Again, the lights flickered once and stopped.
Stone turned sharply, causing her hand to fall away. She watched as he scouted the empty hallway, his profile one of wariness. Was there more to his concern? His usual calm was tinged with a strain she hadn’t noticed before. Like a man grappling—not with danger—but instead a shadow. One only he could see.
“Scream if you need me,” Stone said before pulling his weapon and cautiously entering her apartment. Moments later, when Sophie heard noises from Poppie’s apartment across the hall, she scurried into her apartment, shutting the door tightly behind her.
Stone emerged from the bedroom, glaring at her. “What the hell, Sophie? I hadn’t given the all clear.”
“I’ll do better next time,” she whispered, not wanting Poppie to hear her.
“Why are we whispering?” Stone asked, moving with stealth quickness to stand next to her.
She placed her finger to her lips. “Because I haven’t figured out what to tell Poppie yet. He always knows I’m lying, and I hate doing that to him.”
“Then let’s tell him the truth.”
“We can’t. It would cause him to worry. Knowing Poppie, he’d try to guard both our places while we’re at work, and that could end badly.”
Stone ran a hand over his five o’clock shadow, the sound of flesh against bristle incredibly intimate in the tiny space. “Then we’ll tell him I’m your boyfriend. If he asks where I’ve been since he last saw me, I’ll tell him away on assignment. Once we’ve found out who has threatened you, I’ll explain to Poppie why we fabricated a relationship.”
Lying to Poppie hurt Sophie’s soul. He was her person. The one she could always count on. To not be honest felt disrespectful. But then again, getting him hurt by telling him the truth wasn’t a great option either. “Okay, but you’ve really got to sell the whole boyfriend act. I’m telling you, he can smell a lie.”
“Deal. Where should I put my bag?” He pointed to her couch where he’d dropped a military-issued duffel.
True to his word, when Stone had returned toNaked Runway, he had transformed into the part of her boyfriend. According to him, Isabella had been briefed on the situation and had assembled a wardrobe for him, complete with a calendar which told him what to wear every day.
Sophie led him to her bedroom and pointed to an empty corner. “You can put it there for now. I’ve never had a guy live with me, so I’ll need to clear out some closet space and a dresser drawer for you.”
“I can live out of a suitcase; it’s standard practice when I’m on assignment.” He glanced around the room, and his gaze landed on a pile of children’s books stacked on her desk. The entire collection of Junie B. Jones.
“Those look a little young for your tastes?” he teased.
“I have a monetized YouTube account where I read bedtime stories to children every night. We’re currently making our way through those. They were my favorite growing up.”
“Monetized?”
“I get a cut of the advertising money that is spent on my page.”
“Smart. I bet you’re good at reading them. You have a personality for bringing book characters alive. Hell, I feel like Miles is a friend after just one evening of our discussing his character.” He continued his exploration of her room and stopped scanning when he saw the painting on the wall above her bed. “‘Never settle for less than the fairytale,’” Stone read aloud.
“My mom painted the sentence right before she brought me home from the hospital as an infant. I just haven’t had the heart to paint over it,” she took a seat on the bed.
He glanced down at her. “Were her and your dad living the fairytale before their deaths?”
“I like to think so, but I don’t remember much.” She picked up her pillow and hugged it. “How often do you go on assignments that require you to move in with a person?”
“Not often anymore. Our focus doesn’t usually require it, although we spend plenty of time staking out locations, waiting for the bad guys to slip up.”
“Focus?” She really didn’t know that much about him outside of his part ownership in a security business with his brothers.
“We retrieve children who have been kidnapped by their noncustodial parents.”
She squeezed the pillow tighter. The thought of a child being kidnapped made her ill. “Is that a common occurrence?”
He sat down next to her, noticeably careful not to touch her in the process. “You’d be surprised. Especially where one parent has dual citizenship.”
She scooted back and leaned against the wall. “Is it dangerous? Do you often find yourself under fire?”
He turned to see her better. “We usually manage without gunfire, but once in a while, things get sketchy and—”
