Pierce
What’s that?
I stop walking, my spine stiffening as I hear it again—the only sound guaranteed to make a man feel like utter garbage.
The woman is crying.
I turn, confirming the worst, and mutter a curse to whichever fate deemed me her rescuer today.
Nothing can drop a man faster than tears. I’d rather try to dodge bullets.
I take a hesitant step toward her. She’s holding an old shoe, her fingers close to a dark brown spot that looks frighteningly like blood.
“I thought Scott was going to take care of me, but he broke my heart instead. Now who’s going to care for me when I’m sick, or, or…” She sniffs and wipes at her already red nose. “Or buy me flowers when I’m sad? No one. Because I’m no one’s problem.”
I’m not a therapist, but this girl has some issues.
“Not that it matters, because I’m never going to get out of this country.
I’m going to die here, and no one will even care!
” She’s doing these weird, sobbing, hiccupping things.
It’s completely disgusting. The confident, beautiful woman from the cafe has morphed into a vulnerable child right in front of me and… ugh.
She’s breaking me down.
“You don’t have anyone?” I ask through gritted teeth, rethinking my offer of letting her use my phone. Seems she could really use it. She doesn’t currently pose a risk to my security; it’s the least I can do.
“I guess there’s my aunt, but she’s taking care of my dad, who is partially handicapped from a stroke.
” She hiccups again, flinging the disgusting shoe around her while she speaks.
“Oh my gosh, what if I get kidnapped here? My dad isn’t Liam Neeson.
He won’t take on a whole country just to find me. ”
Her circumstances are getting more pathetic by the minute. I scrub a hand down my face.
I shouldn’t help her. I’ll risk everything I’ve worked so hard to build, but this is essentially what I do—help people, take care of problems. And the woman in front of me, with mascara smeared down her cheeks, is the definition of a problem.
I shouldn’t even be considering this but I once learned to leave the world better than I found it. For a long time, I applied that advice only to myself. I deserved better than I had so I’d make up for it. But now I help other people… for the greater good. At least that’s what I’ve tried to do.
“You know what? It’s okay.” The woman sniffles and drops the shoe to the ground.
She’s probably been talking while I zoned out since there is no end to the stream of words spilling from her bright pink lips.
“I don’t need anyone. I can take care of myself.
This trip was to prove that, so that’s just what I’ll have to do. ”
Well, she sure landed herself in the perfect worst-case scenario. Who am I to take this opportunity away from her? Maybe she’s not as hopeless as she seems.
“Do you speak Spanish?” I ask.
She scrunches her brow. “Me gusta el bano?”
“You just said you like the bathroom.”
She flinches ever so slightly. “Well, in my defense, most people do. At least I’m brave enough to admit it out loud.
” She ticks her chin up and heads down a street.
If she’s trying to make it back to the cafe, she just took a wrong turn.
I let her get ten feet ahead before I reluctantly follow.
It would be negligent of me to let her wander around alone with the sun fading.
She’s a walking target, and I know the hunters in this town.
I’ll see her safely back to her hotel, make a few calls on her behalf, then be on my way without the threat of guilt weighing me down. I’ve already got enough of that.
I scoot closer to her as we emerge onto a familiar street known for its ‘drug store’. As expected, multiple armed men are smoking and drinking outside. She wraps her arms around herself and shrinks beside me. I deftly switch sides with her, steering her as far from them as possible.
Once we’ve made it to a safer street, I pull out my phone and do a quick internet search and confirm that the cluster of bird named hotels she mentioned isn’t far from us.
“So you do have a phone. You just refuse to share it,” the woman says, pursing her lips in disdain.
“Do you share your phone with strangers?”
She stops walking and turns on me, a crease forming between her brows. “I have a question for this stranger.” She pokes a finger at my chest. “Why are you following me?”
Her obstinance is amusing, especially considering how she was just begging for my help. “I get the sense you need to be followed.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I eye her empty hands and the completely irresponsible dress she’s wearing.
It’s too pink, too feminine, too… innocent.
Her sandals are not made for running. They are barely holding it together as is.
Her fingernails are painted but not professionally done.
Her curly blonde hair skims the tops of her shoulders and there’s a gold chain bracelet on her left wrist made of hearts she keeps rubbing.
If I were to make a guess about her character, I would say she sees the best in people and they take advantage of her goodness.
“I think left to your own devices, which currently total zero, you won’t make it back to your hotel. ”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “I find that kind of hurtful.”
“Am I wrong?”
Her confidence falters. “I’m just off. I woke up this morning and …
” She takes a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter.
I would appreciate some help, so I’ll take it.
However, I’m still not comfortable with a stranger following me.
” She pops her hand out in front of her.
“I’m Thea Jane Meyers, from Sacramento, California. ”
Despite my better judgment, I grab her hand.
It’s small and smooth with little freckles running up the inside of her wrist. The softness of her skin catches me off guard.
When was the last time I held a woman’s hand?
I swore off dating when I left the civilian world behind, and I’ve never regretted it. Right now is no different.
I shake her hand firmly then drop it. “One piece of advice: don’t share that kind of information with a stranger ever again.” I spin and continue down the street in the direction we should go.
“Wait!” she yells, her shoes slapping the patchy pavement, effectively alerting the entire world to our location. “You didn’t tell me your name.”
“I know.” I duck under the bushes growing from the building to my right, instinctively guiding her out of the line of branches as well. She doesn’t notice as she continues speaking.
“Fine, then I’ll just come up with a name for you. How about… Tim?”
I physically shudder. “Do I look like a Tim to you?”
“You’re much hotter than a Tim.”
I bite the inside of my cheek a little too hard.
“Mark.”
“You know I’m not going to tell you even if you guess it, right?”
A man pushing a tamale cart turns the corner in front of us, and I snatch Thea out of the way and into my chest, narrowly avoiding a collision.
“I’ll get your real name out of you.”
I chuckle. “That’s not going to happen.” If I haven’t been touched in a while, it’s been ages since I genuinely laughed. I find a piece of my soul longing for the chance to do so again.
Her brows narrow and she draws back. “Challenge accepted.”
“I wasn’t challenging you.”
Her eyes roam over me. “Do you feel threatened?”
I scoff. “By you? What are you going to do? Kick me in the knee with your flip-flops?”
“Interesting how you immediately assumed we’d be fighting.”
What’s she getting at here? “So?”
“I’m going to guess you used to wrestle. Or box.”
Both. I don’t like that she’s managed to ferret that out when I’m used to keeping secrets.
“Well, this has been a blast. Let’s get you home.”