Ramsey Security (Ramsey Security #1-3)(7)

"Darla, this is Troy."

I don't think I'm even breathing. He's too tall and blond. Too California Dreaming beautiful or maybe corn-fed Americana. No doubt I would have slobbered if I met this perfect male specimen before Locke. Even now as his dark blue eyes focus on me, my world spins.

I back away from Troy, stumbling over a suitcase Shelley packed for me. I'm suddenly very aware of how far away my sister is now. I'm alone with strangers again. The exotic Minka and the unbearably handsome Troy, neither of whom know me as anything except the girl enslaved for nine months.

"It's okay," Minka says to me.

"What?" Troy grunts.

"It's in the file about her not being able to make eye contact or speak to men because of Locke. Do your homework, Troy."

Rather than backing off, Troy walks over to me, lifts my chin, and shakes my hand.

"Locke isn't here, is he?" he mutters. "I'm Troy Sheridan. I'll be on shift this evening."

I slide my trembling hand from his warm one. The urge to wipe off his touch is strong. Instead, I shove my hand into the pocket of my sweat pants.

"Do people call you Sherry?" I ask, lowering my gaze again. "Like a code name?"

"No. They call me Frosty."

"I like Sherry better," I whisper, hurrying out of the room.

I hear Troy and Minka speaking in hushed voices. I don't know this apartment but find the door to the master bedroom. The grandiose decor isn't my taste, but I'm thank-ful Vernon found me a place to stay. Instead of hiding in the bedroom, I walk down the hallway and stop before reaching the open kitchen and living room area. I peer around the corner at Troy.

I've always been shallow, having a thing for pretty men. Troy is more than pretty. He's tall and powerful with wide shoulders. His blond hair is as thick as his dark lashes. Troy is without a doubt the most beautiful man I've ever seen.

Before Locke, I'd be in a state of heat upon seeing a man like Troy. Rather than aroused, my body remains numb to anything besides fear. The only heat I feel is from wearing sweats in the summer.

I locate the air conditioning controls and set the apartment to a cool 60 degrees. No way will I wear anything except my oversized sweats around Troy. In fact, I might ask Shelley to bring me a jacket too.

Minka turns the corner and nearly runs into me. She gestures for me to follow her into the bedroom.

"Troy has horrible people skills," she says, shutting the door, "but he's not a bad guy. He takes his job very seriously and will die to protect you."

Nodding, I pull a blanket from the bed and wrap myself with it. Minka shows no reaction to my behavior. She checks her massive man-style watch and then looks at me.

"Tell you what. Give Troy a few hours to win you over with his amazing lack of charm. If that doesn't happen, I'll come back and spend the night."

Staring at her through my hair, I frown. "I'm sorry."

"Between you and me, if I ended up in your situation, I'd have been dead the first week. I wouldn't know how to be patient and pace myself. I'd attack and freak out until they put a bullet in me. You were smart and survived. Now you get a chance to find your way. No one expects you to do it overnight, so don't apologize. Not to me and especially not to Troy."

Having a tough chick like Minka give me a pep talk fills me with courage. Her respect shouldn't matter, but I don't know who I am anymore. I'm not Rose. I'm not really Darla either. I've become nothing more than a ball of numbness - afraid of every noise, every set of eyes, every choice before me.

I give her a smile. "Thanks."

"Troy isn't a loud person, so that should help. He does tend to sneak up on people, but I told him to put his cat routine on ice."

Nodding, I push back my hair from my face. My sister will love me even if I'm the most pathetic loser in the world. Her respect is unconditional, just like her love. Minka though plays by different rules. I crave her respect. Maybe then, I can learn to respect myself.

Despite my recharged confidence, I take nearly an hour to leave the room and sneak to where Troy stands alone in the kitchen. He never looks up or acknowledges me in any way before speaking.

"Did Locke watch sports?" he asks with his back to me.

I shake my head, but he obviously can't see me. "No," I whisper once then twice when he doesn't respond.

"Good," he says, glancing over his shoulder. "I want to watch the game. Is that a problem?"

I can't tell whether he's challenging me or I'm just afraid of any man who doesn't tiptoe around me. Vernon is terrified of making me cry, so he rarely speaks directly to me. He also literally tiptoes into a room to avoid startling me.

I shake my head at Troy's question. He nods and walks to the living room. A minute later, the sounds of a pre-game reach the hallway where I still hide.

The apartment must be expensive with all the upgrades and the view of downtown. I hate all the windows, but Shelley already had long curtains installed to make me feel safer. Of course, Troy stands up and opens them all.

"It's like a damn cave," he mumbles under his breath, but I hear him from where I now cower in the kitchen.

I stare at the back of his head for a long time. My mind wanders, and I find myself thinking of when Shelley and I used to ride our bikes around the neighborhood. We felt so free and safe in our established subdivision filled with turn of the century homes and well-kept lawns. During the summer when Shelley was fourteen, she stopped wanting to ride her bike. I figured she was growing up. A few years later, I realized why she stopped riding.