Page 3 of Wanted

“They don’t know you’re blond now,” Jordan said, sitting back on the couch he had thoroughly cleaned. It looked brand-new. “That’s good. I should get you some brown color. It might suit you better.”

“Red suits me best. If I can’t have that, I don’t want anything else. Since I don’t know when all of this will be over, I’m guessing I’ll be here until my hair grows out anyway,” I responded, tilting my head to the side.

He judged me for my need to have red hair with his warm hazel eyes. Quickly, I added, “I’m sure Travis told you about my cravings.”

“He did.” He turned the television off. “And that’s why this is going to be difficult for you.”

“Am I going to be around drugs? What kind?” My eyes must have gleamed. I saw the color in this bleak house. My heart fluttered. I’d do anything to forget about my predicament for just a little while. “Uppers? I can work with downers, too. I know exactly how much…”

“You won’t be touching drugs.” He checked his watch, and he nodded to himself. “All right. You have an hour to get ready.”

“Ready for what?” I asked, curious.

“An NBA game. My son’s playing,” he revealed. There was pride in his tone.

I studied him. “What is an NBA game?”

Jordan shook his head. “I’ve put together your outfit. We’ll pretend you can’t speak English. I can’t have you attract any more attention than you already will by being you.”

“What’s wrong with me?” I asked, looking down at my body. “I mean except the obvious…”

“You’re a gorgeous tall woman that looks like she jumped out of a fantasy movie.”

I crossed my arms in front of my chest, leaning back on the couch I didn’t fully trust. I let out a little chuckle.

♥♠♥

This wasn’t lying low.

There were lots of people around, way too many to count. We didn’t have these types of arenas in Katantia. I was having a difficult time not making this about myself, but I felt all the eyes.

Jordan walked ahead of me, hiding half of me with his massive body. Thankfully, he didn’t know anyone here. He kept holding up two laminated cards wherever somebody asked for ID. Jordan held my hand, not because it was a cute thing to do. He simply couldn’t handcuff me in public. When I realized we were in the midst of all this chaos, I considered making a run for it. Only an insane man would bring me into a public event a day after he’s sworn that he’ll take me to safety.

Instead of sitting in the arena with screeching dressed-up fans, Jordan led me through the corridors to end up in a cubicle that overviewed the event from above.

We were finally alone again. I immediately asked, “What was that about? I counted almost fifty cameras on our way here. These crazy fans might not recognize me, but there are people out there in front of screens who just might! Thank you for nothing. Travis’ friendship track record takes another loss tonight…”

“When Travis described you, he didn’t say you were this impatient,” Jordan replied, taking his seat in front of the glass. There was a television in the room, filling the four walls with sports commentary I couldn’t decipher.

“You dress me up in this weird outfit.” I wore a tracksuit with a sports logo on it. Who? Me. “And then you parade me around. Of course, my patience is running low. This is my life now. I have control over it.”

“Not so soon, princess.” He popped a gum into his mouth. Then he patted on the seat next to him. “Sit here. We’re expecting a guest.”

As soon as I sat next to him, we focused on what was happening on the court. That was the field where the players dribbled around, shooting and missing baskets. I had never watched a basketball game. When we were younger, Weston and Aris were more fascinated by American football and European soccer. What was Colton doing these days? I had never heard from him again after he left, and I doubted I ever would.

“They’re very tall men,” I observed, leaning forward to get a better view.

“They are. My son is number four. Can you see him?” Jordan asked. He sounded adorable speaking about his son. It filled me with a warmth that broke my heart into ten million pieces. Our father never spoke with love about us.

I nodded, spotting the boy. Well, he wasn’t a boy. He was a full-grown man who seemed only a couple years younger than me. “He’s pretty.”

“That’s what all the girls say.”

“And he has a constant smile on his face. That’s lovely.” I commented, “That smile must be his mother’s trait because you don’t really smile, do you?”

Jordan chewed his gum. Then, he responded, “There’s no reason for me to smile. I have too much to worry about every day.”

The game started, and Jordan didn’t utter another word until it was halftime, as the television commentators put it. His son’s team from Indianapolis was winning. Number four had scored half of the game’s points, which the commentators were surprised at. The father of this miracle player and my supposed protector kept a nonchalant vibe to his reactions. His son played a lot. He called the shots down on the court. I liked watching him play. It made me root for him to score, although I didn’t really understand the rules of the game just yet.