Page 18 of Stars and Scars

I wait, but he doesn’t elaborate. I decide to pry a little as we speed along the sun-drenched freeway.

“I get the feeling that it’s nothing like those movies.”

He rewards me with a dry chuckle.

“That’s an understatement. I’ve never worn a tuxedo on assignment a single time. I’d sure like to have some of those gadgets, though.”

“Yeah, me too. I bet the Order wouldn’t mess with me if I had a watch that shot lasers.”

Grayson offers a slight smile, but my mention of the Order sets him onto a grim streak again. I think he’s worried about me but doesn’t want to let on too much.

I don’t know what to make of it. I know my life is in danger, but at the same time the Order feels like a distant threat. Something I need to be worried about in the future, but not right this moment. I know it’s probably the wrong way to think about it.

I’m taking the threat seriously. I hired a bodyguard for goodness sake. But I still get the impression that I’m not nearly afraid enough.

Our exit comes up, and Grayson pulls off the freeway. The sun is so low on the horizon it’s practically just a blurry red line. The city lights have started their nightly sparkle. Life goes on, even if my personal life has gone to Hell.

When we pull up outside of my place, Grayson turns a sharp gaze on me.

“Get behind the steering wheel. If anything suspicious happens, and I do mean anything, I want you to drive to the nearest police station. Understood?”

“Um, I–”

“This is a yes or no question, Charlotte.”

Anger flashes through me.

“I don’t know how to drive stick, Grayson. I think that warrants a reply other than yes or no, don’t you?”

Grayson’s skin turns a bit darker. I don’t know if he’s embarrassed or mad at himself, but I can see him walking it all back mentally.

“Just keep your eyes peeled for danger, and honk twice if you see anything, okay?”

“Okay.”

He holds his hand out, palm facing up. It takes me a moment to realize he wants my keys. I hand the jingling set over, and he snaps them up and exits the Jeep.

“Keep a sharp lookout.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I’m looking out.”

He gives me a long look, as if to make sure I mean it, and then turns and walks up the driveway. I crane my neck, peering all around, but I don’t see anything interesting other than a bunch of guys doing roofing across the lane. Their hammers create a constant staccato as I wait for Grayson to give me the all clear.

After about five minutes, he appears at the front door. From his relaxed gait and lack of tension in his shoulders, I’d say he didn’t find anything unusual in my place.

“Okay. It’s safe to go in and collect your things.”

I enter my place, the familiar sights and smells enveloping me like a well-worn glove. It’s only a ranch style house, but it’s mine, free and clear, with no bank liens or mortgages.

Grayson broods around the living room while I pack up my things. I’m used to traveling a lot as part of my influencer gig, so I’ve become a master packer. I manage to fit two weeks worth of clothes into just one admittedly large suitcase.

I stuff my toiletries into a Gucci leather shoulder bag, and then turn my attention to my lighting rigs, cameras, and shooting gear. I fold up tripods and pack away the more delicate electronic pieces into their own foam lined case.

“Hey, Grayson? Can you give me a hand in here?”

He appears a moment later. I hand off a bundle of filming equipment, which he takes without complaint. His brow gets all wrinkled and annoyed looking, however.

I follow him outside, and down the sidewalk. He picks up my heavy suitcase and hefts it into the back of the Jeep as if it weighs nothing. Then he turns to me and arches his brows.

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