17. Chapter 17
Chapter seventeen
Ashley
A m I willing to bet Smith’s life on how much I trust him? That question lingers in the air between myself and Aaron as I flashback to the past. To a night right after Aaron, Noah then, had disappeared, accused of betraying his country. I’d been devastated, and Smith had been the bodyguard assigned to me by Walker Security—the agency hired by my boss and friend, Cole Brooks. I’d been scared. I’d been heartbroken. Broken. I’d been broken in so many ways. I’d still been wearing the ring that is now in a safe deposit box locked away with my heart, right here in this very city.
The past…
Smith and I enter the downtown Manhattan building, complete with fancy tiled floors, a doorman, and only a few miles from my own apartment. I hug myself. “This is a pretty nice building for a safe house. Much nicer than the one we’ve been at the past few nights.”
“Because it’s my place,” he says, his hand settling on my back, awareness between me and this man that I don’t want to feel. I love Noah. I don’t want him to be who they say he is.
I rotate to face Smith. He’s good looking, not so unlike Noah, actually. Tall with brown hair, muscles, and dreamy eyes that speak of worlds of experience and even pain. But he’s not Noah.
“Smith,” I whisper, confused. “We’re—this can’t—we can’t—”
“We’re friends, Ashley. Just friends. And even that’s more than we should be. I brought you here for a reason. Walker Security operates in a building right across the street. The man you love is lethal. I need backup, and because I have it here, we’ll both sleep a little easier tonight.”
“You’re sure? I feel like this invades your privacy. This is your private space.”
“I’m sure.” He motions to the elevator, and I decide not to argue. I want to be safe, and Smith makes me feel safe. We head into the car, and once we’re there, I think of the history he’s shared with me. Ex-Special Forces, his family who died in a fire when he was a teen, and other little tidbits. I’ve learned these things about him in three days, or did I? I thought I knew Noah. But I knew nothing. I can feel the tears begin to prickle my eyes. I love Noah so damn much, but he wasn’t who I thought he was. I love a fantasy. I love a fictional character. Loved . I can’t love him. It’s all past tense.
The elevator dings, and it’s not long until I’m inside Smith’s loft-style apartment with brick walls, steel beams, and dark hardwoods beneath my feet. It’s a beautiful masculine home, but it’s not my home. I’ll never be able to go to my home again.
“Let me show you where the spare bedroom is,” Smith says, and I follow him down a narrow hallway.
“Bathroom to the right. That’s all yours.” He walks into an open door, and I enter a room that has no windows but manages to be cozy with a large bed, a black headboard, and two cozy chairs in a little reading nook. It’s the no windows that gets me. That’s why I’m here. No one can get to me without going through Smith. He sets my bag he’s holding on the bed. My bag with the few things I own right now inside.
“We’ll be here for at least a week,” Smith says. “We’ll go shopping tomorrow.”
“Shopping? Who pays for that? I’m not employed.”
“Cole is handling this, and the government has a budget for witness protection.”
“I’m not in witness protection officially. I don’t want to be in witness protection. Noah isn’t who they say he is. He’s not. I refuse to believe I’m that wrong about him.”
“I know it’s difficult,” Smith says. “I’ve seen some things, the kind of deception that guts you. It’s like you suffered a death. You have to deal with the loss.”
“I don’t want to deal with the loss. I want him back.”
“The man you knew didn’t exist,” Smith says. “He can’t come back.”
I hug myself and cut my stare, fighting back tears before I look at him. “If he’s innocent, would you help him?”
“Of course. If I had proof that he was innocent. And you should want proof, too.”
“Of course. Right. I just—I love him.”
He closes the space between us and brushes his fingers across my cheek. “And he was a lucky man.” His hand falls away. “If he didn’t know that, he didn’t deserve you.”
I hold up my hand with the giant diamond on it. “No one gives a woman this kind of ring as a cover story.”
“You want me to have it assessed?”
I bristle. “Are you suggesting it’s not real? It’s real.”
“I’m suggesting it’s worth a lot of money—money you might need.”
“Oh. Right.” Sell my ring? No. No. No. I can’t. “I—I’ll think about it.”
“How about pizza? I can order, and we can watch a movie.”
“I think—I need to think.”
He nods. “If you change your mind, I’m in the living room. And the fridge is stocked. Make yourself at home.”
Home.
I’ll never be home again.
Present day…
“Ashley?”
I blink Aaron back into view and me back to the present. “Yes?”
“Do you trust Smith enough to risk his life? Because that’s what you’re risking by involving him.”
“Because you’ll kill him or anyone else?” I challenge.
He narrows his eyes on me. “Are you trying to make me the bad guy, Ashley?” He pulls me to him. “Because that won’t be hard. I’m not a traitor, but I am a killer. I’ve killed. I’ll kill again. That’s who I am.”
“Are you trying to scare me away?”
“If you can be scared, you should be. If you want, I can take you to Smith. I can plant you right there in his arms, and you can let him protect you for the rest of your fucking life. I’m a killer, but I’m also a man who has saved hundreds, if not thousands, of lives. I didn’t want to lie to you. It was my fucking job. I didn’t want to be setup, but I was. I didn’t want to fall in love with you. It was my fucking heart. So, yes, if you want Smith, I’ll take you to him. I’ll take you right now.” He releases me and walks away.
I swallow hard at the magnitude of his anger, and I realize how much his life has been shaken, just like mine. I realize, too, that he’s a hero, a man who has given everything for his country. A man who lost everything, even before the CIA, trying to take down a drug lord. And I think—I think I sent him mixed messages over Smith. I think I’m scared of being hurt and scared in general, and that betrayal I felt inside me back when I met Smith, when I lost Noah, still eats at me and at us.
Aaron faces me, his eyes dark and turbulent, his jaw set as hard as stone. “What’s it going to be? Smith or me?”
Smith or him?
I’m angry and hurt and angry all over again.
I want to punch him.
I want to kiss him.
I think I might just punch him.
I don’t actually know what I’m going to do, but I launch myself at him.