“Val, what are you doing here?” Smithson Young lowered the weapon and glowered at her. Valkyrie took in all of the man and enjoyed the view. Standing at his door in nothing but boxers, his impressive six-foot-seven-inch frame blocked any view of the apartment behind him. His heavy, bulky muscles were mountains on a vista she could admire forever. Her view of him left little to the imagination. He was indeed spectacular.
She smiled and looked at her watch. “I’ve come to take you on an adventure. We have five minutes. You should get dressed.”
Smith didn’t say a word as he crossed his arms, the gun still very much grasped in his hand. “At this time of night? What are you up to?”
She flipped her hair over her shoulder and lifted a perfectly manicured hand. “It’s morning. We’re going somewhere.” She motioned between them. “Go put on some clothes, please. Business casual.”
“Why?” The big man continued to stare at her.
She smiled at him. “Because it’ll be fun, and I know you don’t have anything planned, and neither do I.”
Smith didn’t say anything for at least thirty seconds. She could practically see the gears and wheels turning in his brain. Finally, he sighed and nodded before turning, and she stepped into his apartment after him, shutting the door. She pumped her fist in the air as he strode back to the bedroom. An unladylike gesture, granted, but the victory was hers. Val waited until she heard him moving around in the bedroom before she went to the freezer, opened the door, and pulled out an old plastic container lined with tinfoil. She opened the top and retrieved his passport, leaving the cash he had stashed in the plastic tub alone. It would be her treat. Putting the container back, she closed the door and positioned herself where she’d been standing when he left.
She leaned against the front door while waiting for him to get ready. Smith’s little apartment was not her idea of habitable space. Sparce, no, barren was a better descriptor. There was one recliner that had seen better days. A cement block set on its end acted as a place to hold Smith’s television remote. His kitchen consisted of a refrigerator-freezer combo, a hot plate, and a microwave. A weight set and a pull-up bar was his only interior decoration. Depression meet gymnasium was not a good look for any room. Well, maybe a prison yard, but, in her opinion, Smith deserved so much better.
He stepped out into the hall, and she drew a sharp breath. God, he was intoxicating. He wore black slacks, a crisp white button-down, and black leather boots, adding another inch to his already impressive height. She knew that was the suit he’d wear. As far as she knew, he had only one. It was the one he’d worn to Mrs. Henshaw’s funeral.
Smith had finger-combed his hair, so it swept back off his forehead. The thick brown hair must have been scared into position because there was no way Val could ever make her mane stay in that style. His suit jacket was in his hand, and he had a five o’clock shadow that was sexy as hell. Smithson Young was a walking, talking poster of the hot bodyguard prototype, but the man didn’t know it. Smith had no sense of value about himself that she could detect. He always deferred any compliment or ignored it. At first, she thought the brush-off was a pick-up tactic, but it wasn’t. It was just how Smith was. The man genuinely didn’t believe he was worthy of any compliment. Smith reached for his shoulder holster, but she stopped him. “No need for weapons today.”
Smith stopped and cocked his head as he looked at her. There it was. That resting bitch face told her she’d pushed him about as far as he would go. She hurried to explain. “This is a surprise, and you can’t take any weapons with you.” She sauntered over to him and brushed some imaginary lint off his shoulder. Since they had lunch after Mrs. Henshaw’s funeral, Val had elbowed her way into Smith’s life. He was a loner, and so was she. Smith was a Guardian, which meant he was safe. Besides, she’d checked. He’d been vetted. He was someone with whom she could spend time, thank God. With her work for Guardian on pause, she had time on her hands, and Smith had become a … project. No. Check that. More like an obsession. Which was kind of stalker-y. Was that a word? Whatever. Val waited for Smith to make his decision. There was no use trying to rush him, which was something she’d learned right away. He was an immovable object. A mountain. And a delicious-looking mountain at that.
“Just a minute.” He moved back to the bedroom. Hopefully to lock up his weapon.
The second time they went out to lunch, she’d appeared on his doorstep just like that morning. It took five minutes to convince him he should eat lunch with her again. They’d spent hours at a small bistro, visiting about everything under the sun. Well, she’d visited, and he’d said enough that she didn’t feel too much like a babbling idiot. During that lunch, she’d asked him if he had ever had any trouble with the residents where he lived. He lifted his eyes to hers and spoke one word. “No.”
That precise moment was when Val knew she and Smith were compatible. Of course, she’d suspected it for years. The look in his eyes at that moment was one she’d seen every morning in the mirror. For her, that familiar expression began its metamorphosis the day her husband was murdered. Yes, that look was the absolute confidence of knowing no one could hurt you any deeper than you’d already been hurt and the knowledge if they tried, they’d be dead. They held that eye contact for too long. But it seemed neither was willing to break the link. Unfortunately, the waitress severed the gaze, but not the connection. Val had been planning their outing since that day because she’d given Smith access to that utter loneliness inside her, and he’d taken up residency. Now, to let him know. Which could blow up in her face.
“Ready.” He grabbed his wallet and hung his sunglasses from the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. She opened the apartment door and waited as he deadbolted all three locks. Smith opened the car door for her, and she slipped into the vehicle. “Next stop, please.”
The Guardian driver nodded and pulled out into the street. “Where are we going?” Smith stretched and yawned.
“A surprise.” She was taking him away. She’d bought his clothes, arranged the hotels, and scheduled special access to the museums and historical sites that he’d spoken about but had never seen. Over the course of the last three months, she’d realized that Smith was probably one of the most intelligent people she knew. That was a bold statement because Val knew an Operator. That wasn’t public knowledge, but if Smith and Aspen ever met, the conversation would be amazing.
Smith settled into the back of the car and closed his eyes. She smiled to herself. He trusted her. Either that, or he was exhausted. She placed her hand on his leg. “What time did you go to bed?”
He opened one eye. “About ten minutes before you pounded on my door.”
“Sorry. It’ll be worth it, though, I promise.” She patted his thigh. “Go to sleep. I’ll wake you when we get there.”
The drive to JFK was quiet except for Smith’s steady breathing. Val studied his sleeping profile as they sped through the night. To an extent, the man was a mystery. She knew the basics about how he came to be in Guardian. It didn’t take much to get that information. But while Smith appeared aloof and damn abrasive at times, she felt his loneliness. It was there. Hidden, yes, but there, nonetheless. When the Guardian driver pulled up to the departure gate, she woke him. “We’re here.”