“Even when I was modeling, I had a few magazine covers that put me out there for a while…but I never felt unsafe. I was no supermodel, but I worked all the time. My face was starting to become recognizable.”
“What happened with modeling? Why did you stop?”
“I was tired of being hungry all the time and playing the game you have to play to get anywhere in that world. Who you know, who you’ll sleep with, who you hang out with.” I wrinkle my nose. “It was exhausting. And then a friend asked me to help her with a new headshot. She was broke and I had a nice camera, so I did it and the pictures were amazing. One thing led to another, and I started getting more photography work than modeling jobs—and I wasn’t sad about it.”
“Always a good thing when you find your calling.”
“Is this your calling?” I ask curiously. “Being a bodyguard?”
He hesitates. “I suppose it is. I went into the military because that was the only way to afford college, but I wound up loving it. Trained for Special Forces and realized I got off on the danger, but I also liked how it felt to be making a difference in the world. Even when we wouldn’t necessarily see the long-term results of our missions.”
“That’s nice,” I say thoughtfully. “Although I’m not sure I understand the part about getting off on danger.”
“I don’t fully understand it myself. It’s just this deep-seated need to run headfirst into the fire. Don’t get me wrong, I know how to protect myself. I’m well-trained and extremely cautious.”
“You’re cautious while simultaneously throwing caution to the wind? That shouldn’t make sense but it does.”
“Does it?” He smiles. “Most people just nod and then roll their eyes when I say stuff like that.”
“You’re self-aware and not playing games. You understand yourself, and a lot of people don’t. Probably the ones who roll their eyes at you.”
He chuckles. “I never made that correlation but you’re probably right.”
We sit in companionable silence for a while and then he asks, “How are you doing, Allora? I mean, underneath the tough exterior you portray. Do you need anything?”
“Ugh. Why’d you have to go and get all serious?”
“Because it’s too easy to pretend everything is fine and sweep it all under the rug. But take it from someone who knows—it will come back to bite you in the ass.”
“How do you know what I’m going through?” I ask slowly.
“I was captured in the Middle East,” he says in a soft voice. “Three weeks of daily torture. Humiliation. Starvation. Sleep deprivation. It wasn’t exactly the same but it was bad. You feel helpless, powerless, all the different emotions that you probably experienced as well.”
I think about that before responding. “I guess I’m okay for now. I have too many other things to think about than what happened to me. I need to cancel my credit cards, replace my lost license, stuff like that. Short-term, all I care about is food, reaching out to a handful of people, and figuring out if my car is still there.”
“I meant to tell you,” he says. “Rage already found it. It was still there. With a bunch of tickets but I’m thinking you could fight that in court.”
I groan. “Just what I need—to show up in court!”
“At least they didn’t tow it.”
“I suppose. And that’s another thing—getting a new key fob for the car. This fucking kidnapping is going to cost me a fortune.”
“I’ll help any way I can.”
“You already are.” I glance at him curiously. “You’re not what I envision a badass bodyguard to be.”
“No? What did you envision?”
“Honestly, I never gave it a lot of thought—it just wasn’t someone like you. Thoughtful. Soft spoken. I guess I imagined guys like you would be big and dumb. Sorry, that’s a terrible stereotype on my part.”
“It’s okay. I like when people think I’m dumb because they underestimate me.”
“Anyone who underestimates you would have to be pretty fucking stupid.”
Chapter Nine
Landon
