Chapter Nine
I WHIRL AROUND TOWARDthe front porch, surprised to feel my body trembling.
Staring down at me is Rob, looking a bit sleepy-eyed and tousle-headed.
And bare-chested. Like, the man is fully-half naked. Wearing nothing but a forest-green plaid pair of pajama pants.
And I have to say, the body on him is...not bad. He doesn’t have the sheer iron bulk of a weightlifter, like LJ does, but he’s definitely cut. The long, lean muscles of his chest and abs narrowing down to a taut V that disappears into the waistband of those pajama pants, hard flesh against soft fabric.
I swallow hard in spite of myself.
“What the hell is going on?” Rob cries. He takes the steps two at a time, storming out to the driveway.
“Please...” I say. “Please don’t...”
I squint my eyes shut as he advances, but when I dare to open them, Rob’s up in LJ’s face, not mine.
“We’ve talked about this,” Rob grits out. “She’s staying here. Period. And you’re just going to have to come to terms with it.”
“Oh, really?” LJ all but snarls, his arched lips curving. “Does she know that? Because it seems like she was ready to make a break for it. Weren’t you, Princess?” He turns on me.
Rob does, too, his grass-green eyes trained on me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. Nervously, I shuffle my weight from foot to foot.
“Maren—”
“Don’t!” I cry, throwing my arms in the air in front of my face, crossing them protectively and sending the giant sleeves of the sweatshirt sliding down to my elbows.
Rob stops. But his voice is still ice cold.
“What,” he says, “the fuck is that?”
I’m genuinely confused. “What the fuck is what?” I glance around, behind me, at the ground, but Rob’s staring right at me. At my forearms.
He seizes me by the wrist, firm and commanding, and yanks my arm up to his face almost hard enough to hurt.
“This,” he says, and traces a finger over the pale flesh just inside my elbow.
The feeling of his touch against my skin is distracting. I hate that I like it, hate that I can imagine those rough hands running over other places on my body, hate that I’m such a slave to my damn hormones that even in this tense moment my body’s urging me to climb this guy like a tree.
But then I realize what he’s looking at, and I set my jaw.
“It’s nothing,” I say, barely glancing at the fingertip-sized rosette of raised tissue.
“Bullshit,” he growls.
“A birthmark,” I say, thinking quickly, but Rob just drops my arm, hard.
“Bullshit,” he says again. “That’s a burn mark, Maren. A scar. Who did that to you?”
His anger has my breath catching in my chest. No one’s ever been angry on my behalf before. Angry around me, sure. Angry at me—absolutely. I mean, look at the freaking cigarette burn.
But never angry for me.
“Who did it, Maren?” Rob repeats, his voice lower and softer.
LJ snorts. “You really think she was just hiding out in her car in the woods for fun? Seems more like she was running away. And now she’s doing it again.”
My heart trips in my chest at his words. A muscle in Rob’s jaw tics, but LJ puts a hand on his shoulder like he’s stopping him from going ballistic.
“Bad boyfriend?” Rob grits out.
I shake my head, and take the opportunity to yank my arm the rest of the way back to my chest, clutching it protectively.
“No.” I try one last time. “It was an accident in the shop. I’m not the most graceful mechanic, okay?” I speak slowly and carefully to keep my voice from shaking. “It doesn’t matter. It healed. It was ages ago. And I’m safe now, right?” I gesture at the driveway, the grounds, the mansion around us. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Are you?” Rob says. His gaze has me fixed to the spot, but the anger has simmered down somewhat, the fire in those green eyes banked down to a smolder. “Because I’m inclined to believe him.” He jerks his head back at LJ. “He might be a dick, but he’s not a liar.”
“Hey,” grouses LJ, but Rob ignores him.
“Were you trying to leave, Maren?”
I suck in a breath. “I was,” I admit. “But—”
“My, my.” Rob steps back, looks me up and down, and scratches the back of his neck. “I guess we didn’t do much to make you comfortable, did we?”
I say nothing, just tug at the sleeves of my sweats.
“You must’ve been traveling light, hm?” Rob goes on. “With just the clothes on your back. Otherwise I doubt you’d be wearing Tuck’s castoffs. Or,” he adds, “leaving your old clothes in the trash.”
“No,” I admit.
“Or was the bed not comfortable enough? Bathroom not to your specifications? I didn’t have you pegged as a skincare obsessive, but I can see that maybe the offerings weren’t up to par.” He studies me, smiling. “I really did not show you proper hospitality.”
He’s back to messing with me, that playful Southern-boy lilt back in his voice. And when he does, relief washes over me, and it’s like I come back to my senses all at once.
