The man across from her frowned, one of his hands curling up in a fist. “How did you get away?”
“I kneed him in the nuts—” She winced. “Jeez, I kind of did that to you last night as well, didn’t I. In that backseat. It’s not a hobby, I promise.”
The man laughed a little. Then lost any semblance of levity. “I’m sorry you had to go that route, but I’m glad you did.”
“With him, you mean. Not you.”
Only the hint of a smile touched his mouth. “That’s right.”
Anne looked out of the slider, at the darkness that didn’t seem so threatening at the moment because of who she was with.
“I truly thought Bruce was going to kill me.” She frowned and shook her head. “He hadn’t gotten physical before, but his temper was never far below the surface. Like, he’d get so frustrated if something in his condo got moved. If the dry cleaners didn’t add enough starch to his shirts. If I was late because the bus was delayed. He walked a tightrope of flipping out, but if you lead two lives, you’re juggling a lot, right? I mean, a deserted wife and two kids in Buffalo? A law school you aren’t going to?”
She thought back over the previous months. “And then he was always making like he was a big man and getting angry because no one knew it. At work, he was so jealous of the full-blown attorneys, especially the partners. Then we’d be in his car, stuck in traffic, and he’d be checking out the makes and models of the vehicles around us, rattling off how much they cost, what their options were, why his was better. On the weekends, he’d drag me to open houses at properties he couldn’t afford, and trespass onto the grounds of golf courses he wasn’t a member of. I mean… it was so messed up, in retrospect, but when you’re in something, you don’t notice what you’ve become accustomed to.”
There was a moment of silence. Then the man nodded. “Truer words have never been spoken.”
She went to brush a strand of hair from her eyes, but caught the movement before she poked herself in the bandage again. “When I went over there today—”
“Wait, what?” The man sat up straighter. “You went to see him? Did you take the police with you?”
“No, I didn’t. But there were plenty of people around, plenty of daylight left—and he’d kept my credit card and my ID. I needed them back.”
“You should have called me.”
She would have, she realized. If she could have.
“I don’t even know your name,” she said softly as she stared into his blue eyes—and then she looked away. “Anyway, he wouldn’t even open the door for me. It was like… he was scared or something. I got my card and my ID back, though. He pushed them through the crack by the jamb.”
“Good,” the man said tightly. “That’s good. Don’t go there again.”
“I have no plans to, trust me.” Taking a deep breath, she tried to look more collected than she was feeling on the inside. “You know what they say… that which cannot continue, will not. It is done.”
As she picked at the last of her own toast, she felt him staring from across the table—and it was the oddest thing. Though he was focused on her, she had the sense he was somewhere else in his mind.
Then he abruptly seemed to snap back to attention. “That’s right about things ending. That’s… exactly right. And you don’t have anything to worry about, anymore.”
She wasn’t so sure about that, although she hoped he was right. Then again, it was easy for a man who was as muscular as he was to say she shouldn’t be concerned. At least Bruce was barred from the law firm’s building downtown, however—and the attorney who’d hired the private investigator had said that Anne could call for more help, day or night.
Still, people did crazy things.
“It’s going to be fine,” she told herself in a voice that was supposed to be firm.
* * *
She didn’t believe things were going to be fine. Not at all.
As Darius went back to the soup in his bowl, he wanted to tell Anne exactly why she could take that piece of shit Bruce off her proverbial plate. But he didn’t want her to think that she was trading one hotheaded volcano for another.
Not that Darius was in line to be chosen—
With an inner curse, he glanced down at the toast she’d made him… and couldn’t wait to take another bite just because her hands had touched the bread.
Oh, noooooo, he wasn’t looking to be next up in her life. Not at all. He was just sitting in her kitchen, sharing the human version of Last Meal, prepared to murder her ex and defend her to the death.
Just a friendly little visit, really.
After he rolled his eyes at himself, he looked across the table again—and became instantly transfixed by the woman who, to him, was achingly beautiful in her blue sweater and her gray sweatpants and her bedroom slippers. Anne’s hair was pulled back in what appeared to be a corporate-America bun, but wisps had come free of the twist, the dark, silken hairs curling up around her face. Her eyes were tired, and he hated that bandage at her temple… hated, too, the way she moved stiffly and with caution, as if lots of things hurt. But she wasn’t complaining.
No, she only wanted to fill his belly and share what she had with him.
“This soup is delicious,” he said.
“You have low standards.”
“Not at all.”
No offense to Fritz’s venerable French training, but this soup-and-toast routine was the best meal he’d ever had. And dearest Virgin Scribe, what he really wanted was to feed her from his dagger hand, off a plate he had piled high with food he had hunted for her. And he wanted to do this in a secured home, built on a defensible position. With an Army anti-tank gun within easy reach.
“Seriously, thank you,” he murmured. “For this.”
Her brows arched. “You’re welcome. I mean, it’s nothing special.”
It is to me, he thought.
Abruptly, she smiled again. “Can you believe I still don’t know your name? Clearly, it’s not St. Nick—”
“Darius.” He placed his dagger hand over his chest and inclined his head. “I am pleased to meet you, Anne. And I should have introduced myself about twenty-three hours ago.”
Except back then, he’d been thinking there was never going to be any more contact between them. So what was the point.
Now, however, he’d evolved to thinking there shouldn’t be any contact.
Progress, thy call sign was self-deception.
“That’s a nice name,” she said. “It’s old-fashioned. It suits you. Is it okay if I ask you what you do?”
“You can make any inquiry of me you wish.” He smiled, even though he didn’t like fudging his truth. “And I’m a security guard.”
“Oh? Like for a building or a mall?”
“Private security, actually.”
“A bodyguard?”
Well, yes, if Wrath ever decided to assume the throne, and the Brotherhood returned as a personal guard unto the King.
“Pretty much.” He leaned into the table. “That’s why I’m going to give you my number. If you ever feel threatened, you can call me. I have some background and experience when it comes to protecting people—and of course, there’s always your police, too. You should never hesitate to call them, either.”