Page 25 of Knox
He suddenly felt like the thug he had been, maybe still was. And that’s when he realized he wasn’t wearing his shirt. He’d whipped it off, wrapped it around Knox’s wounded arm. He folded his hands over his chest, feeling a little, weirdly, naked.
“Why not?”
“Seriously?” She cocked her head. “I’ve seen it all, buddy, so if you think a little”—she gestured with a flick of her wrist to his naked chest—“eye candy is going to get you past me to get dirt on Kelsey, you’ve got another thing coming.”
He blinked at her.
“Oh, don’t bat those blue eyes at me, honey. I’ve been around the block a few times. I know exactly what you’re after.”
Honey? And he thought he was the king of phony endearments. He unlatched his arms. “Claws in,sweetheart. I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about—”
“Really. What’s this then?” She flicked the security pass around his neck. “You need to try a little harder.”
He grabbed the pass. Frowned. “What are youtalkingabout?”
Her guard dog demeanor dropped for just a second, and a flash of confusion turned her suddenly vulnerable. As if behind all that tough girl and sass might be someone he’d like to start over with, get to know.
To mean it when he said, “I promise, sugar, whatever you’re thinking, I’m actually harmless.”
She drew in a breath. “You’re not…” She met his eyes then, nothing of weakness in her gaze. “You’re not paparazzi, here to steal a front-page picture of Kelsey for some rag, right?”
He held up his hands. “No camera.” Then he grinned, put all of his charm into it, lowered his voice. “You can search me.”
Her mouth opened, closed. She cocked her head, as if suddenly he might be interesting.
Finally. For a minute there, he thought he might be losing his touch. He softened his voice. “Listen. I’m not paparazzi. Far from it—I’m security here. And I helped pull her out of the rubble.”
She was listening now, her gaze roaming over him with a sort of wary smile.
Better, much better.
“And, most importantly, I was sent to find Kelsey by my brother Knox.”
He waited, hoping that might ring a bell, but she didn’t move.
“Knox Marshall? The guy who was trapped with her? Tall, cowboy type?”
A tiny smile tugged up her mouth. “Mr. Safe. Right.”
That sounded like Knox. “He’s got a wicked cut—I think they’re taking him to the hospital for some stitches, so he sent me out to find her. He’s worried about her.”
She crossed her arms as if assessing his words.
And then he dropped the flirt, added a little raw emotion. “Listen. I get it too. I’d do anything for Knox. But whatever you’re trying to protect her from, it’s not me. Tate Marshall. Good guy. I promise.”
She raised an eyebrow, her eyes going to his shoulders, the tatted right sleeve. He had the strangest urge to do something like flex. Instead he stuck his hands in his pockets and added a smile, something authentic.
But all this had his radar on high. Sure, the Yankee Belles were pretty, a little popular, but they weren’t the Rolling Stones, for crying out loud.
“Okay. She’s inside. But you’d better not be lying, champ. If I see one hint of a camera, even a phone, you’re—”
Enough with the nicknames, already. But he held up his hands and nodded.
“Fine.” She turned and opened one of the back doors, then the other.
Stilled. “What—?”
Empty. Except for the EMT who sat on a bench filling out something on his iPad. He looked up.