Riven (Mirus 2)
Scots, Marley thought foolishly before her brain caught up to what he’d said. “Makes what worse?”
He grimaced. “You seem to have the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
The faint warmth that had lodged in her chest turned cold. “What are you talking about?”
“Is this yours?”
She dragged her gaze from his face to the thing he’d produced from somewhere when she wasn’t paying attention. It was a charcoal pencil. Hers. The one she’d dropped in the park.
Marley’s mouth turned to cotton.
“Marley, is it yours?”
Why the hell did he have her pencil from the park where that thing had appeared? How did he even know the pencil belonged to her? She tightened her grip on the umbrella.
Evidently that was answer enough for him. “I need you to come with me,” he said.
Shock made her take an instinctive step back. “Like hell, I will.”
His attention was on the hall behind her. Checking her escape route?
“You’re in danger.” His eyes, beseeching and apologetic, pinned her to the spot even as his impatience urged her to move.
“From who? Why?” Damn, I sound like a broken record.
“There’s not a lot of time. I know what you saw in the park today. And there are other people who will hurt you because of that knowledge. We have to go. Now.”
Marley couldn’t follow his words. Her brain had simply stopped on one phrase. I know what you saw.
“Look, are you listening? We have to go. You’re in danger.”
Yeah, she was getting that loud and clear. Her instincts were going off like sirens, demanding action. But she wouldn’t go off half-cocked without getting answers. “I don’t understand. How do you know all of this?”
“I’ll explain everything once we get out of here, but Marley, we have to go.” Ian took a step toward her, reaching out as if to touch her, then dropping his hands as she choked up her grip on the umbrella. “Please.”
This was absolutely crazy. No one risked their lives for a stranger. Not without some underlying motive. “Why are you doing this?” she asked.
Marley barely registered the step in the hall before Ian lunged forward, shoving her behind him. By the time she turned, he stood in the doorway, legs braced, a wicked-looking gun aimed at her terrified landlady. Putting himself between her and perceived danger. Again.
She didn’t stop to think, just stepped close to Ian and laid a hand on his back and another on his gun arm. “It’s okay. It’s just my landlord. Stand down, soldier.”
The muscles beneath her hands were hard as iron and rock steady.
“Ian.” She kept her voice quiet, soothing.
The dark eyes flickered toward her, and he lowered the gun.
“Thank you,” she said softly. She turned to face Mrs. Jameson and lied without missing a beat. “I’m so sorry. My boyfriend just returned from his deployment in Afghanistan. He’s having a little trouble readjusting to life at home.”
Some of the color came back into her landlady’s cheeks, though she continued to rub at her chest as if the gesture might slow her racing heart. She nodded a little shakily. “Same thing happened to my nephew.”
Ian had the good grace to look chagrined, though Marley could still feel the tension vibrating off him in waves. “My apologies, ma’am.”
“Was there something you needed, Mrs. Jameson?” asked Marley.
“I…no, I just came to check on you. Mr. Larabee in 1B saw you come tearing in earlier. Thought something was wrong.”
This was so uncharacteristic of the climate of the building that Marley just stared at her, barely able to keep the skepticism from her face. In all probability, she was trying to catch Marley at something illegal to call into the local crime hotline. There was a small monetary reward for any information leading to arrests.