Maybe what was pissing her off was that he might’ve been pretending so long, he was starting to believe his own bullshit.
*
He needed to stop being an asshole.
Hot water ran down his back as Kyle let the shower wash away the sweat of last night’s nightmare along with what he’d worked up doing his morning exercises. It had been less of a concern with his police escort or with the bland deputy marshal. None of them had been kind to him, or considerate, or thought much of him. And so, it was easy and even amusing to encourage the string of little judgments they would make about his character based on his jokes and innuendos.
They hadn’t considered him as a person from the outset and he felt no compulsion to prove himself in their minds.
Isabelle Scott was proving herself to be even more unique than he’d first thought. It was refreshing, intriguing and uncomfortable. She’d met him and given him a blank slate as far as he could tell.
Oh, every person made judgments based on their impressions. It happened within seconds of first meeting. There was a certain wisdom in learning to assess people within moments of an encounter. He considered it a survival skill, whether out on the city streets at night or in a high-powered business meeting.
Perhaps what was different about Isabelle Scott, or Lizzy as her commander called her, was her attitude. She hadn’t dismissed him out of hand when they first met. She’d been fairly brusque to all of them in turn. There had been no singling him out. Each one of them had been met with the same level of professionalism, impersonal and efficient.
Perhaps Austin and Weaver were put off by her lack of deference but she also didn’t give respect before it had been earned. A sentiment he shared.
Wetting his hair, he grimaced at the idea of using the hotel shampoo but was slightly mollified to find it was a reasonable brand at least. Working up a lather in his hair, he dug his fingertips into his scalp in an attempt to massage away the headache he’d woken up with this morning.
He’d dreamed of gunfire. He’d fallen to the street with Austin and Weaver standing over him, looking down as he bled out onto the pavement. Decker had been nearby, making an impersonal report of his death. Isabelle Scott had been nowhere to be seen until he’d looked up and beyond them. She’d been up on the roof of a building, shooting at someone else.
All he’d been able to think was that he had others to keep safe. Lizzy would care about his family, protect them, if only he could ask her to.
But he hadn’t had a chance to tell her how to find them.
He ducked his head under the hot spray, rinsing away the shampoo.
It wasn’t necessary and there was no reason to mention it now. In any case, there’d be no need to remain in protective custody once he’d completed his testimony in the trial. Only a few days and this would be behind him. At least he hoped it would. Follow-up trials would take much longer and there’d been no mention of him remaining under witness protection. Perhaps if she continued to prove as effective a bodyguard as she already had, he would look into keeping her on retainer.
Even though he couldn’t imagine a reason for needing personal security, it never hurt to keep good resources in easy contact if unforeseen circumstances arose. He maintained a record of any number of services for the same reason. You never knew when you were going to need something, anything. And it was best to have an idea of who to call.
The heat of the shower had eased tight muscles in his neck and across his shoulders. He rolled his head to stretch, hearing a few pops as his cervical vertebrae adjusted on their own. Standing with the shower spray directly on the back of his neck, he rolled his shoulders to encourage circulation in the area.
He was carrying an immense amount of tension in his neck and shoulders, as well as his back. He doubted Lizzy would allow him to order a massage, even in the privacy of the hotel room. He was absolutely certain she would react in a definitively negative way to his asking her to give him one.
He grinned. Perhaps he would ask just to see the anger flare in her eyes. She was incredibly attractive when angry. Moved to action, she was magnificent. He could hardly be blamed for wanting to see it more often.
Finishing up his shower, he stepped out and toweled off. He studied himself in the portion of the mirror that had been treated to remain unobscured by steam. Usually, he was amused to see it because it tended to surprise any feminine company he might have with him. And it proved interesting if he did take a shower with a lady. Hot, steaming showers, plus the perspective a mirror could provide, made for added fun.