Page 12 of Protecting You
On the far side, she asked, “Where are we going?”
“South.”
“That’s really helpful. Thanks.”
He shot her a smile. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” Not really, but he was kind enough not to call her on it. “Seriously.” She stopped on the sidewalk, causing people to stream around her. “Where are you taking me?”
He gripped her arm and tugged. “Could you just trust me?”
Considering she was with him, she clearly trusted him. But why didn’t he trust her enough to give her an answer?
He turned toward the Hynes Convention Center and snaked along walking paths that led around it.
“You’re trying to lose them.”
“Darling.” His smile was tight. “Would you please shut up?”
“Why? Nobody can hear?—”
“You don’t know that.”
“Fine.”
They reached the Prudential Center, one of the tallest buildings in the city. The lower floors—all restaurants and shops—were open to pedestrians. They meandered to the entrance. As soon as the doors closed behind them, he grabbed her arm and started running.
On the opposite side of the giant atrium, he pushed open a door, slowing as they exited the Huntington Avenue side. He led her down the steps and across the courtyard to a waiting car.
A man stepped out and popped the trunk. “Caleb?”
“That’s us! Hop in, darling.” He reached for the suitcase handle. “I’ll get this.”
She grabbed her purse and sat in the backseat while Callan plopped her luggage into the trunk.
It slammed, and he slid in beside her.
The driver settled behind the wheel. “South Station, yeah?”
“Thanks.” Callan exhaled a long breath. Though his tone had been casual, tension tightened the skin around his lips.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
His gaze flicked to the driver. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
For crying out loud. Did they have to keep up the stupid charade with an Uber driver?
Callan took her hand and squeezed. “Just trying to figure out where we should go. My place won’t work because of the exterminator. And now your place won’t work.” He raised his voice. “Her apartment was broken into. Jerks made a mess of it.”
“Frickin’ thieves,” the driver said. “Imagine if they used their powahs for good, not evil, eh? Got jobs like the rest of us.”
“You’re not kidding, man.”
Seemed Callan was the kind of guy who made conversation with strangers.
She’d never been able to do that.
Callan leaned in and whispered. “I know a place. It’s not exactly the Ritz, but they don’t ask any questions.”
