Chapter 5 5

Keira dragged him into an alleyway three blocks down.

"Are you crazy?" she whispered, checking the street entrance. "You did that... for me?"

Dock leaned against the brick wall. He fished a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one. The flame illuminated the sharp angles of his face.

He took a drag and blew the smoke upward.

"They humiliated you," he said simply. "I don't like it."

Keira's chest tightened.

No one had ever stood up for her. Not her father. Not her teachers. Certainly not her family.

And here was this man-this stranger, this criminal-risking prison time just to save her pride.

Tears pricked her eyes again, but these were different.

"We have to get rid of the dresses," Keira said, gesturing wildly at the bags. "We have to burn them. Or throw them in the Hudson."

He laughed. A low chuckle that vibrated in the narrow alley.

"Relax, Keira. The card is dead now. One-time use. The manager won't call the cops. He thinks I'm..." He paused. "He thinks I'm someone dangerous. He's too scared to talk."

"He's right," Keira muttered. "You are dangerous."

He looked at her through the smoke. "Only to them."

Her heart skipped a beat.

"We're not taking these on the subway," he said, crushing the cigarette with his heel. He pulled out his phone and typed a quick message. "My guy's got a van. He'll meet us."

They sat on a bench on a side street, the mountain of couture bags between them like a barricade. It was surreal.

Ten minutes ago, they were committing high-level credit card fraud. Now, they were watching tourists take selfies.

Keira took a bite of the hot dog he'd bought from a street vendor. It was delicious.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

He didn't look at her. He was scanning the crowd, his eyes always moving.

"Don't thank me for breaking the law."

"I'm not. I'm thanking you for... seeing me."

He stopped chewing. He turned his head slowly.

There was a smudge of mustard on the corner of her mouth.

His hand twitched. He started to reach out, his thumb extending.

Keira held her breath.

Then he pulled his hand back. He clenched it into a fist.

"You've got mustard," he said gruffly.

She wiped it away quickly, her face burning.

Suddenly, a black Mercedes slowed down in front of them.

Keira recognized the driver. It was a girl she used to intern with. She was looking right at her, her expression twisting into a sneer.

Keira Jacobson, eating street meat with a bum.

She ducked her head, shame washing over her.

Dock moved.

He shifted his body, angling his broad shoulders so that he completely blocked her from the street.

He sat there, a human wall, until the car drove away.

A beat-up cargo van pulled up to the curb a minute later. Dock loaded the dresses into the back and then paid the driver of a black town car that had pulled up behind it. He opened the back door for Keira.

"Let's go home," he said.

The ride back to the Bronx was quiet. Keira was pressed against the worn leather seat, hyper-aware of the space between them. She could feel the heat radiating off him. She could smell the tobacco and the soap.

He stared out the window, a silent, brooding guardian.

She felt... safe.

For the first time in years, she felt completely, utterly safe.

When they got back to the apartment, Keira shoved the expensive dresses into the back of the closet, behind his few shirts.

"I'm hiding the evidence," she told him.

He was standing by the window, looking out at the street.

"Good idea," he said.

Keira turned to him.

"Dock," she said. "Please don't do that again. I'm not worth going back to jail for."

He turned. His face was in shadow.

"You have no idea what you're worth, Keira."