She rested her cheek against the seat. If she could smell anything over the reek of garbage, she bet it would smell like real leather. Or money. Cars this nice didn’t use synthetic leather. They didn’t use synthetic anything.
That perfectly described the differences between them.
Neither of them attempted to fill the silence between them.
Until Dizzie gasped.
Killian rolled up to an ornate set of gates.
She recognized the entrance to Killian’s home immediately. If she hadn’t, the throngs of newsies outside it would have clued her in. Never in a million years had she imagined they’d end up here.
His purchase and restoration of the stately old home had made headlines for months. The finished product had been featured on at least two architecture sites.
“This isn’t a good idea.” She pressed back in her seat. She was dying to see inside, but if the newsies saw her, the corporation would soon know where she was.
Would they recognize her? If they didn’t, the men and women clustered around the gate would dig for information. Anyone seen in public with Killian St. John was subjected to intense public scrutiny. The thought of people focusing on her life made her skin crawl. Dizzie envied him his wealth and power, but she didn’t envy him the lack of privacy.
Killian’s sigh echoed in the small space. “I was hoping they wouldn’t be here yet.” He pressed a button on the dash.
Ejection seats? Her tired brain conjured up the ridiculous thought. Then again, they wouldn’t be out of place on this surreal day.
Instead of shooting the two of them into the air to who knew where, the windows darkened.
“Pretty nifty trick.” The automatic window tinting was some straight-up cool tech.
“Thanks.” His reply carried a hint of amusement.
She leaned closer to the glass, studying the slightly darker surroundings outside, then pulled back. “Can they see in?”
“No,” he said. “Not yet.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“The cat and mouse games never end. You figure out a way to block them, they pay big credits for workarounds.”
That made her anonymity seem downright attractive. “Sounds awful. You run them over?”
“Not yet,” he repeated.
She laughed. If this were her life, she’d be damn tempted. “Are they here all the time?”
He shrugged and focused on steering through the cluster of people outside.
The gate opened just wide enough for Killian to steer the car through. The newsies pressed forward, trying to squeeze in through the nearly nonexistent space between the car and the gate. Forget her running them over—they seemed willing to do it to themselves.
The crowds outside stressed her out, so she focused on Killian’s hands. He handled the steering wheel with skill, his movements strong and confident. Steady. He’d be masterful on a bike.
Who was she kidding? He’d be magnificent no matter what he did with those hands.
Once they were through the gates, she relaxed enough to take in their surroundings. No way was she going to miss this. Her deliveries tended to be in downtown Seattle. She rode by apartment buildings and slums, high rises and penthouses. Never out here.
She strained to take it all in. “Can I roll down the window?” Her finger was already on the button.
“No.”
Dizzie stifled a laugh. She hadn’t expected running for her life to be fun.
Though the driveway was short, it curved enough to create the illusion of being set farther back from the road. The corner lot and the landscaping around the drive helped. There were more trees on either side of this car than she usually saw in a week in downtown Seattle.
