about? She hadn’t been to Indianapolis for years. And what kind of name was Philosopher? Obviously the guy was talking about the little man who’d given Marnie the manuscript, but how did this guy know him? And if he knew him, then why hadn’t he asked for the manuscript before Marnie ended up with it? And why had both men mistaken her for the same woman?
Just what was going on?
He brought his gaze back up to hers, his smile in place again, then extended his hand, palm out, in a request for the package. “Come on, Lila, hand it over.”
Having no idea why she did it, Marnie clutched it more tightly to herself. Very slowly, she shook her head. “No.”
He didn’t seem surprised by her answer. Which was funny, because Marnie sure was. The smart thing would be to forget about protecting it, since she didn’t know what it was anyway, and she certainly had no obligation to the strange—and she meant that in more than one sense of the word—man who had given it to her. She should just throw it as far as she could away from herself then bolt for the employee exit, and call mall security from the safety of the store. But something made her hesitate.
She remembered how the little man’s face had gone all relieved and gratified when she’d promised him she would take good care of his opus. She recalled the way his entire body had seemed to shift, as if she’d just literally unburdened him of a weight too onerous to bear. She heard again the utter trust in his voice when he told her he was glad she was the one accepting the responsibility. Even though she knew it was nuts to feel obligated to him, she did. She’d made a promise to him. And for some reason, it seemed vitally important that she keep it.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not who you’re looking for,” she said more forcefully this time. She curled her fingers tightly around the envelope. “And this doesn’t belong to you. It belongs to someone else, and I promised him I’d take good care of it.”
Once again, the man seemed in no way surprised by her reply. “Of course,” he said mildly. “It’s much too valuable for you to allow it to fall into the wrong hands, isn’t it? And whose hands could be more wrong than mine?”
“Look, mister, I don’t even know you,” Marnie said, biting back the fear that rose in her throat, and feeling uncharacteristically defiant. There was just something about the man that challenged her. Of course, that same thing that challenged her would probably be responsible for her being cut into little pieces and left at various landmarks around the city, too. For now, she tried not to think about that. “If you don’t leave right this minute,” she added, “I’ll scream.”
He chuckled. “Yes, well, the last time you screamed at me, Lila, it was because I was giving you a spectacular orgasm during the best sex either of us ever had. You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your threat too seriously.” He lifted a hand as if he intended to touch her, and Marnie instinctively, physically, recoiled. Smiling sadly, he dropped his hand again, and said in a voice that held both regret and resolution, “Pity things turned out the way they did, isn’t it? We were extraordinary together.”
Her eyes went wide at that, her stomach pitching at the implication. If he thought she was a woman he’d known intimately—or whatever it was that passed for intimacy with a man like him—then he wouldn’t think twice about trying it again. It being a word for something she absolutely didn’t want to think about.
Run away, she told herself. Now, when he’s not prepared for it. Run back to the store and hope someone’s there.
He seemed to read her mind, though, because before Marnie could even lift a foot from the ground, he lunged at her, grabbing her upper arms and hauling her against himself. His face barely an inch from hers, he said, “Give me the manuscript, Lila. I’d rather not hurt you if I can help it.”
Marnie’s heart was pounding now, her entire body going hot. Her brain lurched into action, but it rushed in so many directions at once, she couldn’t hang on to a single thought. The man’s fingers curled more tightly into her arms, hard enough that he was able to lift her partly off the ground. When she cried out at the pain, however, he eased his grip some, as if he really didn’t want to hurt her.
But he did pull her forward even more and murmured, “Give it up, Lila. You know you want to. You know they haven’t treated you as well as they should. And you know I treated you better than anyone has. Join me. You and I together would be invincible.”
Dizzy now, and too terrified to speak, Marnie felt her eyes begin to flutter closed. She feared she would faint, that she wouldn’t be able to fight back, and although she struggled to hold on, she had no idea what to do. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. She was the product of the most normal upbringing, the most normal life. She had no enemies. She avoided confrontations. She was tolerant, decent, compassionate. She lived a quiet, uneventful life. She taught music to children. She donated money to the local animal shelter. She volunteered at the food bank two weekends a month. She was a good person. Why was this happening to her?
She would have given anything in that moment for a knight in shining armor to gallop up on his faithful steed and fell her attacker with an enchanted sword. But as a thirty-three-year-old single female well versed in the local dating scene, she knew Cleveland wasn’t overrun by paladins these days.
But as if cued by her hopeful thoughts, a soft buzzing erupted out of nowhere, a sound Marnie recognized as one of the little golf carts the mall security guards used for their patrols. Until now, she’d thought the vehicles were kind of silly for law enforcement, even at an upscale mall. But when she glanced to her left and saw one circling the corner of the building just then, it looked very much like a white stallion indeed. And the uniformed guard behind the wheel could have easily passed for a gallant man-at-arms.
Ah. Just the paladin she was looking for.
Evidently making his nightly rounds, the security guard wasted no time coming to Marnie’s rescue. No sooner had he stopped the golf cart than did he launch himself out of it, running at full tilt toward her assailant. Without even stopping to ask what was going on—not that it probably wasn’t kind of obvious, a six-foot-plus man looming over a much smaller woman in a dark, deserted parking lot—the security guard hurtled herself at her accoster, who, likewise surprised, released Marnie and threw himself into the battle.
Everything happened very quickly after that. But even amid all the chaos and confusion, Marnie sensed something out of kilter. Both men, she noted, fought with a forcefulness and expertise that just didn’t jibe with the common man. As she watched them brawl, she realized they weren’t brawling at all. There was too much elegance of movement, too much definition in the blows, too much orchestration of the combat. It was almost as if she were watching a violent ballet, so graceful was the altercation. This was no garden-variety street fighting they were doing. This was something way outside the knowledge of the ordinary man.
They were well matched, though, however they had come by their learning, and for several long minutes continued their fight. Not sure what to do, Marnie stood where she was, still clutching the manuscript, marveling at the sight. If it looked like her assailant was going to win, she would make a run for it. But all signs were pointing toward her rescuer instead, who seemed to have a slight edge over the first man now. A moment later, his edge became dominance, until Marnie’s assailant lay flat on his back on the asphalt.
Though not for long.
Because he scrambled quickly back up again, his nose bleeding, one cheek abraded and studied the security guard through slitted eyes. For a single, weighty moment, both men only eyed each other warily from six feet apart. Then Marnie’s attacker smiled bitterly.
“I
