Page 82 of The Witness

I pressed my face closer to hers, mushed it into the blonde strands whipping around her jaw. She held the phone out and clicked the button.

“Not bad.” She scrunched up her face, not happy with the image she saw on the screen.

I glanced over her shoulder. We looked great. “We can take another?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s the hair. I miss being a redhead.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s fixable.” If only everything in life were as easy to change as hair color.

“You’re right. New plan. Find a store that’s open where I can get hair dye. Then we’re going to my place. You are going to help me fix this.” She tugged at her blonde bob. “Then we make a massive vat of carbonara, drink wine, and open presents.”

“I’m in. Oh, and text me that photo. Blonde or redhead, I want a memento of today.”

“Okay.”

“You know I like you…. A lot.” I cupped her face between my palms. The salt spray was gritty on her sun-warmed cheeks.

“I like you too.” She turned her head and kissed the center of my palm.

We were a pair. Falling in love and too scared to admit it out loud. But I was confident we’d get there. Life had made us wary and bruised, but time would prove it was worth the risk.

Chapter 37

Sabrina

“That was worse than a bar fight and all-night surveillance duty. My face hurts from smiling, my feet are throbbing, I have lemon juice eating through my cuticles, and my eardrums hurt like I just left an AC/DC concert.” Michael flopped back into the passenger seat in my catering van.

“Welcome to the glamorous life of private events.”

It was after four in the morning. The private New Year’s Eve party for an up-and-coming rapper, DJ Fire, that I’d scored at the last minute was finally over. Thank God, I’d included a huge hourly rate for overtime in my contract. This wasn’t my first party like this. The music industry people in Miami didn’t think a party should end before the sun came up.

My van was parked in the loading zone of DJ Fire’s swanky Brickell Avenue building. We’d just loaded the last of my equipment in the back. I unbuttoned my chef’s jacket to enjoy the refreshing breeze that blew in my open door. Twisting around, I found the small cooler behind my seat. I took two bottled waters out and passed one to Michael. He’d earned it.

“Here. Drink. If the bodyguard thing ever gets boring, you can bartend for me anytime. You did great.” I winked at him. It had been a long night. My other staff had already headed home.

“Thanks.” He smiled and shook his head, then downed the bottle of water.

I watched the way his throat worked as he swallowed. How can drinking be sexy? Oh yeah. Because it's Michael.

“At least we got to kiss each other at midnight.” I turned the key in the ignition and my not so sexy van roared to life. “A bunch of people took selfies with me and shared my crowdfunding site.” TV celebrity chefs didn’t just make and serve food, we hobnobbed with guests. That was why we charged the big bucks.

“That’s an awesome PR move, Chef Dalton. But can we go home and sleep now?” He covered a yawn with his hand. The scruff of his 4am shadow on his jawline was very Don Johnson Miami Vice in the unforgiving LED lighting of the loading zone. I imagined it scraping along my inner thighs… after a shower and a nap.

“Ha! Sleep. You think this van unpacks itself?”

“Fuck me.”

“That’s right, Steel. Fuck you!” A man with a huge black gun stood in the open passenger door. He was terrifying. Bald. Angry.

The image of the gun pressed to Michael’s head wasn’t something I’d ever forget.

The man grabbed a handful of Michael’s shirt and yanked him through the open door. Michael went out fighting. He jammed his head back, slamming his skull into the guy’s face.

“No!” The word tore from my throat. I started to climb over the center console and go after Michael. I had to save him. Help him.

A hand clamped down on my arm, hauling me out the driver’s side. I tried to hold on to the steering wheel, determined not to be dragged out of my van. The fight was short lived.

My ass slammed down on the pavement a moment later. Pain shot up my tailbone.

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