“But,” I cut him off. “Can I finish?”
Rob stops. “Yes, ma’am.”
Fuck it. I might not be totally safe here...but I’m safer here than I am out there. And between the anger at my scar and this...this kindness and teasing I get from Rob—get from all the guys, except LJ, I guess—I think I’ve made up my mind.
“I was leaving,” I say. “Emphasis on was. I’ve changed my mind.”
LJ lifts a thick eyebrow and folds his massive arms. He says nothing, just looks at Rob. Rob, though, is fixed on me.
“Good,” he says. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. And if we’re going shopping today, I want something in my stomach.”
“SERIOUSLY?”
I have to practically scream over the lion-like purr of the engine as Rob pulls around the driveway.
“Seriously what?” Rob lowers his head, the sunlight gleaming off the polished lenses of his Ray-Bans. He’s at least fully dressed now—changed into a flannel and jeans after another legendary breakfast—and although the look is casual overall, it’s a rich casual. Not a Bass Pro Shop flannel and Wal-Mart jeans. The shit’s designer, even if I couldn’t tell you which one.
But it’s not the clothes that have me impressed. It’s the car.
“You drive a Rollerskate,” I say. “As in, a Maxton Rollerskate.”
“Among other things,” Rob says. “Why?”
I shake my head in astonishment. Rollerskates are...well, they’re rare, for one thing. But also unique. A little weird. Designed by a vintage racer and manufactured basically bespoke way back in the early 90s. I wouldn’t have even thought there were any more out on the roads.
But Rob’s is here, in front of me: a squat little thing of a convertible, a deep, almost teal green body with two deep bucket seats, a chrome roll bar, and round headlights that give an overall frog-like appearance.
“They only made, like, fifty of these,” I say. “How’d you even track it down?”
Rob grins. “I have my ways. Now, are we going to keep my shopper waiting, or are you coming with me?”
Two minutes later, we’re zipping down the winding roads of the forest, Rob taking the curves hard like he enjoys wearing the gears out, and my hair is whipping around my face like a firework.
“Wait,” I say, as if I just processed what he said before we left. “Seriously?”
“Sorry, can’t hear you.” Rob doesn’t take his eyes off the road.
“I said,” I suck in a breath and futilely attempt to tuck my hair behind my ears. “Seriously?”
“Again?” He downshifts. “Seriously what, Maren?”
We break out of the forest into an expanse of road and land that I don’t quite recognize.
Which is good. It means we’re not headed into town.
I don’t think.
“You said ‘your shopper’”—I draw air quotes—“and I’m asking if you’re serious.” Suddenly, though, I’m less concerned with whether or not this guy has a personal shopper, because of course he does. “Where are you taking me?”
Rob glances over the tops of his sunglasses, and the green in his eyes makes my stomach do a flip. “I told you, Maren. I’m taking you shopping. You don’t have any clothes beyond some of Tuck’s castoffs.”
“I know that,” I say, exasperated. “Where are you taking me shopping?”
“Nowhere you’ve been before, I’m sure,” Rob says. “Hang on, that was awfully rude of me. I just mean...” He sucks in a breath. “No one will be looking for you there.”
“How can you be sure?” I ask. “I haven’t even told you who’s after me.”
“After you?” Rob says. “I thought you wanted them to find you.”
I open my mouth, and clap it shut again. Damn it. Did he just trick me into revealing something?
But then he fishes a piece of paper from his pocket and hands it to me. It’s crumpled, but as soon as I smooth it out, I recognize it.
PETITION FOR APPOINTMENT OF CONSERVATOR.
“Found this in your jeans pocket,” Rob says. “The ones you left in the bathroom trash. When I noticed you weren’t in your room.”
I grip the edges of the paper, not daring to meet his eyes. I’d forgotten I’d taken it with me.
“Someone is looking for you,” he says, still staring straight ahead. “But now I’m not sure you want to be found.”
I don’t answer, don’t confirm or deny.
“And you didn’t get that scar in the auto shop.”
Still, I say nothing. I don’t know what I could say.
“Seems we’ve kidnapped a runaway,” he finishes.
“He’ll still pay for me.” I blurt it out without thinking. “A ransom, or whatever you want. He won’t like it if I come back all beat up, either.” I don’t know that this is true. Don’t know that any of this is true. But I have to plead my case. “So just don’t hurt me.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.” Rob goes silent for a long moment. “Look, all of this is to say that I get it. I don’t especially want to be spotted in public, either.”
Either?
