Page 84 of The Bodyguard

He tugged the makeshift bandage higher on his bicep and didn’t look satisfied with the result. “An Uber will pick us up in less than ten minutes.”

Angela could see why the teenager’s eyes had bugged out at Sawyer’s arm. It didn’t look good. “We’re going to a hospital?”

“No, we’re going to that food truck from the other day. He’s calling in and paying for an order.”

“I’m not hungry, and you need a doctor.”

“You will be hungry when the adrenaline wears off,” he said, ignoring the mention of medical treatment. “By the time we finish eating, someone will drop off a bag of clothes, shoes, and”—he grinned, though the expression was tight and failed to hide his discomfort—“sunglasses.”

Her eyebrows arched. “There’s a team nearby already?”

“No, he has a slew of gig apps to choose from. Like DoorDash from Target or something. I don’t know.”

An app? Who needed handlers when they could find an app to take care of the tedious work? That wasn’t how she operated from their Abu Dhabi office. Then again, managing sunglasses and food wasn’t Parker’s job. “Huh.”

The teenager returned with an old blue-and-white plastic kit. “Um. Here.”

Angela took it and thanked him.

“All right, let’s see what we’ve got.” Sawyer popped the lid open and set the kit on the counter.

“Did you call an ambulance?” the teenager asked again.

“An Uber.”

“On the phone?” the teen inquired. “The one attached to the wall?”

“A taxi,” Angela amended.

Sawyer read the labels on the tiny ointment tubes, collected a few Band-Aids, and held up the tweezers. “Could I borrow these?”

Some kind of calculus played across the teen’s face as he studied Sawyer’s wound, the tweezers, and the paper-cut-sized Band-Aids. “Yeah, buddy.” The boy snort-laughed. “That’s fine. You can have ’em.”

“We appreciate it,” she said, limping behind Sawyer as they left the store. “He’s going to have questions.”

“Maybe.” Sawyer moved his arm too fast and winced. “But who’s going to ask him about it? Pham’s people don’t know where we went. They won’t canvass the island and draw attention to themselves.”

“He could call the police?”

“I don’t think so.” Sawyer studied a car that rolled into the parking lot with signs reading UBER displayed in the front and side windows. “Think this is us.”

The driver’s window rolled down. He eyed them with a heavy level of uncertainty. “Sawyer?”

“That’s me.” He opened the back door for Angela. “Thanks for the ride.”

Angela ducked under his arm and into the air-conditioned back seat—and immediately winced at the cactus spines embedded in the backs of her legs. Delicately, she scooted over.

Sawyer closed them in, and after another once-over from the driver, the car rolled out of the parking lot.

“Let me see your arms first.” Sawyer focused on removing the spines while the car headed for the food truck.

The driver watched the back seat more than he watched the road. But fewer than five minutes later, Angela and Sawyer were safely deposited in another parking lot.

Angela limped to the table they’d previously used. The lunch crowd hadn’t arrived yet. She wasn’t certain that the food truck was even serving up meals, but Sawyer returned quickly with two bags of food and two lemonades.

He set up their breakfast spread, raised one of her legs, rested her bare foot on his thigh, and went to work on the spines again. She ate hush puppies and fed him fried shrimp while he removed the prickles methodically. Once he did the fronts and sides of her legs, he had her stand so he could do the backs. The food truck guys must’ve thought they were quite the spectacle. Their heads peeked out the order window every few minutes.

She sipped her lemonade. “Do you think they’re going to call the cops?”

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