The Walls Of Troy Part 13

"How are your hands holding up?"

"They're getting pretty tired."

"Ready to call it a day?"

"Yeah, I think so." He glanced at me. "Any chance I can talk you into doing this again?"

I raised my eyebrows. "You want to?"

"Definitely." His small smile-shy? Something else?-made me s.h.i.+ver for reasons I refused to let myself think about. "Practice makes perfect, right?"

And repeated exposure to you with a gun and looking so focused makes Iskander crazy.

"Right. Definitely." I forced a smile. "Well, let's get all of this cleaned up and get out of here. Somebody else is probably waiting to rent this lane."

After we'd cleared out the lane and returned the rental guns, we left the shop. On the way out to the car, he rubbed his hands gingerly.

"Sore?" I asked.

"A little." He managed a slight smile. "I'll be okay."

"Well, don't be surprised if they're a little bruised tomorrow."

"Good to know." Then he stopped. "Iskander."

I turned around. "Hmm?"

"Why are we here?"

I blinked. "So you could learn to shoot."

His brow furrowed just slightly. "But I can't own a handgun. I can't carry one."

"Not yet." Why was his scrutiny making it so difficult for me to stand still? "But your dad told me you're twenty-one in a few months. My plan is that by that point, you'll be comfortable and confident with a gun if you choose to carry one."

He held my gaze with one that was intense, but in a way that strangely contradicted the eyeliner and piercings. As if the person looking at me was the real Troy, not the one who acted as a mask to protect himself.

"Why?" he asked, barely whispering. "I mean, it's your day off. And no one else has done something like this." He gestured at the range. "Why are..." He pursed his lips, as if he wasn't sure how to word the question. "I appreciate it, don't get me wrong. I'm just not sure I understand why."

I swallowed and took a step closer to him. "I can't be with you every second of the day. And there's going to be times when you don't want me or anyone else with you. I want...I want to be sure you're safe even when you're on your own."

"Thank you," he breathed.

We locked eyes. When the h.e.l.l had he moved? Because though I'd taken a step, I sure as h.e.l.l hadn't been the one to get us this close together. I swore we'd condensed an entire universe into just a few inches of s.p.a.ce, the air between us thrumming with more energy than the parking lot around us could have contained.

We were almost touching now. Close enough it wouldn't have taken much to bridge the gap, that was for sure, and being this close to Troy was unnerving. It was impossible to ignore why I was supposed to be here, because all I could think about was why I wanted to be here. Why he was too close for comfort, and why he was still too d.a.m.ned far away.

This was so wrong on so many different levels. It shouldn't have been this difficult to look away from him, never mind this difficult to look at him. It d.a.m.n sure shouldn't have made me think about that moment when I'd been helping him correct his stance.

Troy took a breath. "You're not humoring me." His brow furrowed slightly. "You actually believe me, don't you?"

I swallowed. "Why wouldn't I?"

"No one else does."

"Your father does. And from the sound of it, your therapist."

"You know what I mean."

I s.h.i.+fted a little and managed to subtly put a couple of inches between us. "Yeah, I do. And yes, I do believe you. I've got your back. It's what I'm here for."

"Thank you," he whispered. "I was starting to think I didn't have any allies except my dad."

"You do. And even if the rest of the security team doesn't believe you, they'll still do their job. Anyone f.u.c.ks with you? They'll drop 'em before you even know what's happening."

"I know. I guess it just helps to know some people believe me." He laughed dryly. "Since sometimes I'm the one who thinks I'm crazy."

"You're not."

"Well, that's debatable depending on who you ask." He gave another quiet laugh, and it was a bit more genuine, so I laughed too.

Then we continued across the parking lot and got into my car. I put my pistol in the lockbox, and Troy tucked it under the seat.

As I put the key in the ignition, he said, "I'm curious about something."

"Yeah?"

His scrutiny was unnerving, and I struggled not to look away. Finally, he said, "Would we still be doing this if you weren't my bodyguard?"

"I wouldn't be here at all if they hadn't ordered-"

"I mean, if you weren't getting paid to guard me, but you still knew. Would that"-he gestured back at the range-"still have happened?"

And suddenly I didn't know if he meant the shooting lesson, or those moments when we'd gotten a little too close.

I swallowed. "If you're asking if the only reason I give a s.h.i.+t about you is because I'm professionally obligated..." I raised my eyebrows.

He sat a little straight and nodded.

"In that case, yes." I met his eyes. "Everything we did in there still would've happened."

Our eyes locked.

Everything, Iskander?

f.u.c.k. f.u.c.k, that's not what I meant.

Is it?

He dropped his gaze. "We should go."

"Yeah. We should."

We made it out of the parking lot and a few blocks down Virginia Beach Boulevard before Troy finally spoke again.

"By the way, whether it's because it's your job or not..." He turned to me. "Thank you."

I glanced at him. "You're welcome."

And the rest of the drive was silent.

Chapter Ten.

