Page 16 of Defending You

His brows twitched, but otherwise, his face stayed blank. No apology, no backtracking. Just that cool, assessing stare.

She hated how it made her feel, like she had to prove something to him. She rested her elbow on the armrest between them and forced a casual tone. They had to spend time together. They might as well get along. “What about you? Last I heard, you joined the military. What’ve you been up to since then?”

He shifted, leaning back against the seat, scanning their surroundings again. “Navy. Became a SEAL. Got out after an injury. Now I do this.” He nodded vaguely, likethiswas self-explanatory.

He’d been a SEAL?

She hadn’t seen that coming. The scrawny kid with the Coke-bottle glasses and thrift-store jeans had turned into a Special Forces warrior? She let her eyes drift over him—his broad shoulders, the quiet strength in his arms, the way he carried himself like he could take on anything.

“That’s impressive,” she said. “Explains the whole”—she waved toward him—“take-charge thing you’ve got going on.”

He grunted, his standard response.

“So, SEAL to bodyguard. Big shift.”

“Not really.” His voice stayed flat. “Same game, different field.”

“But don’t SEALs work as a team? At leastthat’sdifferent.”

“I work with a team most of the time. Just not this job. I was the only GBPA member in Philly when the call came in.”

“GBPA. That’s familiar. I think…Did you work with my cousin Grant?”

“His wife is one of the owners.”

“I’m guessing Brooklynn recommended your company.” She tilted her head, studying Asher. “You’ve changed a lot since high school.”

“Have I?” His gaze cut to hers, sharp and assessing, and there was something in it—something that made her breath catch. “Maybe you just didn’t know me back then.”

The words landed like a pebble in still water, rippling through her. She opened her mouth to argue, but wasn’t sure what to say.

She hadn’t known him well. He’d been short and skinny and geeky. They’d gone to a small school, and Asher had been an acquaintance, not a friend. They were both smart, so they’d been in a lot of the same classes.

Unlike Asher, who’d kept to himself, Cici had known everybody, and everybody had known her. On the outside, people would’ve called her popular, which she supposed was true. Friends had been easy to come by, still were. But respect, admiration, approval? Those things had always been elusive.

He kept up his vigil as if enemies might drop from the ceiling like they were in some transcontinental version ofMission: Impossible, leaving her staring at the side of his face—those high cheekbones, that straight nose.

The train rocked gently. She leaned back, the velvet bag in her purse, a reminder of why they were here. Asher might be right—she hadn’t known him, not really. And now, sitting next to this man who’d morphed from a memory into something solid and steady and a little dangerous, she wondered what else she’d missed.

A few hours later, the train jolted to a stop, brakes squealing as it pulled into a station in western Massachusetts. Cici pressed her forehead against the window, the glass cool against her skin, and stared out at the platform.

The darkness was broken by the glow of a few scattered lights. Their conversation had finally helped her calm her racing heart until the steady clack of the tracks had lulled her into a fragile truce with the day’s madness. Finally, she’d settled, even drifting off to sleep for a few minutes.

Now, she sat up and stretched. They had to be getting close to Boston. She wished she’d grabbed an itinerary back in Philly so she’d know where they were and how much longer they had to go.

Beside her, Asher reclined, his legs stretched out as if he were completely relaxed. But tension wafted off him. As far as she’d noticed, he hadn’t let down his guard for a moment since they’d boarded. Now, he focused on the aisle as a handful of passengers shuffled off, dragging bags and muttering complaints about the late hour.

Her gaze drifted outside, skimming the people milling on the platform.

And then she snagged on a face.

The man was mostly hidden behind a concrete pillar, but she saw enough. Shaved head, blocky shoulders, black T-shirt. It was the guard who’d followed her. Who’d found her at the police station.

Her breath caught. “Asher.” She gripped his forearm. “Outside. It’s him.”

Asher frowned, his eyes narrowing. “Who?”

“The guy from the jewelry store. The one who chased me.” She jabbed a finger toward the window, her voice low but urgent. “He’s right there.”