cool, crooked smile. “I
told you. I smelled your cooking.” His
attention went to Wyatt, who’d taken his
time rising to his feet. “Who’s this?”
“Ian Marck,” Wyatt said, ignoring the
question as he examined the lanky dark
blond man. “I’ve heard so much about
you.”
“Then you have the advantage over
me.” Ian’s blue eyes were the cold ones
of a man who’d seen and committed
great violence—and didn’t care.
“I intend to keep it that way.” Wyatt
gave him a cool smile of his own, then
sank back into his place and continued
eating. He’d never actually met Marck
before, but he’d seen him once back in
Envy, albeit from a distance and in a
dimly lit bar. His friend Elliott had
pointed him out as the son of the man
who’d abducted his girlfriend Jade.
Wyatt hadn’t been there, but he knew
all the details of how Ian and his father
Raul had tracked down Jade in order to
bring her back to the Stranger who’d
kept her captive for three years—all for
the bounty, of course.
But when Elliott and Theo showed up
to free her, Ian had secretly helped them
in exchange for Elliott’s assistance in
treating an ill young woman named
Allie.
Then,
weeks
later,
Ian
inexplicably showed up at the bar in
Envy and gave them a message meant to
help them find Remington Truth. How he
knew Wyatt and Elliott and their friends
were searching for the old man, they
didn’t know. Why he wanted to help
them was even more of a mystery,
especially since no one at the time was
aware that the original Remington Truth
was dead.
Ian’s clue had eventually led them to
Remy, but not directly due to his
information—which left Wyatt and the
others wondering if Marck had been
sending them on a false trail or not.
In other words: Wyatt didn’t trust the
bastard one whit.
The man looked about his age—
pushing forty—with short dark blond
hair and high cheekbones. He had a look
about the forehead and eyes that
reminded Wyatt of a Russian guy he’d
gone to college with. From the pallor of
his skin, the hollows in his cheeks, and
the fact that he was unshaven, it was
obvious he’d been ill—or injured.
“You look like hell,” Remy said,
handing him what was left of her plate.
“Nearly dying will do that to you,”
Marck said, and fairly dove into the
food. “Thanks.”
“How did you survive?”
Wyatt settled back, making himself
appear relaxed as he observed the two
conversing. He noticed Remy hadn’t
greeted her presumed-dead lover with
an embrace, or even great warmth, and
wondered if that was due to his presence
or for some other reason. Had she
known Marck was still alive? How? Her
body language was a combination of
surprise and tension, but not fear or
apprehension. Nor great joy. Hell, he
hoped that if he suddenly showed up in
front of Cathy after being presumed
dead, she’d be a lot happier to see him.
Despite Remy’s lukewarm reaction
to his appearance, Marck settled in as if
he’d been with them on this journey all
along.
And Dantès . . . he was the most
interesting of all. He greeted Marck
briefly when he first came on the scene,
but now settled down in a pile of dog
between Remy and Marck. He lay down
but didn’t sleep, watching and listening
just as Wyatt did.
“I got lucky is how I survived,”
Marck said, finishing the last bite of fish.
“I don’t know. I don’t remember—much
of it was a blur. I just managed to take
care of myself enough until I healed.”
His look became intense as he focused it
on her. “What happened?”
Even in the fading light, Wyatt saw
Remy’s hands curl into themselves and
he gritted his teeth. If the bastard who
was traveling with her had been on his
guard, paying attention, protecting her,
she
wouldn’t
have
the
terrifying
memories of her abduction by Seattle.
“What you’d expect,” she replied in a
tone that discouraged further questions.
Marck’s
told you. I smelled your cooking.” His
attention went to Wyatt, who’d taken his
time rising to his feet. “Who’s this?”
“Ian Marck,” Wyatt said, ignoring the
question as he examined the lanky dark
blond man. “I’ve heard so much about
you.”
“Then you have the advantage over
me.” Ian’s blue eyes were the cold ones
of a man who’d seen and committed
great violence—and didn’t care.
“I intend to keep it that way.” Wyatt
gave him a cool smile of his own, then
sank back into his place and continued
eating. He’d never actually met Marck
before, but he’d seen him once back in
Envy, albeit from a distance and in a
dimly lit bar. His friend Elliott had
pointed him out as the son of the man
who’d abducted his girlfriend Jade.
Wyatt hadn’t been there, but he knew
all the details of how Ian and his father
Raul had tracked down Jade in order to
bring her back to the Stranger who’d
kept her captive for three years—all for
the bounty, of course.
But when Elliott and Theo showed up
to free her, Ian had secretly helped them
in exchange for Elliott’s assistance in
treating an ill young woman named
Allie.
Then,
weeks
later,
Ian
inexplicably showed up at the bar in
Envy and gave them a message meant to
help them find Remington Truth. How he
knew Wyatt and Elliott and their friends
were searching for the old man, they
didn’t know. Why he wanted to help
them was even more of a mystery,
especially since no one at the time was
aware that the original Remington Truth
was dead.
Ian’s clue had eventually led them to
Remy, but not directly due to his
information—which left Wyatt and the
others wondering if Marck had been
sending them on a false trail or not.
In other words: Wyatt didn’t trust the
bastard one whit.
The man looked about his age—
pushing forty—with short dark blond
hair and high cheekbones. He had a look
about the forehead and eyes that
reminded Wyatt of a Russian guy he’d
gone to college with. From the pallor of
his skin, the hollows in his cheeks, and
the fact that he was unshaven, it was
obvious he’d been ill—or injured.
“You look like hell,” Remy said,
handing him what was left of her plate.
“Nearly dying will do that to you,”
Marck said, and fairly dove into the
food. “Thanks.”
“How did you survive?”
Wyatt settled back, making himself
appear relaxed as he observed the two
conversing. He noticed Remy hadn’t
greeted her presumed-dead lover with
an embrace, or even great warmth, and
wondered if that was due to his presence
or for some other reason. Had she
known Marck was still alive? How? Her
body language was a combination of
surprise and tension, but not fear or
apprehension. Nor great joy. Hell, he
hoped that if he suddenly showed up in
front of Cathy after being presumed
dead, she’d be a lot happier to see him.
Despite Remy’s lukewarm reaction
to his appearance, Marck settled in as if
he’d been with them on this journey all
along.
And Dantès . . . he was the most
interesting of all. He greeted Marck
briefly when he first came on the scene,
but now settled down in a pile of dog
between Remy and Marck. He lay down
but didn’t sleep, watching and listening
just as Wyatt did.
“I got lucky is how I survived,”
Marck said, finishing the last bite of fish.
“I don’t know. I don’t remember—much
of it was a blur. I just managed to take
care of myself enough until I healed.”
His look became intense as he focused it
on her. “What happened?”
Even in the fading light, Wyatt saw
Remy’s hands curl into themselves and
he gritted his teeth. If the bastard who
was traveling with her had been on his
guard, paying attention, protecting her,
she
wouldn’t
have
the
terrifying
memories of her abduction by Seattle.
“What you’d expect,” she replied in a
tone that discouraged further questions.
Marck’s
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