“I’m a professional journalist, not some beach bunny.”
Liz ignored the niggling thought of how much she’d love to still be the carefree woman from college. The one who wore the latest trends. Shortest shorts. Loudest prints. The one who laughed freely. Danced to every song she heard. Life used to be one hellacious good time after another, all the while carrying a 4.0. One classroom and one college professor had shattered that girl. She’d still carried the “A” grade, for the most part, but had conformed to meet the criteria of someone else. Never again.
She held the skirt in front of her and shook her head. “Too short.” A maxi dress. “Too low-cut.” A mini. “Way, way too short.” The bikini top… “Wrong message.”
Cat walked into Liz’s personal space and pointed to the master bath. “Pick. Out. At least one of each, and try them on. You have to change clothes.”
Liz pointed back at the woman standing in front of her. “I’m not moving until you give me a good reason why I have to change my look. I am who I am, and—”
Her chin uncontrollably quivered with the realization the words were a lie. Everything was a lie. She wasn’t who she was. Elizabeth Walkert didn’t exist. She’d never existed. The person she’d grown into over the years had never been real, either.
Even now, the name Liz seemed more real than anything else had evidently been. She understood that name. Liz was in danger. Liz required protection. Liz needed to know her short name could save lives.
With a slight gasp, she swiped her palms across her cheeks. Tears. Damn tears. She never cried. Hated the idea of losing control. Of looking weak. But she couldn’t stop them. She couldn’t stop.
What had happened to her life? Five days ago, she had a life. A career. Now all she had were tears. And the people protecting her.
Cat lowered her gaze to the floor and walked back toward the lockout room. “You know, it’s okay to break down. You’ve had a rough few days. I’ve been proud of the way you held up since you arrived here. Heck, I’ve even been known to shed a tear.”
“Thanks. I needed that.” Catching her breath, Liz tried to smile. “I doubt Mitch has ever shed a tear.”
“You’d have to ask—”
“Ask me what?” Mitch said as he entered the room.
“Nothing,” Liz countered.
He glanced at each of the women. “I didn’t imagine my name being said. What’s going on?”
“No big deal.” Cat raised her fingertips in a sweeping motion. “She’s just not happy with the clothes I chose for her to change her style.”
Mitch walked over to the bed and rummaged through the clothes, holding on to a green bikini top. “What’s wrong with them? Wrong size? Color? What?”
He sounded like a waiter wanting to know what to tell the chef when he took the plate back to the kitchen to be recooked. That was all she needed. The only thing she had left to hold on to was how she looked. To him, the clothes were nothing more than one more step in his assignment.
For a millisecond, she thought of telling him how good he’d look in red swim trunks and a pair of sexy sunglasses. Nothing else. His hand covering hers on the drive over had triggered her hormones. Got her to imagining all kinds of impossible scenarios. Like leaning against the ripped abs and tanned muscles she figured lay beneath his clothes. But she still wouldn’t let him tell her what to wear.
She pushed into his space. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. I simply refuse to change the way I dress or look or sound or smile or—”
“Do you want to be dead on a slab?” His words, and stare, bored straight to the bull’s-eye. He leaned closer. “Well, do you?”
“No. I don’t.” Surely, he was being overdramatic just to scare her. He’d soon learn she didn’t scare so easily. “You had your questions. Here are mine. How would you like it if someone said you needed to do away with your five o’clock shadow look? Shave your head?”
He dropped the bikini top back on the pile of clothes and dodged out of the way of her moving hands. She jerked in reaction to his bob-and-weave action. Evidently, she’d been talking with her hands.
Flailing because she was anxious. “Wear a shirt and tie every—”
“I’ve worn everything imaginable to stay alive. Sometimes, nothing at all.” His phone rang, and he headed out of the room. “Cat, explain how bad this could be if she’d been put in our OPAQUE security program. Maybe then she won’t be so upset about simply trying some new clothes.”
“Right.” Cat’s expression never wavered, but the loud sigh said she hated getting stuck with some parts of the job. She started picking out clothing pieces, stacked them in a pile on a chair in the corner, then pointed to what was left on the bed. “Okay, I’ve narrowed your choices. Humor me and try them on.”
This was the second time Mitch had mentioned OPAQUE. She’d also heard the word years ago, from her dad and Drake when she’d walked in on one of their conversations. She needed to know what that stood for. Seeing no chance of online access any time soon, she decided to broach the subject with Cat.
Nonchalantly, Liz picked out one of each type of clothing from the bed then helped Cat carry the remaining clothes back into the lockout room. “What did Mitch mean by OPAQUE type security?”
In the room, she was pleasantly surprised to find a setup of table and chairs, small fridge and microwave, books, CDs and headphones, even a small laptop. The place was nothing like the bare essentials in the safe room when she was ten.
Cat laid the clothing on a table off to the side then opened a cabinet in front of her. “You’re one of Drake Security Shadow’s normal protection clients. Means we need to take some of your familiar edge off. Make people look at your clothes, body, walk, anything but your face.”
