picked up a slender board that was lying against the brick wall. “That would not be wise.” He smiled. “I don’t want my dog to get dirty biting you. I just bathed him.”
“This isn’t your business,” the kid hissed, jerking his head at Candace. “She’s messing with the Pack, and Rico wants her to stop.”
“Ah. So your boss sent you. I didn’t figure you were a decision maker.” Rico was the Pack leader, dangerous, unpredictable and wily. He’d apparently decided to scare Candace off testifying against Kevin Tooley. Marco kept his voice light. “Tell your boss that his boy Kevin is going to prison for that gas station shooting, so he’d better learn to accept it.”
The kid looked nervous now, his knife hand dropping a few inches. Marco waited until Bear barked again, momentarily drawing the kid’s attention. Then he swung the board as if he was Babe Ruth driving one out of the park.
The board impacted the guy’s wrist with a thwack, sending the switchblade pinwheeling through the air, as the thug grabbed his arm and howled in pain. The back door of the school slammed open and a security guard hastened out, shouting into his radio.
Still holding his wrist, Candace’s attacker shot Marco a look that promised revenge, and then took off toward the rear of the parking lot.
“Bear, chase,” Marco said.
The dog tore after the youth, who ran as fast as his baggy pants would allow.
He hurled himself up over the fence, Bear biting madly at his shoe. One sneaker came off, and Bear snatched it up, still barking in a volume that echoed through the whole space.
“Cops are on their way,” the security guard called out. “Need an ambulance?”
Marco turned to Candace. Her face was stricken, body trembling and a bruise developing on her cheekbone, which made him want to take another swing at Shoe Guy.
Her brown eyes were terrified, a sight that cut deep down to his core. I told you I should have come along, he wanted to say. Why don’t you ever listen to me? Instead, he bent and gathered her in his arms, taking her fear and willing it away, thanking God she was alive.
“Gonna be all right,” he murmured, holding her tight.
“Jay Rico wants me dead.” Panic shot through her words. “Marco, what about Tracy? What if he sends people after us both?”
He squeezed her closer, every protective nerve in his body firing on all cylinders. It was a struggle to keep his voice level, calm, when there was a flood of anger roaring through him like a storm-tossed surf.
“No one is going to hurt you or Tracy,” he said through gritted teeth. “No one.”
Candace sighed. Resistance was futile. Marco was not about to let her drive back to Coronado by herself.
“We’ll get your car home another way,” he’d proclaimed.
The best she could do was climb into the passenger seat of his truck and cram next to Bear. The dog was chewing a white shoelace as if it was a savory strand of fettuccini.
“Don’t the police want it for evidence?”
Marco shrugged. “They agreed the shoe was enough. No one wanted to persuade him to relinquish the lace.”
“You could command him to.”
“Yeah, but he did good work today and I pay him in kibble, so he deserves a prize. They’ve got the switchblade and the shoe, anyway.”
She gazed out the window as they drove over the Coronado Bridge, back to the gorgeous island that seemed extra welcoming now. The fall sunlight bathed the palm trees in rich hues and she rolled down the window to let in the cool ocean air. It all seemed so much more vibrant, so precious.
Nearly having your throat cut made you appreciate things more, she thought ruefully. Thank You, God, that I’m still here to savor this.
When they drove past the street that led to her bungalow, she shot Marco a look. “Why aren’t you taking me home?”
He had the decency to appear slightly chagrined. “Your mom’s orders. She doesn’t want you staying alone tonight. Tracy’s already camped out in her guest room. She’s right, you know.”
“I want to go home,” Candace said, trying not to sound like a petulant child. “To my house. I’m thirty-three years old and I don’t have to do what my mother says anymore.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’m thirty-six and I do, so here you are.”
She huffed out a breath. “Did you always do what your mother wanted?”
“Of course.” He was the picture of innocence.
“Uh-huh. I’m sure all moms want their sons to become navy SEALs. She probably wished you’d become an orthodontist.”
He chuckled. “Can you picture me as an orthodontist?”
Marco’s strapping shoulders and massive hands painted him as more of a linebacker type. “Not really. Are you coming in?”
He shook his head. “I’ve got something to take care of.”
His eyes were the color of toffee with shimmers of copper in them. They had always fascinated Candace, because she couldn’t understand what went on behind them. She knew he was keeping his plans from her, and further, she knew it would do no good to try and pry them out of him. He would or would not share at the proper time. Now he was also plotting ways to ensure her safety from Jay Rico and his Pack, no doubt.
She reached over Bear and touched Marco’s biceps, rock hard under the tight material of his T-shirt. So warm. Even on the coldest days. The electric buzz it awakened in her nerves confused her. She wanted to both prolong the touch and back away at the same time. She laced her fingers in her lap. “Marco, thank you.” She sucked in a breath. “You were right.”
His mouth quirked. “Hold on. Let me get my phone. Can you say that again so I can record it?”
“I mean it. I should have listened to you. The Pack really is determined to scare me away from testifying against Kevin Tooley next month.”
He waited a beat. “Have they succeeded?”
A long moment passed while she considered her scraped knees, the glitter of the switchblade in her attacker’s hand, the hot flush of panic, the moment when she’d thought she might not live to see her daughter again. What followed was an explosion of anger in her soul, a solidification of her resolve, like cement hardening. Rick had always said she was a pussycat with tiger stripes.
“No one is going to frighten me into backing down.”
Marco smiled, a wide boyish grin that turned the copper in his eyes into molten streaks.
“Spoken like a true Gallagher.”
“Who
