Page 19 of Stars and Scars

“Is that it?”

I nod. “Yeah. Just let me go and lock up, set the alarm and all of that biz.”

He nods, and I jog up the sidewalk. I can feel his eyes on me the whole way. My stomach does flip flops. God, what is it about him that makes me feel like this? What’s the opposite of Stockholm Syndrome? Am I attracted just because he’s taking care of me? Or is there more to it?

On paper we’ve got nothing in common. Maybe that’s why he’s so compelling. An opposites attract kind of thing?

All I know is, Grayson looks away just a little too quickly when I turn back down the sidewalk. He opens the jeep door for me and even offers a hand up.

“Thank you. Such a gentleman.”

He gives the trademarked Grayson dry chuckle.

“Sometimes, I can play the role of a gentleman.”

Grayson climbs behind the steering wheel as I digest his comment.

“Have you ever had to go somewhere while disguised?”

“Yes and no.”

He puts the Jeep in gear, and I give him a look.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you just being cryptic?”

“Being cryptic is a force of habit for me.” His sterling gaze flashes over to me for a moment. “But I wasn’t just being obtuse. The answer is both yes and no because while I have frequently pretended to be someone I was not, I rarely have to wear a disguise.

“Really? I thought it would come up a lot more often in your line of work.”

“No, not beyond putting on an apron or uniform shirt. Most people look at other things besides how you’re dressed to determine your identity.”

“Okay, now I’m really curious, what kinds of things?”

He shrugs his muscled shoulders.

“Simple things that you notice on a subconscious level without really being aware of it. Posture, body language, facial expressions. As long as you keep these things to what people are likely to expect, you’ll go unnoticed nine times out of ten.”

I guess I look pretty incredulous, because he feels the need to elaborate.

“Let me give you an example. Once, in a country with a lot of syllables in its name, I found myself having to elude some members of the local constabulary.”

“You were running from the cops in some Eastern Bloc country, got it.”

He stops, and for a second I think I’ve pissed him off. But then a smile spreads on his face, and for a change he doesn’t try to stop it. Happy looks good on him.

“Right. Well, I ran around a corner, and got their eyes off of me for about three seconds. They came around the corner, but all they saw was an old man limping toward them. They ran right around him and continued their fruitless search for me.”

“An old man?”

It takes me a second to get it.

“Wait, were you the old man? But you only had three seconds, how did you disguise yourself in that time?”

“I didn’t. Not with conventional methods. I adjusted my posture to be bent and decrepit, and twisted up my face to look old and in pain. Then I just hobbled toward them. Because they were looking for a young, healthy man who was running away from them, they didn’t even really see me.”

I whistle and shake my head.

“That’s amazing. I can’t imagine having the guts to pull something like that. I’d be so terrified of being caught.”

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