Free Guardian For Hire: A For Hire Novel by Christine Bell Page B

was alive, and she was damn straight going to stay that way. “Do we have anything a little larger on top, maybe?”
    “That’s what I’ve got handy in the way of uniforms. You’re not taking over corporate America. You’ll live. Anyway, you can check out the rest of the clothes. Maybe you’ll find them more tasteful. I’ll give you some time to poke around and get acquainted with the place. I’ve got some work to catch up on in my office, but I should be done in a half an hour or so.”
    So much for constant vigilance, she guessed, nerves kicking up in her stomach again. But remembering the Arthurian quests it would require to get into good old Castle Grayskull gave her a little more confidence. It might not be the prettiest place, but she was grateful for it now. Half an hour. No big. She could be on her own for that long.
    “Yeah, okay.” She nodded, and he disappeared down the hall.
    She sank down to the bed, which was surprisingly soft, and reviewed the rest of the clothes in the pile. Mostly yoga pants and T-shirts, all nondescript and in varying sizes. Not what she was used to after a lifetime of being expected to wear a dress to dinner each night, but doable. A marked improvement over whatever stab at finding his feminine side Gavin had taken when he’d picked up the last round of outfits. She wondered idly who had put them there. Maybe an as-yet-unseen housekeeper?
    She breathed a sigh and swung herself off the bed. The space really did feel like she was awaiting her turn at the gallows. If she had thirty minutes to kill, it definitely wasn’t going to be trapped in this depressing room.
    She swept into the long hallway, intent on getting her bearings, but it was weird being alone in his huge, maximum-security mansion. She had half an urge to creep along the walls James Bond style, peering around corners before sprinting across corridors. With the vaulted ceilings and utilitarian decor, the place practically begged for some Mission: Impossible action.
    Halfway down the hall, she noticed a door ajar. A sliver of light cracked through, beckoning her to enter. She paused and glanced around before looking back at the open door. Gavin was a security guy. Anything he wanted hidden would be impossible to find, and if he specifically didn’t want her to go in there, he wouldn’t have left the door open. She swiped her damp palms on her jeans and braced herself as she toed the door open. Given all the rigmarole involved in getting into the house, she’d be shocked if there wasn’t a retinal exam and an anal probe just to cross the threshold. But nothing happened. The hardwood floor didn’t even squeak as she walked over it into the spacious room.
    It was warmer than the rest of the house, both in temperature and feel. The walls were a deep red, and the wall-length windows and king-size bed were both covered in red-and-chocolate fabric. Obviously, the master suite. Still, the furniture was as sparse as hers had been. The bed frame was simple, and across from it sat a wide oak dresser with an enormous mirror hanging above it. A lone photograph sat on the dresser. Aside from that, the room was devoid of decoration.
    She walked toward the photo and picked up the simple gold frame. It was a picture of Gavin, noticeably a few years younger—maybe twenty-five or so, and the white scar she’d noted on his collarbone was freshly bandaged. His hair was the same, but his smile looked easier, his shoulders obviously more relaxed. Genuinely happy.
    Beside him was a woman about the same age, wearing a military uniform that matched his own. If Sarabeth were to imagine a person who looked like her opposite in every way, it would have been the woman in the picture. A shock of red curls framed her heart-shaped face, and she stood a good foot and a half shorter than Gavin. Where his smile was easy and good-natured, hers was blinding, her eyes squinting in her mirth, her toned arm wrapped casually around Gavin’s