Chapter Twenty-Seven
When I step out of the bed and breakfast, Damon is leaning against one of the black SUVs. There’s something incongruous about the sharp cut of his suit and the wide-open sky. About the shiny glint of metal set against a brownish rural expanse.
His expression doesn’t change as I come outside and approach him.
I’m wearing one of my old well-washed pair of jeans and a Smith College shirt this morning. I wish I had cargo pants like the mercenaries. Or at least f**k-you boots like Hiro wears. Instead I’ve got faded sneakers that are coming apart at the seams.
“You waited for me,” I say, unable to hide my surprise.
Without answering he steps away from the vehicle and holds the door open.
I climb into the passenger seat, marveling at the chivalry. It’s a far cry from mo
