Dallas is the scariest man I've ever met, and I've never felt safer.
After holding me while I cried, he took one look at my ruined dress and told me to pack a bag. Then he took my hand and led me through the darkened house, checking each room before I entered. Charles and Matilda weren't there, and I can only pray they were somewhere else tonight.
He stands by the window in my bedroom, body tense, scanning the street while I throw some clothes and toiletries in a small duffel bag. The only other item I take is an old wedding photo of my mom and real dad. It was taken at their reception, and they're both laughing with cake smeared over their faces.
I’ve never seen my mom that happy. She’s a ghost of the woman in this photo and has been since my real dad died. I wonder how she’ll be now that Arthur is dead.
I tuck the photo into my bag and zip it closed. "I'm ready."
Dallas shifts away from the window and takes my duffel. When he holds out his hand, I don't hesitate to take it.
His features soften with the touch, and there's a warmth in the golden hazel of his eyes.
I marvel at the transformation, realizing it's the third time I've seen it. The first when he froze and put distance between us after the kiss. Then again on the street outside, when he shifted from killer to the man that held me as I cried. Now this simple touch.
It's as if he flips some internal switch between emotionless mercenary and the man I met in the ice cream shop. Maybe he has to for the work he does.
It only deepens my curiosity about him.
Dallas drives us across state lines into Mississippi and stops at a little motel off a small highway. There's only one other car in the parking lot and the lobby is empty except for a bored clerk about my age, wearing a top hat with goggles, an embroidered vest over a silk shirt, and buttoned trousers.
He lights up when we walk through the door. "King! Where ya been, man? It's been months."
"Archie." Dallas lifts his chin in greeting. "Same room."
"Sure, sure." Archie types something into the computer with flourish, then hand Dallas a gold-feathered pen with a logbook to sign.
Dallas takes the pen without a second glance and scrawls a signature that looks likeKing Lucian.
Archie eyes me. "You never brought a babe before."
A warning growl rumbles out of Dallas's throat. "She's not a babe."
"Looks like a babe to me," Archie mutters taking the logbook. He smiles when he reads the entry. "Lucian. Good one. King never uses the same name twice," he says to me. "He guards his real name like gold. Won't even tell me whether King is his first or last name."
“Maybe he’s a pop star,” I reply. One look at Dallas and no one would ever believe that, but the teasing words slipped out. Ilike Archie. Anyone who can rock steampunk at a roadside motel in Mississippi and treat Dallas like a long-lost friend is special.
Archie laughs so hard his top hat slips. He catches it, settling it back on his head and says, “Go on, King. Sing us your latest hit.”
“Don’t encourage him,” Dallas grumbles at me. Then, “The room key, Archie."
"Right, right." He grabs a key from the numbered boxes behind him and slides it across the desk.
Dallas reaches for it, but Archie doesn't let go.
"You, uh... didn't happen to bring anything?" His cheeks flare pink. "Sorry. Never mind. Good seeing ya, man."
Dallas eyes him a beat, then reaches into his inside coat pocket and removes an engraved silver pocket watch. He sets it on the counter.
Archie stutters something unintelligible, then, "Thank you. I'll.. I’ll treasure it."
Dallas takes the key. His hand lands on the small of my back and he guides me to the door.
"Was that yours?" I ask once we're outside.
"No. It was meant for him." He leads me to the room right in front of where he parked and unlocks the door. "We're safe here for the night."
He checks the room anyway. Once it's clear, he retrieves my duffel and another black bag, then bolts the door and sets the chain.
