Page 30 of Stay Close
“Do you?” I ask, already looking forward to when our disagreements can be about anything beyond her imminent safety.
“Do I have to?”
I make a deal. “You can take it off while you’re in the conference room, but coming and going from the building, I want you suited up.”
“I won’t be able to run very well,” she argues, “or do my moves if someone attacks.” She chops the air, trying to get me to smile. I can’t smile.
Finally, she sighs. A sign of surrender. “Is there a specific threat?”
I don’t want to lie, and I don’t want to scare her. “Nothing I can act on. Just wear the vest.”
At the end of the day, when the long conference room is littered with crumpled notes and used coffee cups and thediplomats have sailed away in their motorcades, I place a bag on the conference table. She removes the black Kevlar vest, holding it by the tip of her finger. “Where did you find it?”
I smile. “Caroline sourced it for me. She said it’s your size.”
“That woman,” Edie mutters, adorable in her grumpiness, “is a marvel. Is she spying on me? Do you think she’s a secret mole for the queen?”
Oddly enough, I don’t. Caroline’s offers have been informal and off the record. She doesn’t ask follow-up questions or hover aimlessly. Trust comes hard in my line of work, but Caroline has earned it.
Edie peels her bulky cardigan from her frame and my mind flickers. She’s wearing a slim-fitting black turtleneck tucked into the waistband of her slacks, and she’s trying to figure out a way into the vest.
“You’re holding it upside down,” I say, ruthlessly training my attention on the task. “Here.”
She hands it over, and I peel the thick Velcro tabs loose. “Hands up,” I instruct, and she raises them. I have to stop myself from kissing her.
“Is it comfortable?” I ask when she tugs it over her stomach.
“Is it supposed to be?” Her smile is faint. I’m used to such measures, but she doesn’t like this level of deadly seriousness associated with her job. I hitch the straps tighter and fold them over her belly and chest.
“We’ll leave your sweater here,” I say.
She whips it out of my hands and stuffs it into the bag. “Oh, no, you don’t. I don’t trust this country. It’s always stealing my clothes.”
CHAPTER 11
Edie
“Stay close.”
By now, I don’t need to be told. I follow awkwardly after Lucas, eyes trained on his broad shoulders. The vest will give me an added measure of confidence, he told me, which is a big fat lie.
As we navigate the halls and stairways of the Grousehof, I begin to do the math. If 37% of my body is protected by a layer of tactical equipment, 63% could be blasted off by a man whose favorite people are of the pasty white and Sondish variety. Where does that leave Lucas? Where does this leave my kneecaps?
“See?” Lucas says when we’re back in the car again, navigating through the streets of Hansel. “Nothing to it.”
“Nothing to it?” I’m writhing in the passenger seat, attempting to work my way out of this straitjacket and failing miserably. “I look like a cat going bananas over a jingle bell toy.”
He grins and looks ahead for a place to pull out of traffic. “Here,” he says, halting next to a row of shops. He peels away the thick straps, jerking me forward. “It’s caught on your shirt. Hold it—”
A tap on the glass has me leaping out of my skin. A Sondish police officer stands on the curb, shielding us from passersby, and Lucas lowers the window. The officer lets out a string of words, but we look at him blankly.
He emits a noise of disgust. “You have English?”
“Yes,” I answer. “We’re American.”
“Of course you are,” he says, his tone flat and unamused as his eyes dip to my waist. Lucas releases me and hands over his ID. “My client is wearing tactical equipment. I’m helping her to remove it.”
The police officer’s expression doesn’t change. “Not in front of a kindergarten,” he says, pointing his stick across the street where, through a large plate window, we can see children playing. He returns the ID. “You will be on your way. Quickly.”
