Page 16 of Nash
Malachi's briefing is short. His jaw sets when I tell him about the sketchbook.
"They're personalizing it," he says.
"They want her scared."
"Is she?"
Last night. Her hand shook at her side. It stopped when I said her name. The heat of her skin was an inch from my palm, close enough that I could feel the tremor before I could see it. Two weeks someone had eyes on her, and I missed it. Two weeks she walked to her car, unlocked her door, sat in the window atAmaranth, and I was three blocks away staring at sealed records instead of watching the street.
"She's handling it."
"Detail stays tight. She doesn't go anywhere alone."
"Copy."
Ruby comes down the stairs as I'm leaving the briefing. Copper hair loose, curling at the ends where it dried overnight. Red lips. Candace's flannel hanging off one shoulder over a tank top that stops above her navel. Denim shorts that end where her thighs start. Coffee in one hand. Bag in the other.
My feet stop before my brain catches up.
"Morning, Sergeant-at-Arms." The grin hits full wattage. "Ready to be my shadow again? I was thinking we could coordinate outfits. You'd look great in glitter. Maybe a little shimmer on the cheekbones. Really lean into the whole brooding-bodyguard thing."
"Let's go."
"You know, most people say good morning first. It's a whole social convention. There are studies."
I hold out the helmet at the door.
"Fine. But we're revisiting the glitter conversation." She takes the helmet, clips it on, and swings onto the Harley behind me. Ruby's arms wrap around my waist, and her thighs press against mine. Her chest settles against my back, warm through the leather of my cut, and the vanilla hits me before I can brace for it.
Her chin settles against my shoulder blade. The pressure of it is light and specific, and my grip tightens on the handlebars.
"You're tense," she says against my back. "Is this a security thing or a me thing?"
Both. The word sits in my mouth. I swallow it and kick the engine to life.
The ride to Amaranth is three blocks of her body heat bleeding through my shirt, her breath on the back of my neck when sheshifts, her fingers linked at my stomach where every muscle has pulled tight. Her thumb absently traces a small circle against my abdomen that drops straight through my ribs. My jaw locks, and I take the turn harder than I should.
Amaranth doesn't open until noon, but Ruby's been coming in early since Frankie claimed her. I've watched the pattern long enough to know it matters to her.
I go through the door first. Corners, windows, back hall, bathroom. Frankie is at her station, record player already going. She lifts her coffee in acknowledgment when I pass.
Clear. I take the wall by the door.
Ruby ties on her apron, settles at her station, and starts the ritual. Inks lined up along the edge. Pencils arranged by weight. Lightbox positioned. She reaches for her coffee mug, finds it empty, glances at the back counter, and goes back to prepping without it.
I cross to the back counter. Pour coffee from Frankie's pot. Two sugars. Splash of cream. Set it at her station on my way back to the wall.
She picks up the mug. Looks at it. Looks at me.
"Did you just—"
"You were out."
"I know I was out. I was going to get more." She takes a sip. Her eyebrows lift. "How do you know how I take my coffee?" I look at the window. "Nash."
"You order the same thing every time."
"From the gas station. Not from Frankie's pot. Nobody's ever—" She stops and takes another sip. Sets the mug down carefully, as if it weighs more than it did a minute ago. "Thank you."
