him from the subject. For the first time he noticed there was something dark and shiny in her hair. He touched it and drew back his fingers. Blood.
“Hey. What’s this?”
She reached up but didn’t quite touch it herself. “I don’t know.” She frowned. “Maybe I hit my head when I fell. Or…or…” She looked up at him questioningly. “Maybe it’s where he hit me.”
Her words sent a blinding flash of outrage slashing through him. The thought of someone deliberately hurting her made him crazy for an unguarded moment.
“Who?” he demanded. “Where? What did he do to you?”
A look of regret for having mentioned it flashed across her face and she turned away. “I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t know.”
“Wait.” He grabbed her arm to stop her from starting off. “This is serious. I’m taking you to the police.”
She jerked from his grip and began to back away, her eyes wide. “No, I can’t do that. No.” She glared at him, shaking her head, looking fierce. “I can’t go to the police.”
“Why not?”
She hesitated, looking past him.
He frowned. He could think of only two reasons why someone wouldn’t want to go to the police, neither of them good.
“Look, I’ll be with you. I’ll handle things. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
She flashed him a scathing look. “It must be nice to be so sure and cavalier about other peoples’ lives,” she said. “Who do you think you are, anyway? King of Carnethia?”
He looked at her sharply, but no, she really didn’t seem to know she was talking to someone pretty close to that mark.
“Just someone trying to help you,” he said softly.
“Really?” She tossed her damp hair and sent him a penetrating look. “And what do you expect to get out of it?”
He gave her a half shrug and a well-practiced look of pure boredom. “I was hoping for a simple thank you, but even that seems to be out of the question.”
For just a moment, her gaze faltered. “Why should I trust you?” she asked, pushing hair back out of her eyes.
“You don’t seem to have a lot of choice, do you?” he grumbled, moving restlessly. “Look, if you don’t want to go to the police, there must be somebody I can call to come get you or something.” He pulled out his cell phone and held it poised. “Give me a number.”
She shook her head and looked away.
“Come on. We’ve got to get you out of this drizzle, at least.” He looked back at the store-fronts along the riverside. It was late and most of the shops were closed. “How about that little café there? It’ll be warm and dry.”
She looked up. He could see she was tempted.
“A nice hot cup of coffee? Come on. I’m buying.”
She glanced at the café and a look of longing came into her face. “I’m so hungry,” she admitted softly.
He snapped the cell phone shut and put it back in his pocket. “That does it. Come on. Let’s go.”
Turning, she looked searchingly into his face. He wondered what she saw there—a helpful new friend or the hard-bitten man he knew he’d become? It seemed she hadn’t recognized who he was. That was a relief. So she wasn’t particularly political. Good.
“Let’s go,” he said again, putting his hand lightly at her back to urge her along.
He entered the café warily, scanning the scene like a soldier on point. Simple booths lined one side of the room. Wrought-iron tables and chairs filled the center. Posters and advertisements covered the walls and pop music was playing on the speaker. The place was almost empty. A pair of young lovers had a booth at the back but they were lost in each other’s eyes and paying no attention. An elderly couple was finishing up a meal toward the front. Involved in some sort of argument, neither looked up. That left the waitress and she just looked bored and very sleepy. No one reacted.
Who knew—maybe he was becoming unrecognizable. That would certainly be an improvement.
He led her to a booth in a protected corner and sat across the table from her.
“An omelet and a tall glass of milk,” he ordered for her, giving the bored waitress a quick, cool smile. “And I’ll take a cup of espresso.”
“Eggs,” the mystery woman said thoughtfully, as though she were considering whether she really liked them or not. “Okay.” She sneaked a look back at the counter. “But that pie looked awfully good,” she mentioned.
He stifled the grin that threatened to soften his mouth. “Okay. A large piece of the apple pie, à la mode, too. We’ll share it.”
As the waitress left with their order, the woman gazed at him wide-eyed with that searching look again.
“Do I know you?” she asked softly.
He looked at her sharply, afraid she’d realized who he was, but all he saw was bewilderment in her beautiful eyes, and he relaxed. If she felt he looked familiar, but couldn’t quite place who he was, that might at least make her trust him a bit more.
“Not that I know of,” he replied lightly. “We met on the bridge just tonight.”
“Ah. Of course.”
“And I don’t know your name,” he noted.
She nodded as though she thoroughly agreed, and he prodded further.
“My name’s Nick,” he said, fudging a bit. “What’s yours?”
“Uh…” She looked trapped for a moment and avoided his gaze, looking about the café as though she was going to find the answer to his question in the atmosphere. “Marisa,” she said quickly as her eyes focused behind his head. “It’s Marisa. Marisa Fleur.”
“Marisa,” he repeated. “Pretty name.” He stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Marisa.”
She put her small, fine-boned hand in his and for the first time, she actually smiled. “Nice to meet you, too, Nick.”
The beat of his heart stuttered. There was no way to deny it. For just a second, he was afraid his heart had stopped. The feel of her small, smooth hand in his, the beauty of her sweet smile, the warmth that came momentarily from her dark gaze, all combined to shock him as though someone had hit him with a stun dart. He blinked, drew in a sharp breath, and quickly pulled his hand away from hers. What the hell…?
“And thank you,” she was saying. “It might not seem like it but I really appreciate you taking the time to…well, to help me.”
He nodded, avoiding her gaze, still shaken by the involuntary reaction he’d had to her smile and touch. “No problem,” he
