evyn powered through the group of smokers outside the pub door, the stench of their cigarettes strangling her. Inside, the
place was as dark and crowded as she hoped it would be, the patrons in tight groups around the bar, a soccer game on TV, all
drowned out by the sound of unfamiliar and screechy rock music. Perfect.
As she hustled toward the back, her sneakers stuck to beer residue on the floor, and a few curious gazes bored boozy holes
through her. She slipped into a back booth, tucked away but still able to see the door, breathless from the impetuous decision
that sent her running through the streets of Belfast.
Maybe her gut had been right when she answered her hotel door? Maybe it
had
been Marc behind that mask, and he’d done that to scare her and send her to him? No, that made no sense. But why did she
feel so violated?
He couldn’t have honed in on Sharon that quickly… could he?
She wanted so much to believe him, to trust him, to lean on him. But that had never worked out for her, not since… well, not
since the day she was born and the first person who was supposed to love Devyn decided she wasn’t worth it.
And if that hadn’t been Marc in her room, then who
had
broken into her room to threaten her, scaring the life out of her? And why?
God, the irony was she needed him now more than ever. But how could that be? She’d only met him today, by accident. Or
was
it an accident?
She dropped her head back and closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the way she’d bumped into him, entirely unexpected
and unplanned.
A hand landed on her shoulder from behind, making her jump and whip around. She expected Marc, but a different man loomed
over her. Fairer, older, definitely a local.
“Whadya havin’, lass?”
She shook out of his touch, her mind blank.
“A pint?” he prodded.
“Yes, fine, thank you.” The door opened and she looked beyond the waiter, her eyes widening as Marc Rossi pushed his way in,
already scanning the place.
The server glanced over his shoulder, then automatically stepped to the side to block her from sight. “You runnin’ from him?”
She looked up and nodded. “I am.”
He pointed behind her. “There’s a back door. I’ll cover for you.”
She almost took a second to think about that, but pushed up instead, murmuring her thanks as she roundedthe back of the booth and darted to a dimly lit corridor. She still needed space and time, and Marc was barreling down on
her with questions and an agenda.
What was it?
The back hall was little more than two closed doors and an overpowering smell of beer and bathroom. At the far end, an exit
to outside. She pushed a latch and stepped into a narrow alley, a brick wall right in front of her, nothing but filth and
shadows in either direction. She’d have to pick one way and run, though.
Unless she wanted to face him. Which she had to do eventually. She’d left her bags in his room, after all.
She hesitated, leaning back against the door as it closed, the image of Dr. Greenberg’s bio on his screen replaying in her
mind. What had that man in her room said?
Get out or things will get worse for you
. Her heart ratcheted higher than she thought possible as fear and confusion racked her body. What had she stepped into over
here? And what part did Marc Rossi play in this?
She cursed herself for trusting him in the first place, for kissing him like a teenager in heat.
Idiot!
Taking a breath, she took another glance left, then right. Escaping would literally mean plucking through trash and God knew
what else. Marc couldn’t hurt her inside that pub, and he’d have to answer some questions. She should go back in and face
him.
She turned to open the door, yanking hard and jolting her shoulder. Locked.
She tried again, fiddling with the latch, but she was most definitely locked out. No choice now. Stepping back, she chose
the route with the least amount of trash and startedwalking toward the
place was as dark and crowded as she hoped it would be, the patrons in tight groups around the bar, a soccer game on TV, all
drowned out by the sound of unfamiliar and screechy rock music. Perfect.
As she hustled toward the back, her sneakers stuck to beer residue on the floor, and a few curious gazes bored boozy holes
through her. She slipped into a back booth, tucked away but still able to see the door, breathless from the impetuous decision
that sent her running through the streets of Belfast.
Maybe her gut had been right when she answered her hotel door? Maybe it
had
been Marc behind that mask, and he’d done that to scare her and send her to him? No, that made no sense. But why did she
feel so violated?
He couldn’t have honed in on Sharon that quickly… could he?
She wanted so much to believe him, to trust him, to lean on him. But that had never worked out for her, not since… well, not
since the day she was born and the first person who was supposed to love Devyn decided she wasn’t worth it.
And if that hadn’t been Marc in her room, then who
had
broken into her room to threaten her, scaring the life out of her? And why?
God, the irony was she needed him now more than ever. But how could that be? She’d only met him today, by accident. Or
was
it an accident?
She dropped her head back and closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the way she’d bumped into him, entirely unexpected
and unplanned.
A hand landed on her shoulder from behind, making her jump and whip around. She expected Marc, but a different man loomed
over her. Fairer, older, definitely a local.
“Whadya havin’, lass?”
She shook out of his touch, her mind blank.
“A pint?” he prodded.
“Yes, fine, thank you.” The door opened and she looked beyond the waiter, her eyes widening as Marc Rossi pushed his way in,
already scanning the place.
The server glanced over his shoulder, then automatically stepped to the side to block her from sight. “You runnin’ from him?”
She looked up and nodded. “I am.”
He pointed behind her. “There’s a back door. I’ll cover for you.”
She almost took a second to think about that, but pushed up instead, murmuring her thanks as she roundedthe back of the booth and darted to a dimly lit corridor. She still needed space and time, and Marc was barreling down on
her with questions and an agenda.
What was it?
The back hall was little more than two closed doors and an overpowering smell of beer and bathroom. At the far end, an exit
to outside. She pushed a latch and stepped into a narrow alley, a brick wall right in front of her, nothing but filth and
shadows in either direction. She’d have to pick one way and run, though.
Unless she wanted to face him. Which she had to do eventually. She’d left her bags in his room, after all.
She hesitated, leaning back against the door as it closed, the image of Dr. Greenberg’s bio on his screen replaying in her
mind. What had that man in her room said?
Get out or things will get worse for you
. Her heart ratcheted higher than she thought possible as fear and confusion racked her body. What had she stepped into over
here? And what part did Marc Rossi play in this?
She cursed herself for trusting him in the first place, for kissing him like a teenager in heat.
Idiot!
Taking a breath, she took another glance left, then right. Escaping would literally mean plucking through trash and God knew
what else. Marc couldn’t hurt her inside that pub, and he’d have to answer some questions. She should go back in and face
him.
She turned to open the door, yanking hard and jolting her shoulder. Locked.
She tried again, fiddling with the latch, but she was most definitely locked out. No choice now. Stepping back, she chose
the route with the least amount of trash and startedwalking toward the
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