He wanted to clean the blood from her face. Giving in to the impulse, he took a step toward her, but she retreated two, another pulse of fear, tinged with a sick topaz of distrust, coloring the air around her. He stopped at once.
“Are you injured?” he asked. “Do you need medical attention?”
She shook her head. Strands of fine, dark hair fell loose from her pony tail to frame her exquisite face. As her hair shifted, Ian saw a bruise darkening her temple and had to repress the surge of violence that shot through him. He wanted to beat these sons of bitches all over again, with an intent to maim this time.
“They hit you.” He couldn’t keep the growl from his voice.
She touched the bruise, winced. “Actually, no. I headbutted one of them trying to get away.”
A burst of unexpected admiration curved his lips. Below him, one of the thugs rolled to his knees and made as if to stand.
“Don’t even think about it.” Ian clasped the back of the man’s neck, draining off his will to fight, to move, stopping just short of his will to live. He knelt, following the guy’s body to the ground. Lowering his voice so the woman wouldn’t hear the snap of thrall in his tone, he said, “When we’re gone you will disappear. You will forget you ever saw her or me. And if you so much as breathe wrong in her direction or anyone else’s, you will wish you’d never been born.”
Getting back to his feet was a struggle, which was why he was no longer on active duty.
“You’re hurt!” His senses flooded with her soft petal scent as she sprang to his side. How had he not seen her move?
She started to reach for him, but Ian threw up his hand, snapping, “I’m fine.” He regretted the tone as soon as it was out. The warm peach of her concern retreated to cool blue distance. “I’m sorry. It’s an old—It’s not from this fight.”
Ian didn’t look at her as he rose painfully to his feet. He didn’t want to see any pity or sympathy in the shades of her temper. He did his best to pull himself back to the practical. “Do you want to call the police? Press charges?”
From where she crouched, stuffing things back into a backpack, the woman looked up and studied him. “Even if the accent hadn’t been a dead giveaway, that clinches it. You’re not from around here.”
Not by a long shot, he thought, limping over to join her. “I take it that’s a ‘No’ then.”
“The police aren’t noted for giving a damn. Thanks for your help, Mr.—”
He hesitated at the prompt but could find no reason not to give his name. “Ryker. Ian Ryker. Can I walk you home Miss—”
“Marley. Just Marley.”
“Then can I walk you home Just Marley?” Ian could see her struggling with indecision as she stuffed textbooks and notepads into the bag. “I feel compelled to point out that, should you say no, I’m just going to hang back and follow you to make sure you get in okay. I won’t rest easy if I don’t. I’d rather walk with you.”
He risked crouching again to pick up a small plastic container. It had popped open during the skirmish and the contents spilled out. He picked up the small cluster of blush pink cherry blossoms. One end had been trampled and torn, but the remaining blossoms were intact. A pained expression flashed across Marley’s face as she eyed the cutting in his hand.
Curiouser and curiouser, he thought, handing it over. “From the city?” he asked.
“Yeah. I wanted to bring something beautiful back home.” She colored a little, but took the box and the sprig with gentle hands, placing the container carefully back in the bag. “It’s stupid.”
He took her in, this hothouse flower in the middle of the ghetto. “No,” he said, “I don’t think that’s stupid at all.”
Chapter 2
Marley’s feet ached, even in her sensible shoes. Hours of standing, taking orders, serving them, then doing it all over again for a double shift, left knots in her lower back. She crossed the diner kitchen, eyes on the time clock as if it were a finish line at the end of a long race. Behind her, Dino, the short order cook on second shift, called out orders and slid plates of hot, steaming food into the window out to the dining room.
“I got Adam and Eve on a raft, extra axle grease. One Irish turkey. One Jayne Mansfield. Order up!”
Her steps moved unconsciously to the rhythm of the kitchen as she slid her time card in and finally, blessedly, clocked out.
“You want somethin’ for the road, cupcake?” Dino asked.
“No thanks.” She pressed both hands into the small of her back and arched, trying to relieve some of the tension. “Just want to get home.”
Dino eyed her with affectionate disapproval. “You don’t eat enough,” he proclaimed. It was a regular complaint from the Bronx transplant, whose arteries probably ran slick with grease. “You let me fix you somethin’.”
Marley slipped her coat on over her uniform and tugged her hair free of the collar. A quick glance through the pass-thru showed her a sky already painted with the watercolor wash of sunset. She’d been on early shift all month, leaving home in the wee hours when even the monsters slept, and getting in well before the sun went down. But Loraine had called in sick today, so Marley had taken the extra shift. She needed the extra hours, the extra tips. Tuition money for summer semester would be coming due soon.
“I really need to get home.”