“It’s good,” he said. Wanting to put her at ease, he reached out, grabbed another of the candies and offered it to her. “But this sweet’s got nothing on you.”
Marley snorted a half laugh before parting her lips and nipping the fudge neatly from his fingers. “See, you can learn to play.”
The shopkeeper sighed. “I love newlyweds.”
“We’ll take a pound,” said Ian.
As the clerk turned to begin wrapping their purchase, Marley eased away to browse the other treats in the shop. Ian let her go because, despite her flirtation, she was still unsettled by her reaction to him. And frankly, so was he. Certainly he’d felt attraction to females in the past. Acted on it from time to time between missions. But those encounters had been superficial, forgettable.
Nothing about Marley was superficial or forgettable.
The corona of betrayal had faded. It wasn’t the same as forgiveness, but he’d take what he could get. He’d fucked up. And maybe that was a good thing. They needed something to keep some safe distance between them.
“Just let me know when you’re ready to check out,” called the clerk.
Ian took a breath and crossed to his faux bride. It was time to get back on mission. “You want anything else?”
She shook her head and followed him back to the counter. Ian paid for the fudge and grabbed the bag.
“Y’all come back now! And enjoy your honeymoon!” called the shopkeeper.
Marley waved behind them as they stepped back out on the street. As soon as the door closed behind them, Ian tensed, sensing the eyes on them.
“What’s wrong?” Marley’s voice was level, but the sudden burst of fear clouded his vision for a moment.
Ian cast out his other senses, scanning the crowds, searching.
“Ian?”
Opposite side of the street. Southbound. Ian kept his expression bland as he curled his free hand tightly around Marley’s and nudged her northward. “Honeymoon’s over.”
“What?”
“He found us.”
Chapter 8
Marley’s stomach pitched as fear bit into her with ravenous teeth. She started to jerk her head around to look for their pursuer, but a short sharp tug had her snapping forward. Ian wrapped an arm around her to move her through the crowd.
“Don’t look back,” he murmured. “Don’t look around. Just keep moving forward.”
She could tell by his voice he was back in his element. The body moving beside hers was taut, fluid but for the slight drag of his bad leg. He was good at weaving them in and out of the crowd, picking up the pace subtly but not so much to attract attention.
“We stick to the public space. He won’t try to take you in front of so many witnesses. His mission prerogative is to remain unnoticed.”
Marley didn’t ask what was going to happen when they got out of here. As busy as Gatlinburg was at this time of day, it wouldn’t stay that way. And then the Hunter would have a clear path.
“Just keep moving,” Ian repeated.
She did, trying to school her features, her breathing into something that didn’t resemble flagrant, mind-numbing terror. She wasn’t alone in this. Ian was here. Despite her reservations about how he’d handled things in Detroit, she was grateful for his presence.
Think, she ordered herself. Pay attention. You are not without survival skills.
Shoving back the panic, she focused on her surroundings. People ebbed and flowed around them, a continuous river of tourists. Using shop window reflections, she checked out the crowd behind them. In the pane of a bay window she saw the man dart across the street to a chorus of angry horn blasts. He wore a long black duster, too warm for the weather. She could just see the tip of some kind of glove on his left hand.
“Is that him?” she asked.
“Yes.”