I narrow my eyes at him, watching him drive. He’s navigating us towards a country highway, mostly pickups and family SUVs with the occasional tractor-trailer. I don’t like that he’s onto me like this, but at the same time...well, he’s not handing me back over to John.
Not without a paycheck, anyway.
But for now...that means maybe, at least relative to what I’m running from, I actually am a little safe.
“What are you?” I ask after a moment.
“Excuse me?” Rob says, smiling. “What am I? As in...am I human?”
“What? No.” I shake my head. “That much I assumed. I meant like, who are you? A trust fund kid? A fracking baron?”
“You know what they say about assumptions.” Rob’s teeth gleam as he grins. “But please, go on, keep guessing. This is fun.”
“A mafia...guy,” I say lamely. “Mobster.” That’s the word.
“Nope.”
“Drug lord?” He has been to jail, I remind myself. At least, assuming he was telling the truth about that.
Rob laughs a short laugh. “Oh, I kicked the stuff years ago. Guess again, pretty lady.”
I flush in spite of myself and dig back in. “Witness protection. A whistleblower. You’re the guy who invented BitCoin. You’re...Elon Musk’s secret brother.”
Rob makes a face. “Electric cars?” He thumbs the dash of the Rollerskate. “Maren, you insult me.”
Now I can’t help but grin. “Well, what is it? Because I’m seriously running out of guesses.”
Rob flicks the signal to change lanes and seamlessly merges to an exit ramp. “I’m sure you’ll get there eventually. You have a great imagination.”
“I read a lot of books,” I say absently, scanning around us to get a sense of location.
Rob pulls us in to a sort of outdoor mall, with small brick buildings and airy walkways between them. It’s quaint, discreet, and definitely out of the way.
He brakes a little too hard at the valet stand, swinging open the door and tossing the keys to the vest-wearing attendant before I can even get my seatbelt off.
“You drive stick?” Rob asks. The attendant can’t be older than seventeen, skinny as a scarecrow and with hair to match.
“Um, yes, sir,” the kid mumbles. “My daddy taught me when I was fourteen.”
“Good.” Rob pulls out his wallet and slips the kid a hundred. “Treat her nice.”
The attendant’s eyes boggle—at the bill, and at the Rollerskate. “Yes, sir!”
Rob jerks his head towards the stores. “C’mon, pretty lady.”
Before I can even respond, he’s gently but firmly placed a hand at the small of my back and started steering me forward.
It’s such a strange sensation, to have a guy escort me like that, that I slide out of his grasp on pure instinct.
Rob frowns. “You know, it’s hard to keep chivalry alive when you insist on killing it at every turn.”
I roll my eyes. “Sorry. Just...habit, I guess.” I glance over my shoulder, back down the other aisle of shops, but see no one except a few society ladies and Lululemon moms strolling casually with giant shopping bags. My pulse doesn’t quite level off, but it slows a bit. “Where are we going?”
“Again with the questions.” Rob sighs. “Don’t you trust me, Maren?”
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. Then I add, “Especially where fashion is concerned.”
Rob smirks. “Fair enough. Then you’ll just have to learn to trust Jack. And everybody trusts Jack.”
FIVE MINUTES LATER, when we meet Jack, I can see why.
“Robin,” Jack breathes. “She’s vibrant.”
Jack is a petite, impeccably dressed man who could be anywhere between twenty-five and forty-five—hard to say, given the sheer perfection of his skincare, the immaculate coif of his hair, and the ever-so-intentional ensemble of tight-fitted aqua blue polo, pale pink chinos, and boat shoes.
He gives Rob a smack on the shoulder. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing Lauren Bacall!”
I stare Rob down, lifting an eyebrow. “Robin?”
Rob scowls at Jack. “Only you can get away with calling me by my full name, J.”
Jack rolls his eyes. I turn to him and give him a small smile.
“And I’m flattered, but I’m no Lauren Bacall,” I say, offering my hand. “Maren.”
He takes it and shakes it with a surprisingly firm grip. “Fine. Katharine Hepburn, then. What can I get you into today, Miss Maren?”
“I...” I stupidly look at Rob, of all people, for guidance.
“Everything,” he says. “She’s literally got the clothes on her back.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Jack cries. “It’s a crime to keep you in those things.”
I feel the strange need to defend my borrowed sweats. “They’re comfortable,” I say. A sudden, way-too-late thought hits me, as I glance at the tasteful placards declaring 100% cashmere and genuine mulberry silk and take in the bright pastels of ladies-who-lunch type dresses. “Look, I just need the basics.” I glance at Rob. “I’ll pay you back.”
Rob, who’s been skimming through a catalog of golf gear, looks up. “No, you won’t.”
