“Would you like me to walk you to your car?” I asked her.
“Oh, no. I don’t have one. I’m just heading to the bus stop. The next one should be by soon.”
I didn’t like the thought of that, of her sitting out at a bus stop at night, even in this neighborhood. She looked so innocent in her modest shirt and short set, and she’d be easy pickings for anyone out to do harm.
“Come with me. I have a car and can take you home.”
“Oh no, Mr. uh… Marco. That won’t be necessary. I ride the bus nearly every night.”
She did this every night? Christ, that was dangerous. Talk about tempting fate. “I insist. It’s no trouble.”
“I live too far away,” she continued to protest, and I almost broke into a tirade. Goddamn it. Didn’t she realize I was trying to be nice? That I wanted to do the right thing? I couldn’t let her wind up as some statistic on the news. “Whoa, are you okay?”
“What?” I bit out, not sure why she’d asked me that out of the blue.
“Well,” she seemed hesitant. “It’s just that you look like you’re… hurting.”
I shut my eyes and took a deep breath. I was hurting. I’d never neglected my burns the way I had tonight, and now I was paying dearly for it.
Third degree burns, the gifts that keep on fucking giving.
“I’m fine,” I lied. “If you’re not going to let me take you home, I’ll wait with you at the bus stop.”
“You really don’t have to—”
But I cut her off. “Yes, I do. Lead the way.”
For a minute, I thought she’d continue to argue with me, but finally, she relented, marching across the street to the covered bus stop. At least it’d protect her from the weather. She sat on the bench, and I sat next to her, noticing the relief that crossed her face as she took a load off.
“Must suck to stand on your feet all day,” I commented.
“I’m used to it.”
Right then, an old car drove by and I heard what sounded like a gunshot. Christ!
“Get down!” I shouted at her, shoving her off the bench. I reached for my Glock, only then remembering that I didn’t have it with me. I hadn’t thought scoping out and purchasing a bistro in the best part of town would require a weapon.
“What are you doing?” Kelly demanded, looking put out. “It was just a car backfiring.”
Backfiring?
I paused, my eyes picking the ancient Pinto out of a line of newer vehicles as it vanished around the corner. I examined the area around us, seeking out any potential threats, only to find that other than a handful of taxicabs parked down the street, we were alone. I blinked, realizing she was right.
I’d totally overreacted. Maybe my nerves were more frazzled than I’d thought.
Kelly stood behind me, hands on her hips, seeming both annoyed and indignant. Which impressed me, in all honesty. Beneath that meek veneer lay a spitfire made of sterner stuff than I would’ve imagined.
I took in her overall appearance, noting that she was bleeding from her left knee. She must’ve scraped it on the cement when I pushed her down. A minor wound but still my fault. It made me feel like shit for being the cause of it.
I also felt like shit for other reasons.
When I’d believed we were under attack, I’d been caught up in the moment, adrenaline pumping wildly into my system. But as my adrenaline rush passed, I had to acknowledge that my quick movements had done something detrimental. I’d felt a ripping sensation, and now the level of my discomfort had ratcheted up so much I had trouble concealing it.
I’d really done a number on myself this time. I was half afraid to look at it, even.
I felt a weight land on my burned shoulder, and I jerked away from it, snarling at Kelly when I realized the weight had come from her hand. “Don’t touch me.”
Breathing hard I sat, attempting to get a grip. But the damage had been done in every sense of the word. She took a step back, the hand she’d laid on my shoulder raised in the air palm out, every line of her face announcing what she thought of me.