leave at a moment’s notice.

I take off my shirt and toss it onto the bed as I reach into my bag for a clean one. My hand sweeps against the small picture frame I’ve kept in here since I left for the Marines, and it makes my heart ache. Last time I looked at this I was in Afghanistan. The picture reminded
me of what I was fighting for—my motivation to make it home. But now it’s the reminder that I still have one person who knows I’m alive and loves me—my motivation to keep pushing forward, even
knowing I can’t see her again. It’s moments like these when I stop and realize
what has happened over the past few months. How did I end up here? I had such a promising career. I was a lifer in the Marines. I
wasn’t great
in school, but I excelled with everything I touched in the military. It felt like my destiny, which made combat easier to accept. I was doing what I was placed on this earth to do. But now that I’ve been
discharged, I have no direction. I have no real plan. I’m just crossing the days off as they go by. It’s easy to be strong when resilient people surround you. Having no support, though, it’s weakening.

CALI

My stomach snarls with hunger, reminding me I still haven’t eaten
anything since the slice of microwaved pizza I scarfed down last
night. Maybe I can sneak out without the hulk noticing.

I pause when I pass by his room. He’s hunched over his bag folding clothes. A man folding his clothes? That’s different. All I
know is he’s preoccupied.

I continue down the hall, concentrating on not making a scuffing noise with my feet. He probably has bionic ears too, though. All of my previous bodyguards seemed to.

I twist the knob on the front door and pull, but the door doesn’t give. My focus is drawn in a line upward from the doorknob, noting three deadbolts. One even has a keyhole on the inside.

Motherfucker. He actually locked me in. He’s the worst one yet.

Not a bodyguard
,
my ass
.

“You need something?”

I whirl around, faced with a white t-shirt tightened over a well-defined chest. I close my eyes to block out the sight. “No.”

“Cool.” He turns around and heads back toward his bedroom.

“I’m fucking starving,” I yell after him. My voice carries louder than I intended, but I’m so irritated right now that my self-control is being pushed to the brink.

“Why didn’t you say so? I was about to order a pizza.” He walks
back into his room and immediately returns, pulling a cream-colored Henley over his head. “But if you’re that hungry, I’ll assume you
don’t want to wait for delivery.”

“I don’t remember asking you to join me for lunch.” I cross my arms over my chest and fall back against the door. “I don’t need a babysitter, Tango.”

He pulls his coat off of the sofa and throws it over his shoulder. “Well, I’m hungry too. And since I’m supposed to . . . ahh . . . keep you company, we’ll call it, I can either go with you or we can wait an
hour for delivery.” He shoves his hand into his front pocket and pulls out a key. The key that will release me from this new bubble I
seem to
be confined to. “Oh, and even if I wasn’t supposed to . . . ahh . . .
keep
you company, it’s a free country, right? And there’s only one food
joint within walking distance.”

“What if I place a restraining order against you?” Like that
would even work.

He throws his head back and lets out a brash husky laugh.
“Good luck with that one, Carolina.”

I growl with annoyance. “It’s Cali.”

“I’m sorry, but I think the name Carolina is beautiful. It’s fitting. You shouldn’t be so annoyed to hear it.” He looks at me without shame, which tells me the compliment was sincere. I never really
saw anything beautiful about myself. And I have a bad attitude to boot. So I’m not exactly sure what he meant by it. But it was sweet, I suppose.

He slides behind me and unlocks the front door. “Well if it helps, you can call me whatever you want, princess.”

I bite my cheek, refraining from another comeback. He wants me to keep fighting. It’s obvious he’s enjoying it.

I don’t flinch, I don’t react, and I don’t respond. I take the lead and head out the main entrance, realizing we likely have no transportation here since we were dropped off.

“Look. You’re in danger—we both know this. We’re okay here for the time being, but I don’t want to go too far. There’s a sandwich
shop around the corner. Will that work for you?” he asks.

I follow behind him, pondering the likelihood of being able to run.
My focus darts around to familiarize myself with these new surroundings. It’s pretty barren, full of trees and no shops in sight. “I
need to find a pharmacy after we eat.” If I don’t refill my prescription, I’m going to implode from pain.

“There’s actually one around the corner,” he says.

“You from here, or something?” I ask.

He pulls out his phone and stops walking. Whatever he’s reading seems unimportant since his face doesn’t twitch. His eyes
hardly scan
the words. His chest doesn’t constrict any faster, and the visible
pulse on his neck holds at a steady rhythm. He drops his phone back into his pocket and continues walking. I cannot read this guy.

We step into the sandwich shop and the bell sounds on the glass
door, announcing our arrival. The scattered customers all stop mid-
bite
and turn their attention to us. The examination is brief and they all
turn back around to continue on with their eating.