I had hoped that in the light of day, without the guns and the accidentally erotic movement, I'd see clearly again that I was supposed to be on the lookout for danger, not watching for that hint of a smile or the glint in his eyes that may as well have been hard-wired to every nerve ending in my body. Of course, that turned out to be as effective as pretending I'd never jerked off to thoughts of him and we had never exchanged any loaded glances in the back room of a library.

It was a valiant effort, I supposed, but I should've known it wasn't going to happen.

Still, I made it through our cla.s.ses, hanging on every word our professors said and noting them in longhand just to give myself something to concentrate on besides Troy sitting two feet away. All the way home, we listened to some country music, tapping our fingers and both focusing on the road, which saved us from trying to make conversation. A little awkward, but better than saying-or doing-something we shouldn't have.

As soon as we got to the house, Troy went upstairs, and I headed into the security office to check out. The night guys were there-MA1 Johnson and MA2s Paulson and Hicks-so I shot the s.h.i.+t with them for a few minutes, but I didn't stick around long since they had rounds to make and paperwork to finish.

I made it halfway to the front door, and stopped dead in my tracks.

Troy stood in the foyer, peering out the window beside the door, his face the very picture of concentration, and one of the dogs whining and fidgeting beside him.

I continued toward him. "Something wrong?"

He jumped. "No. I'm..." He shook his head and stepped back from the window. "Never mind. One of the dogs was just getting agitated about something."

"Troy, if there's something wrong, I need-"

"Everything's fine. I..." He laughed and waved a hand out at the yard. "We get rabbits on the lawn sometimes. I thought I saw one. Didn't want to let the dogs out if there's one out there, you know?"

I regarded him skeptically. "A rabbit."

"Maybe a racc.o.o.n? I don't know."

"Mmhmm." I glanced at the window. "Are you-"

"Chill. It's nothing."

I didn't believe him, but I also didn't see anything out in the yard, and the Rottweiler sitting between us was calm and placid, so I let it go.

"So, um." Troy rocked back and forth from his heels to the b.a.l.l.s of his feet. "I know your s.h.i.+ft is technically over, but do you want to"-he gestured up the stairs-"come up and study for that exam?"

"I..." I don't think I can study alone with you...

"We do have an exam coming up." His pierced eyebrow climbed his forehead.

I gulped. "Sure."

What that smile meant, I have no idea. Subtle, genuine, and just enough to f.u.c.k with my brain. And probably warn me that following him up the stairs was a stupid thing to do. As if I didn't know that.

But I did follow him up the stairs, and as he let us into his bedroom on the second floor, my heart sped up again. I had no business up here. I was kidding myself if I thought I'd be able to focus enough to study. On the other hand, I wouldn't be in much better shape at my own apartment. I'd just be alone, safely away from him since.

But, h.e.l.l. Why not? We did have to study.

I'd fully expected Troy's bedroom to be decked out in heavy metal posters with skulls and gargoyles at every turn, but his choice of decor was surprisingly mellow compared to the way he dressed. There wasn't much on the walls. His high school diploma was in a simple black frame, flanked by his graduation cap and ta.s.sel and a set of honor cords. On the same wall was a photo of him and his dad, both in civvies with cameras and sungla.s.ses in front of the White House. Otherwise, it was just simply furnished and spa.r.s.ely decorated.

The room was huge, though. It reminded me of a studio apartment, minus a kitchenette or something similar. One side was the bed and dresser. The other side had been converted into a study area-four chairs were neatly pushed up against a long, narrow table with enough s.p.a.ce for a few people to spread out books, notes, and laptops. I suspected he'd hosted study groups here before. Or possibly role-playing games, if the row of Dungeons & Dragons books on his shelf were any indication.

"You're a gamer?" I nodded toward the books.

Troy glanced at them, shrugged, and went back to fis.h.i.+ng his notes out of his backpack. "I haven't done much since I started college."

"No time?"

"That, and most of the guys I gamed with are either at my dad's last duty station, or they've gone to college in other states."

"Ouch. d.a.m.n." I paused, not quite sure what to say. "I was part of a D&D group when I was on a s.h.i.+p. Kind of a pain in the a.s.s to play when you have to use double-sided adhesive on everything."

Troy's piercings rose with the arch of his eyebrow. "Adhesive?"

"Yeah. Because we were on a s.h.i.+p."

"On a-oh. Gotcha." He laughed. "Yeah, that would be a pain, wouldn't it?"

"It was. We learned the hard way, believe me."

"I can imagine."

Our eyes met, and we both laughed, but the moment didn't last long. Troy m.u.f.fled a cough and resumed getting his notes and books together, and I started doing the same even as I continued taking in my surroundings.

A few cardboard boxes were stacked in the corner. Some still taped, a couple open with their contents partially pulled out. All of them had the distinctive colored number tags that movers put on to inventory them-some had three or four different ones.

I knew exactly what that was like. Some boxes ended up packed during a move and were never opened until four or five moves later or when I needed to find something specific. When you moved that often, it was pointless to completely unpack every time.

While Troy and I arranged everything on the table, Talos stretched, then dropped onto the floor at the edge of the rug beneath it.

I carefully stepped around him. "So he'll be joining us?"