Page 8 of The Hero
“You’re too trusting,” he said quietly.
She looked up at him in surprise. “What?”
“You don’t know me. Yet you just took your clothes off in front of me.”
Bob saw her cheeks darken. Jesus, he was being a complete ass. But before he could apologize, Marlowe lifted her chin to look him dead in the eye. “I was pretty self-conscious before I was arrested, but after being strip-searched and having zero privacy for the last month—including in the bathrooms—I guess I just didn’t think about it. The prison clotheswouldbe a huge giveaway, so I further assumed I needed to change immediately. Also, if you wanted to hurt me, you could’ve done it already. So for now, I’m trusting you. I literally have no other options.”
The last bit was said defensively and with force. As if daring him to contradict her.
Yup. He was a total dick. And she was right. They didn’t have any time to spare. He held up the last item from the bag.
“This should help keep people from realizing who you are.”
She stared at it for a moment. Bob saw a look of distaste cross her face before she masked it. “Smart.” That was all she said as she held out her hand.
For some reason, Bob didn’t like that she was hiding her true feelings from him. He preferred her to say what was on her mind. “You don’t like wigs?”
Marlowe shrugged. “Under normal circumstances, when I haven’t gone a week since washing my hair? When we aren’t in a tropical environment? When I’m not wearing one to hide the fact that I’m a fugitive on the run? I wouldn’t care.”
Bob couldn’t help but smile a bit at that. Instead of handing her the long blonde wig, he asked, “May I?”
She stared at him for a long moment before saying, “Yes.”
There was something intimate about easing the wig over her head and arranging it so it looked natural, carefully ensuring that none of her short black hair was showing around her nape.
“Won’t this make me stand out more?” she asked after a moment. “I mean, long blonde hair doesn’t exactly blend in around here.”
“True. But if the authorities are looking for an American with short black hair, maybe they won’t bother to stop and interrogate us.”
Marlowe reached for him and put her hand on his forearm. The hair on the back of Bob’s neck stood up at her touch. Electricity seemed to arc between them for a moment before she said, “I don’t want you to get in trouble for helping me. If we get caught, you run.”
Anger swept through him, an emotion that felt more comfortable than what he’d been feeling a moment ago. “Not happening.”
“But—”
“No,” he said firmly. “We aren’t going to get caught. We’re both getting back to the States. Now, come on. Let’s put some miles between us and that prison, shall we?”
He turned to the bike and threw his leg over the seat. He’d prefer Marlowe not be exposed behind him, but there wasn’t anything he could do about that. It was still dark outside. Hopefully he’d be able to avoid any roadblocks and get them outside the city limits and to their next stop before the sun came up.
He turned and looked at Marlowe a little impatiently. “Get on behind me.”
She frowned slightly at the scooter. Bob couldn’t help being pleased with how different she looked. The blonde wig changed her appearance drastically, but he actually preferred her short black hair. Shaking his head a little, he held out a hand.
“It won’t bite, Mar, get on.”
“I’ve never ridden a motorcycle,” she said uneasily.
He chuckled quietly. “This isn’t even close to being a motorcycle, Punky. Just sit down and hold on to me.”
She finally nodded and swung a leg over the seat behind him. Her hands gripped his T-shirt gingerly at his sides, and he could feel her body stiffen.
Bob pulled her hands off his shirt and wrapped her arms around his waist. The move drew her closer, and he felt her heat along his back. He patted one of her arms. “Tighter. You’re gonna have to pretend you like me, Punky. We’re just two American lovebirds on a little nighttime joyride.”
She jerked slightly at his words, but he felt her nod, then tighten her hold.
Not wasting any more time, Bob walked the scooter toward the door. He nudged the surface with the front tire and, once outside, headed toward the fence. As soon as they were on the street, he started the scooter, gave it some gas, and headed toward the road that would lead them away from the center of town.
Several minutes went by before he felt Marlowe relax. She’d clearly gotten used to the scooter. Long strands from the wig blew around them as he drove as fast as he dared away from the neighborhood.
