to celebrate the holiday. If you’re not doing anything, I’d like you to come with me.”
Crossing muscular arms over his chest, Gavin angled his head. “Are you asking me out on a date?”
Celia bit her lip, dimples deepening with the gesture as a flush suffused her face. Her embarrassment was short-lived. “What’s the matter? You’ve never been asked out by a woman?”
“I’ve been propositioned a few times, but I’ve never been asked out.”
“Well, don’t look for me to proposition you, Mr. Faulkner. If you’re not coming with me, then please let me know so—”
“The answer is yes, Miss Thomas.” Gavin agreeing to go with Celia had nothing to do with his mission. He’d agreed because he wanted to spend time with her. Accompanying her would also permit him to pick up bits of gossip from the area residents. “May I ask one question?”
“Sure.”
“Why did you ask me and not some other guy?”
There came another pause as Celia pondered his query. “I asked you because I don’t want to be bothered with some other guy.”
Gavin’s expressive eyebrows lifted a fraction. “So, you want to use me to run interference?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “Damn, Doc, you really know how to bruise a dude’s ego.”
Celia rolled her eyes upward. “My heart bleeds for you, Gavin. I’m willing to bet a year’s salary that every second there are at least a hundred dudes somewhere in the world using women for their own selfish reasons.”
Gavin sobered. “I’ve never used a woman.”
“Maybe not you, but I’ve been a victim on a few occasions.”
“Do you like…men?” he asked hesitantly.
“Of course I like men. I was engaged…” Celia’s words trailed off before she could tell Gavin about the ordeal that left her with visible and invisible scars.
“What happened, Celia?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You don’t want to or you can’t?”
“Both,” she confirmed. “Not right now.” She glanced at her watch. “I think we’d better get going or Terry’s going to be late for his appointment.”
Terry began whining when he saw her, his tail moving like a pendulum. “Look at you, baby boy.” Leaning over, she picked him up. “You’re almost good as new.” Turning him around, she stared at his side. “I take that back.”
Gavin moved closer. “What’s the matter?”
“He’s biting the stitches. He’s going to need one of those plastic collars.” Celia wrapped Terry in a towel, handed him off to Gavin while she locked up the house.
“I’ll drive,” Gavin said, opening the passenger-side door to his vehicle. He handed her the puppy. Placing his hands around her waist, he lifted her and Terry effortlessly and settled her on the seat.
“Show-off,” Celia teased.
Gavin ignored the taunt. Picking her up was like lifting a child. His fingers had spanned her waist with room to spare. Either Celia Cole-Thomas was naturally thin or anorexic. He’d hoped it was the former.
Rounding the vehicle, he slid in beside her and started the engine. “Give me the address to the hospital and I’ll program it into the GPS.” There were less than thirty miles between Waynesville and Asheville, and barring traffic delays they would arrive within half an hour.
Belted in, Celia settled back to enjoy the passing landscape. She didn’t want to think about the man sitting less than a foot away. She’d asked a man, a stranger, to accompany her to a friend’s get-together. What made it so incredible was that she knew nothing about him beyond his name. If they were to present themselves as a couple, then she needed to know more.
“What do you do for a living?”
“I’m in personal security.” The lie rolled off Gavin’s tongue as smoothly as honey. It was a lie he’d told so often that he could repeat it even if he’d been injected with a truth serum.
Celia turned to stare at his strong profile. “What’s the difference between regular security and personal security?”
“People hire me to protect their person.”
“Rich people?” she asked.
Gavin nodded. “Have you seen the film Man on Fire with Denzel Washington?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m Jon Creasy without being the hard-drinking, burned-out CIA operative.”
Celia sat up straighter. “Are you armed now?”
Gavin stared out behind the lenses of his sunglasses. He knew he had to tell Celia the truth because he was mandated to carry a firearm while working a case.
“Yes.” He gave her a quick glance. “Does that bother you?”
A nervous smile trembled around her mouth. “No. My brothers, uncles and most of my male cousins learned to handle a gun in their teens.”
Staring into a firearm pointed at her and then watching Yale fall with blood soaking the shirt of his scrubs bothered her; seeing her patient shot at point-blank range bothered her and continued to bother whenever she relived the scene in her dreams.
“Have you ever fired a gun?”
Celia focused her gaze on the road. “Yes. It was at a firing range. My father claimed I needed to learn to handle a firearm because I’d never know when I’d have to defend myself. What he didn’t know and still doesn’t know is that I favor legislation for gun control.”
“I take it you don’t believe in the Second Amendment.”
“I believe in law-abiding citizens’ right to own weapons, but should criminals have the same right?”
“Criminals don’t care about the law one way or the other, Celia. They live by their own code, and at times administer their own form of justice.”
You’re preaching to the choir, Gavin, Celia mused. “Who do you work for?” she asked, deftly changing the topic of conversation.
“My cousins. The main office is in Charlotte.” Gavin’s cousins did own and operate a security company in Charlotte, and at any given time would verify that he worked for them.
“Who have you protected?”
“I can’t tell you names because we’re bound by a confidentiality ruling that we would never divulge the identities of our clients. What I will tell you is that I’ve guarded the children of actors, sports