“What? Ah!” I jump as Jack threads a measuring tape under my arms and around my chest.
“Pardon!” he chirps.
“No worries,” I mumble, and fix my eyes back on Rob. “Yes, I will. I can’t just let you...buy me clothes.” Especially clothes this nice, I want to add.
Jack cinches the tape, scribbles down a measurement, and moves to my waist. “Miss Maren, with all due respect, don’t you know it’s rude to refuse a gift?” He straightens up from measuring my inseam and takes my hands into his. “Trust me, miss. There aren’t many men—round Sherwood, or anywhere—who actually want to do what’s right. But Rob and his boys...they’re the real deal. Okay?”
His honey-colored eyes look almost like they’re welling up, and I’m so shocked by this heartfelt testimonial that all I can do is nod.
“Okay,” I say. “Because I don’t want to be rude.”
Rob grins. “Good girl.”
Good girl.My mouth goes dry. Which I ignore.
Jack jots down the last of my numbers and starts flicking through racks, pulling things off as he goes. I stand awkwardly on the measuring pedestal, my lumpy sweats-clad self mirrored in every direction for infinity, while Rob casually settles in an armchair.
“Speaking of,” Rob says to Jack, “how’s business?”
“Oh, Lord.” Jack appears from around the corner clutching the hangers of a mass of garments in each hand. “You’re so kind to ask. It’s good, though.”
“Is it really?” Rob’s voice has just the slightest edge to it. “You’re covering the overhead?”
Jack busies himself straightening the slacks and dresses he’s setting up on a portable rack, picking off lint that’s barely even visible. “Well, I wouldn’t want to complain—”
“Yes, you would.” Rob chuckles.
“Not to you,” Jack retorts. “After you’ve been so generous. But—” He stops himself and gestures for me. “Miss Maren, darling, come here.” He selects a few pieces off the rack and shoves them into my hands. “Dressing room’s right behind you, lovely. Show me what you’ve got.” He shoos me away, but as I pull the curtain shut, I can hear him lower his voice and continue his conversation with Rob.
“We got a new tax assessment in the mail not two days ago,” Jack’s voice says. “They’ve reevaluated the property value.”
I survey what he’s given me: it’s not bad, actually. In fact, it’s literally a T-shirt and jeans. But the T-shirt feels delicious—a soft, almost fluid material in a gorgeous deep plum color—and the jeans are black, boot cut, with the heft of quality denim. This ain’t no Wal-Mart shit, I think, in my best hillbilly voice.
“And?” Rob asks as I tug the sweatshirt over my head.
“They’ve valued us at three point five,” Jack says.
“Million?”
“Yes, sir.” Jack sounds disappointed, almost sad.
I shimmy the T-shirt down, then kick off the sweatpants and tug up the jeans.
“Bastards,” Rob says. “Listen, Jack, I’ll see what I can—”
I push back the curtain as emphatically as I can, interrupting in a way I hope makes it clear I wasn’t eavesdropping.
“What do you think?” I ask.
Jack springs to life. “Well, what I think doesn’t matter,” he says, ushering me back on the pedestal. “But if you ask me...Ms. Hepburn to the set! Ms. Hepburn to the set!”
I smile, even though I know he’s just flattering me to be nice, and I take in my reflection.
It’s...not bad.
Granted, I still look a little rough, what with my early morning and the wind in my hair the whole ride here. But the T-shirt clings to my curves in a way that’s flattering but not too look-at-me-sexy, scooping just below my collarbone and revealing some of my freckles, and while the jeans are definitely designer, they feel like they can take a licking and keep on ticking, and they make my legs look a mile long.
“That’s the look,” Jack says, more to Rob than to me. “She’s feeling herself. Aren’t you, Miss Maren?”
“I think so,” I admit. “You do good work.”
“From your lips to God’s ears!” Jack says, clapping his hands. “I knew you wouldn’t work with all this country-club nonsense. So much fun to dress a real sophisticate once in a while.” He turns to Rob, tipping his head slightly. “Sir?”
Rob’s hunched forward in his chair a bit, rubbing his chin. I meet his eyes in the mirror and see they’re...not distant, exactly, but almost distracted. The green color is fogged with something heavy and potent as his gaze slowly makes its way up my body.
He’s checking me out.
I feel it more than I think it, a truth as instinctual as the need to breathe. Even wearing these new clothes, I feel almost naked, like he’s seeing everything about me for the first time.
It’s not a comfortable feeling. But it’s not a bad one either.
Rob presses his lips together and sits a bit straighter. “She’ll need a bra. Several, probably.”
