How did a guy even get shoulders that well-defined? Not to mention his abs…
Quit being a perv, she told herself.
She followed him to the bedroom, watched him pull on his jeans. He didn’t seem the least bit self-conscious, not even with her silently watching him.
“Are you leaving?” she asked.
He shot her a glance, wincing as he pulled his bloody t-shirt over his head.
“I appreciate what you did yesterday,” he said. “It was stupid, but… I appreciate it.”
Not quite the level of gratitude she’d hoped for, but… okay.
“I did what needed to be done,” she said, noncommittal.
“You shot a high-level enforcer in the Italian mafia. You killed an officer. You’re lucky you aren’t dead, honestly.”
“Italian?” she asked, her voice rising to a squeak.
Inside she was thinking, no no no!
“Yeah. And if anyone figures out that you were the shooter, you’re dead as a fucking doornail.”
Vi bit her lip, thinking about the moment before they stepped back into the bar from the parking lot. The guy in the dark track jacket, a few hundred yards away.
He’d run as soon as she spotted him, but… a witness was a witness.
“Someone saw me,” she admitted.
Callum glanced up at her, startled. “Who?”
“I don’t know. Some white guy, dark jacket. Never seen him before.”
“And you’re just thinking to mention this now?” he demanded to know.
“Well, I was kind of busy locking doors and getting you patched up,” Vi snapped.
Callum's expression was stony. “Fuck.”
“You think it’s a problem?” she asked.
“On the slight, slight chance that he’s not mobbed up, someone will get to him and ask him questions.”
Her heart dropped. “Well… fuck.”
“I need to make a phone call,” he said. “Stay here, okay?”
Vi nodded as he brushed past her, limping toward the front door. He went out, closing it behind him, but she could still hear the rough timbre of his voice from the stairwell.
She was dying of curiosity, wondering what his super secret phone call might be. He raised his voice several times, but the stairwell echoed and masked his words all too well.
After a moment, he came stomping back up the stairs, looking angry.
“Get some things together,” he ordered. “Anything you can’t live without for a couple weeks.”
“A couple weeks?” she echoed, put off.
His glare discouraged her from further disagreement.
She changed first, hiding in her closet while she pulled on jeans and a tank top, her comfy blue Converse shoes. Then she went to the closet and pulled out a Chanel suitcase and a Longchamp bag, and hurriedly packed everything that would fit in them.
She took special care to pack her medical books, things leftover from college. Then she looked around, looking to see what was missing.
“Crap, I need toiletries,” she muttered, pulling a couple things out in order to wedge her makeup bag and bathroom necessities inside.
Last but not least, she pulled a fat stack of cash out from under her mattress, careful not to let Callum see it. She wedged that and a couple of fake IDs into the bottom of her bag, then zipped it up.
“Jesus, what the hell did you pack?” he said, coming in from the kitchen to cast a disparaging eye over her bulging bags.
“You said two weeks!” she said, feeling heat rise to her cheeks.
“Chanel, huh?” he said, fingering the tag on his suitcase. “This real?”
“Uh… no,” she lied. She wasn’t even sure why she lied about the suitcase, only that obscuring her past was second nature to her now.
He glanced around her room. “You don’t have much, but what you got is pretty nice. Where are you from?”
“New York,” she said.
“City?”
“No, Montauk,” she lied.
“Fancy phone, fancy watch, fancy dresses in your closet…”
Vi’s jaw dropped. “You looked through my things?”
“Just trying to figure out who you are, before I risk my neck to save you. Have to tell you, though. Your panties are not up to par. Seriously, you’re lucky you’re so hot that guys can overlook those cotton granny panties.”
“They are not granny panties!!” she protested, then growled. “And fuck you for looking through my underwear drawer, you pervert!”
He smiled. “In your dreams, sweetheart.”
She was speechless for the second time in as many minutes. She wanted to yell at him, tell him she already knew he was interested, or rant some more about the invasion of her privacy. All the words twisted around in her head though, and she ended up just muttering under her breath.