Her hands froze, and concern ran through her expression. “You are in trouble?”
“No. And yes.” I took the suitcase from him and pulled it over to my makeup table. “A lot of stuff happened after the shooting, and Jason’s been... helping me.”
I could have said he was doing his job, but it was so much more than that, and I wanted to make sure he knew. I couldn’t have survived the last week without him.
“She’s not really allowed to discuss it,” he said.
While I dug out my rehearsal clothes, he dropped the duffel bag to the floor, unzipped it, and pulled out a bulletproof vest with a white U.S. MARSHAL patch spread across the back. He’d been wearing his badge and gun on his hip, but he unclipped both and set them aside so he could put on his vest.
Albina and I paused, watching him, and the atmosphere in the room turned serious.
Once he’d finished adjusting the straps, his focus went to the wallet that held his badge. He undid one side so he could pull out the beaded chain enclosed inside, then slung it over his head so the badge hung mid-chest. The gun holster was snapped back into place at his waist.
Despite everything going on, the woman in me, the one who evolution had programmed to respond to a protector, fell a little more in love with him. Bad boys were always appealing, but this bad boy with a badge?
He filled me with scorching desire.
“You are performing tonight?” Albina prompted, probably because I needed to get changed.
My hands went to the snap of my jeans, but I hesitated. “Are you going to step out while I change?”
I wouldn’t have asked him this if we’d been alone. He’d seen plenty of my body, but I’d do my best to pretend our relationship was strictly professional, and I could feel Albina’s curious gaze on us.
“No.” His face was blank, but he turned away to face the wall.
As I hurried into my leotard, he retrieved something else from the duffle bag. It was an earpiece, and once he had it in place, he tested the communication system and seemed satisfied with the results.
I yanked at the waistband of my leggings, pulling them into place, and dropped down into a deeppliéto ensure they wouldn’t hinder movement. “Okay,” I said. “I’m ready.”
He turned and found my gaze through the mirror while I twisted my hair up into a knot. I grabbed clips and scooped up the loose tendrils at the nape of my neck, securing them before reaching for my?—
“Shit,” I gasped.
Alarm pulled his shoulders back. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing you need to worry about.” I tore the lid off the box of my backup pair of pointe shoes. “Albina, help.”
She took one look and what was sure to be Russian curse words burst from her. My pointe shoes—the only pair I had for tonight—were brand new.
34
JASON
The women flewinto a frenzy of activity. Laurel yanked open a drawer and threw a spool of elastic on the counter, followed by scissors and pink thread. Albina grabbed the shoes, snatched up a large file from her counter, and began to saw it across the bottom of the soles. They moved without exchanging words, as if they’d done this countless times before.
It was bizarre and fascinating.
While Laurel cut the ribbons out of the worn and frayed pair she had in her suitcase, her castmate finished filing, rose, and set her focus on the door.
“Move,” she barked but didn’t give me a chance to comply. Albina shoved past me, opened the door, and slipped one of the shoes in the opening below the hinge.
What the hell?
She pushed the door closed, bending and pulling at the shoe, crushing it in the doorframe.
I glanced at Laurel incredulously. “She’s destroying your shoes.”
She shook her head and took the mangled shoe when Albina handed it off to her. Laurel readied to sew a ribbon in by the heel, while the other woman repeated the process with the second shoe.