Confused, I glance at myself in the mirror again. Sure enough, the T-shirt’s thin enough that my nipples perk up right through the material, unmistakable.
My throat catches. I swallow thickly and fold my arms. It’s just a bit cold in here, I tell myself. That’s all.
“Of course,” Jack says smoothly. “I’ll put together a full repertoire for every occasion. Unless you’d like to pick them out individually, Miss Maren?”
I shake my head vigorously. “No, I trust you. Let me just...” I practically stumble off the pedestal and back into the changing stall.
Once inside, I breathe hard, trying to force myself to get a grip. I manage to calm down enough to change out of the T-shirt and jeans, but as I pull the loaner sweats back on I can’t help but feel a pang of regret that I’m getting into something so much less...appealing.
When I reemerge, Rob is finalizing things with Jack at the register.
“Please,” Jack is saying. “I insist.”
“I don’t take discounts,” Rob says. “You know that. And that’s final.”
“But...” Jack’s eyes flit to me as I sidle up, not not interested in what’s going down. He puffs out a short, exasperated breath, but never loses his cheery demeanor. “Very well.”
“Thank you, Jack. Obliged as always.” Rob flashes a smile. Jack bobs his head gratefully.
“Oh, anything for you, Robin. The least we can do around here.” He grasps Rob’s hand in both of his, shaking vigorously. “And you, Ms. Bacall. Thank you for the chance to dress you. You’ll look a real treat.”
“Thank you,” I say, and mean it. I’ve never had a personal shopper before, but if they’re all as kind and flattering as Jack, I can see why people get into it.
If they have ungodly amounts of money, anyway.
I try to glimpse at the receipt as Rob scribbles at the bottom, but he deftly crumples it away before I have a chance. Whether he caught me staring or not, I can’t say.
“Thank you kindly,” Jack says. “And Miss Maren, we’ll have everything packed up and brought around to the valet. Shouldn’t take more than...” He trails off, his boyish face draining of all color as he looks over Rob’s shoulder to something in the distance.
I feel, more than see, Rob tense. He whips around so fast I nearly jump.
But then I see what he sees.
Two khaki-clad deputies, mirrored sunglasses blocking their eyes, are making their way in from the entrance: one tall with dark brown skin and a shaved head, the other stocky but strong, with a military high-and-tight and a ruddy face.
A hand wraps around my elbow and pulls, hard. As Jack jumps out of the way, nodding, Rob tugs me through the door behind the register and snaps it shut, hiding us away in what appears to be a stockroom.
“What’s going on?” I hiss, yanking my arm away from him. A CCTV screen is mounted above a desk a few paces away, and I watch as the deputies navigate the islands of folded sweaters and ghostly mannequins.
“We’re leaving early,” Rob’s voice is urgent, but strangely unbothered. “Unless you want to stay and chat with Sherwood’s finest out there?”
I shiver a little. “No, but I...”
“Can I help you gentlemen?” I hear Jack’s voice from the other side of the door, his Southern charm laying on extra sweet and syrupy.
“He’ll stall for us,” Rob explains, glancing around the room. “But we’re going to have to be quick about it.”
“Looking for who now?” Jack says, his tone just a touch higher than before. “We’ve been awful slow all day, I’m afraid.”
“Quick about what?” I, too, dart a glance around the room. It’s just a stock room, nothing special, and the only way out is the way we came in. “We’re stuck in here.”
Rob flashes me a grin. “Ah, Maren, where’s that famous imagination of yours? Come on.”
In a single bound, he’s leapt onto the desk in a crouch. He straightens, and reaches up to the corner of the ceiling where there’s a...
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say. It’s a literal heating vent. Like this is a movie or some shit.
“Serious, I’m afraid.” Rob slips a pocket knife out of his jeans and flicks out the blade. “Deadly.” He sticks the tip of the knife into the corner of the vent cover and twists, and before I can blink, four tiny screws have fallen to the floor, tink tink tink tink.
Rob clicks the knife closed, pockets it, and offers his hand. “You coming, pretty lady?”
I still can’t help but gape. “What is this, Mission Impossible? We can’t climb out through a vent.”
“Can and will,” Rob says. “And it’s very possible. But it’ll be a lot easier if we do it before they get in here.”
“Mid-twenties? Auburn hair?” Jack’s voice pierces through. He’s obviously talking loud enough for our benefit. “Could you be more specific?”
“Maren,” Rob says, the joking gone from his voice. “Now.”
I suck in a deep, incredulous breath. I can’t believe I’m about to do this.
“Fine,” I say, and let him pull me onto the desk. “Here goes nothing.”