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“You have no idea.” He slid his credit card across the counter, signed the receipt, and bid her good night as he scooped up his bag.
He was still chuckling when he left the store.
As had become his habit, Rhys lingered in the shadows, watching her. What was there about Megan DeLacey that intrigued him so? True, she was lovely, but he had known a lot of lovely women in the last five hundred and twelve years. Maybe it was the way her eyes met his, a faint challenge in their depths. Maybe it was the tone of her voice, the smell of her skin, or the way her heart beat a little faster when he entered the store. Maybe it was the way she filled out that green wool dress, or the way her legs looked in those three-inch heels. Hell, maybe it was all of those things—or none of them.
Of one thing he was certain. She was afraid of him.
Smart girl, he mused, as he turned away from the window and strolled down the sidewalk, still thinking of his undeniable attraction to Megan.
He hadn’t gone far when two young men clad in dark jeans and leather jackets, their heads covered with black knit caps pulled down to their eyebrows, hurried past him. They reeked of cheap alcohol and cigarettes. The added scents of potassium nitrate, sulphur, and carbon told him one of them carried a gun.
A quick brush of his mind against theirs and Rhys tossed his packages in a Dumpster and turned to follow them.
Megan was getting ready to tally the night’s receipts when the front door opened, admitting a pair of young men. One look and she knew trouble had just entered the store. The taller of the two remained near the door, one hand tucked inside his faded black leather jacket.
A thin white scar bisected the left cheek of the other young man. He swaggered toward her, a smirk on his swarthy face.
“Let’s make this short and sweet,” he said. “Just give me all the money in the drawer, and we’ll be gone.”
Megan had always thought people who put their lives in danger to protect large sums of cash were idiots, and she had no intention of doing so now. Mr. Parker was well insured, and he could always earn more money. She had only one life.
She had just opened the cash drawer when Mr. Parker emerged from his office.
“What’s this?” he exclaimed. “What’s going on?”
“None of your business, old man,” Scar Face said. “So shut your mouth before I shut it for you.”
“See here, you young punk!” Parker retorted indignantly. “Get the hell out of my shop before I call the police!”
“You ain’t callin’ nobody, old man.”
Parker’s face turned a deep red as he pulled his cell phone from his pants pocket. “We’ll see about that!”
Megan let out a shriek as the thug near the entrance pulled a gun and leveled it at Mr. Parker.
What happened next happened so fast, Megan wasn’t sure how much was real and how much she imagined. The front door opened, and a blur of black leather flew into the store seconds before the man fired the gun. In the space of a heartbeat, Mr. Parker had been pushed out of harm’s way, the two would-be robbers were unconscious on the floor, and Rhys Costain stood in front of her, the robber’s pistol in his hand.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She blinked at him. “How…? Where…?” She glanced at the front door, still swinging, at the two young men, both out cold. At Mr. Parker’s ashen face. At the ominous red stain spreading down Rhys’s left arm.
“I think you’d better sit down,” he said, slipping the pistol into his coat pocket. “You look a little pale. You, too, buddy.”
Mr. Parker looked offended at being called “buddy,” but he didn’t argue. Sitting down in one of the store’s padded chairs, he folded his arms over his chest, then, shoulders slumped, he cradled his head in his hands.
Megan looked up at Rhys. “I should call the police.” She started to touch his arm, then drew back. “And an ambulance.”
“I’m fine. Sit down before you faint.”
“I’m not going to faint!” she exclaimed. Her knees were as weak as a newborn kitten’s, and she felt light-headed. “I’m not going to faint,” she repeated, and hoped it was true.
“Uh-huh.” Taking her lightly by the forearm, Rhys guided her to a chair and gently pushed her down. “Just rest a minute. These guys aren’t going anywhere.”
Megan took several deep breaths. Had she been alone, she would have put her head between her knees and sobbed, but she wasn’t alone. She could feel Rhys Costain watching her, knew he was just waiting for her to faint or go into hysterics like some spineless female.
“Hey.” His voice was soft and low as he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
His voice, his touch, went through her like an electric shock. Startled, she looked up, her earlier fear momentarily forgotten. Who was this man, that he should affect her so profoundly?
“I’m…I’m fine.” She glanced at the two hoodlums who had come in to rob the store. They were still sprawled on the floor. Were they dead? She was vaguely aware that Mr. Parker was on the phone.
A short time later, two police officers arrived. Polite, but all business, they took her statement, then Mr. Parker’s, then Costain’s. One of the officers offered to drive Rhys to the hospital, but he refused, insisting he wasn’t badly hurt. Megan didn’t believe him. Neither did the police, but when Rhys removed his coat and shirt, there was little more than a shallow gash on his arm.
“But there was so much blood…” Megan murmured, frowning.
“Just a flesh wound,” Rhys said with a grin.
When the police were satisfied that they had all the information they needed, they handcuffed the two suspects, who had regained consciousness as soon as the police finished interrogating Rhys.
“We’ll be in touch, Mr. Parker,” one of the officers said, and then they marched the suspects out of the store.
Mr. Parker locked the front door behind the police, then walked back to where Rhys was standing. “Mr. Costain, I don’t know how we can ever repay you.”
“No need.”
“Please,” Mr. Parker said, pulling his checkbook from the inside pocket of his suit coat. “I’d be happy to give you a reward.”
“If you insist,” Rhys said. “How about a new shirt?”
Mr. Parker blinked at him. “A new shirt? That’s all you want?”
“That’s it.”
