Myles stepped away from the table and I took a few strides into the room, just far enough to reach the bag, and picked it up.
“Thanks,” I muttered and dashed back into the room.
I dumped the contents on the bed and rummaged through the items until I found the toothbrush and paste. Then I sprinted to the bathroom and brushed my teeth. I rinsed, spit, and started over.
It took three washings.
And I never once glanced into the mirror.
I wasn’t ready to see what I’d find.
Chapter 7
I had no reason to be pissed, yet I was fuming.
Not only did Delilah not trust me she thought I was some sort of piece of shit that would harm her. She didn’t say it but she couldn’t hide it. The woman actually thought I’d allow someone into our room who would cause her harm. I’d bet my savings she stood in that fucking bedroom while I was tipping the delivery kid thinking I was setting her up to be taken again.
Gabe was wrong, there was no scenario where Delilah trusted me. There was nothing I’d be able to say to her to prove I was on her side. That I was there to protect her and not hurt her.
My attention went from the window to the bedroom door as Delilah walked out. In her haste, she hadn’t shut the door but I knew better than to think that was anything more than an oversight on her part.
“Feel better?” I asked.
“So much better.”
She sounded like she meant that.
“Good. Hungry?”
“Yes. But before we eat, may I ask you a favor?”
I wanted to tell her she could ask me for anything and I’d give it to her as long as she promised never to look at me with her haunted eyes again but instead with one of her pretty smiles.
But I didn’t say that. Instead, I invited, “Ask away.”
“I tried to get out all the knots,” she started sheepishly. “But I couldn’t get the back. Would you be willing to help me?”
“You want me to brush your hair for you?”
I glanced at the towel on her head and she flinched. Then she dropped her gaze to the floor. “I know it’s weird. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
Killing. Me.
“Will you please look at me?”
Slowly, so damn slowly, her eyes lifted.
“I’ll brush your hair. But Delilah, I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
“More of what?”
“You looking at me like you’re preparing for me to strike. I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m not gonna leave you. I’m not gonna turn you over to Aviv or Tamir or any-fucking-one. I’m here to protect you. And the fuck of it is, I understand you got no reason to trust me, but I’m asking you to tell me what I need to do to start working towards that.”
“Why do you trust me?”
“Come again?”
“You gave me a gun. I could’ve shot you in the back and run off.” I felt my lips curve up into a smile, luckily I had the wherewithal to quell my laugh. “Why are you smiling?”
“Babe, you were shaking so hard it was doubtful you could’ve held the gun steady enough to aim.”
“So why’d you give it to me?”
“It was just you and me out there in an uncertain situation with someone coming up on us. I needed to know that if something happened to me you could protect yourself.”
I didn’t miss the tick in her jaw or the slumping of her shoulders.
“Like you said, I was shaking so bad the gun would’ve been useless.”
“I reckon if I was lying there bleeding out or dead you’d find the strength to rally. And you had a phone,” I reminded her.
“And you would’ve been wrong. I’m not that kind of woman.”
What the hell did that mean?
“You aren’t that kind of woman?”
“No, Myles. In the face of danger, I freeze. I’m not strong or brave. I don’t fight—”
“Woman I got your teeth marks scarred on my arm that proves otherwise.” Her gaze darted to the bandage on my forearm but I didn’t allow her to remark before I continued. “And if you’re talking about Tamir we already went over that. Cohen could’ve killed you a hundred different ways, some painful, some instant. The mere fact you’re standing in this room is proof you did the right thing. I think he was struggling with what he was going to do with you. And if you’d fought him, you would’ve made the decision easy. He would’ve had no choice but to kill you. But you staying quiet and compliant gave him the opportunity to stash you somewhere he thought you’d be safe.”
“Why do you think that?”
“You wanna sit on the floor in front of the couch or in a chair while I brush your hair?”
She blinked at my abrupt change of topic then looked at the chairs situated around the kitchenette table.
“I better sit in a chair. My hair’s pretty long. I don’t think you can brush it if I’m sitting on the floor.”
The picture I had of her was from Abrams’s website and looked to be a few years old. In it, her hair was pushed behind her shoulders so I couldn’t tell its length. And for some crazy reason, I was dying to see how long it was. And even crazier, I wanted to run my fingers through it.
“Tell me something,” I started as I walked across the living space. “Why don’t you have any social media accounts?”
“Because I work in IT and I know how easy it is to get all sorts of personal information about someone. So why would I make it easier on some sicko who’s trolling for his next victim?”
Smart.
After all, she was correct. With a few keystrokes, Garrett, our in-house intel specialist, could find anything about anyone.
“What’d you guys dig up on me?” she asked.
I pulled out the chair and gestured for her to take a seat, but she turned the chair around and straddled it.
“Trust me, it’s long,” she murmured.
Trust.
There was that damn word.
Delilah handed me the bright pink brush and tipped her head forward to unwrap the towel. When she flipped her hair back I was shocked when the tangled ends reached down to the chair cushion.
“Holy shit.”
“Told you. That’s what happens when you’re a workaholic and too lazy to style your hair.”
“You’ve lost me,” I returned, still staring at her hair wondering how the hell I was going to tackle the mess in front of me.
“I work a lot so I don’t take the time to get my hair cut. And besides, short hair means you have to style it and I’m far too lazy for that.”
There was something in her tone that told me she wasn’t telling me the whole truth but I didn’t call her out on it. Instead, I focused on the task at hand.
“Maybe now’s the time I should tell you I’ve never brushed a woman’s hair.”
“Never?”
“Never,” I confirmed.
“You start at the bottom…”
It took her a few minutes to explain how to hold her hair and brush below my fist so I didn’t yank the strands and hurt her. She also explained since she had thick hair I needed to do it in sections. By the time she was done, I was fairly confident I could accomplish my mission.