Page 18 of Roaming Holiday

I’m no stranger to long, uneventful hours. Many of my targets led rather boring lives, lives I studied for days—sometimes weeks—before taking.

But witnessing Nina’s joy throughout the day was invigorating. She found joy in spotting her name on personalized bracelets. She bought one, then a different one two blocks away because she liked the print better. Whenever there was a dog or cat, she and her sister did their best to pet it. She lets her guard down whenever she asks a stranger to pet their dog, trying to appear as unalarming as possible. It creates a window for someone to strike.

Fear pierces my gut. Nina is my client—not my target. I shouldn’t fixate on her the same way. I just met her, but the thought of hurting her sets my stomach on fire. That’s not who I want to be.

When I work, my guard is up and my muscles are on edge. Everything was too calm today. I can shy my way through civilian life, but putting my work mode in a civilian setting is an obstacle I wasn’t prepared for. Too many people stared today. Too many questioning eyes glued to me because I couldn’t blend in. I tried to be normal at one of the museums; I engaged in a brief, friendly conversation with a woman, but Nina didn’t like that. I deciphered her plan to get rid of me before she stormed off. She wears her emotions like a skimpy bikini—impossible not to look at.

I can’t be annoyed she did that; countless men either attempted or considered approaching her today, and a glare from me stopped them. I can tell myself it’s because they looked dangerous or I didn’t like their shoes, but I know I would’ve listed possible ways to kill them if they spoke a single word to her. I’ve worked mostly with men over the past decade, which makes walking behind a woman with an ass I’d love to fill my hands with that much harder.

When I pull in front of the hotel, Nina says, “I want to get some french fries.”

“Oh, okay,” Maia says. “Do you want to look for a place to walk to?”

I park the car and wait for them to decide. Nina clears her throat. “Um, no. I wanted to… go alone. I just don’t want to be around Dad right now. I’ll be back before we go to dinner, though.”

Her sister and Mason leave the car after a few hesitant seconds.

“Where to?” I ask.

Nina clicks off her seatbelt and pops up to my right, leaning against the center console. “Hmm. Do you know a place where I could get some good french fries and watch the sunset?”

I pause to consider. “Yes, both, but the sun won’t set for another few hours.”

“I don’t care. Take me there, please.” She suddenly climbs over the console to the front passenger seat.

“What are you—?” I narrowly miss getting knocked out by her hips swinging by my head. I swallow the agitation and smother a huff. Her flowery scent infects my nose. She plops in the seat and buckles in.

“Is there a reason for this?” I ask, keeping my voice monotone in hopes she won’t start a conversation.

“I figured if you’re gonna be my paid stalker, I might as well get to know you,” she says, kicking her feet onto the dashboard.

“Security detail,” I correct, shifting the gear and nodding toward her legs. “And feet off the dash.”

She clucks her tongue and puts her feet down as I drive off. My hand tightens around the steering wheel. How am I supposed to act around her? Curt enough that she doesn’t want to be my friend, or open enough so she trusts my judgment in case of an emergency?

“Where are we going?” Nina asks—and her light, sweet voice spikes my nerves.

“A restaurant in Monitta.”

“What’s Monitta?”

“A small mountain town. Ten minutes outside of the city.” It has less than five thousand inhabitants, but plenty of restaurants and bars that tourists frequent because of the unobstructed views of the city and sea. Moritzi is a low-key restaurant on the side of the road and the one place I know of that has a good old-fashioned hamburger and fries. There are few things I miss about the U.S., and an American burger is one of them.

A few moments of silence pass before she asks, “So why’d you leave the military? A man named Jack called me last night and asked if I wanted any adjustments to my security. When I said you were fine so far, he told me you used to be a soldier, but you don’t look old enough to retire.”

Hm. Perceptive. I clear my throat but don’t answer. The car rolls to a stop at the traffic light.

“Why do they call you Beck?” she continues. “I mean, why not Wesley? Wesley is better than Beck.”

I lift a brow and look at her slowly.

“That was rude,” she says with a nervous hike in her voice. As she speaks, my gaze drifts down to her bare legs. “I don’t know why I said it. Ignore me. As you already are.”

Her thighs flatten against the seat, and I bite my tongue at the thought of gripping and digging my fingers into them. Instead, I shift the gear with more force than necessary as the light turns green. I clear my throat again, this time to reply—if only to avoid indulging more possibilities.

“I didn’t leave. I was forced out.”

“Oh,” Nina says, and thankfully that’s all she says. The drive continues in blissful silence between us. She even turns on the radio at low volume. Commercials in Maldanian crackle through the speakers. I sense Nina’s stillness and find her staring at the radio with a faraway look. I figure it’s to decipher the Maldanian in the commercial, considering she’s a linguist, but I’ll be damned if her expression isn’t cute and her determination isn’t sexy at the same time.

---