Ivan glances toward the crowded aisle behind us. “Handling it.”
Jules stares at him incredulously. “Handlin’ it how exactly?”
His expression never changes. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
I blink at him. “That’s not an answer.”
“No ma’am,” he replies politely. “It isn’t.”
Jules immediately grabs my arm. “Sweetheart, don’t ask additional questions,” he whispers in my ear. “I’ve watched enough mafia movies to know we absolutely don’t want those answers.”
“That’s not helpin’, Jules.”
“It’s helpin’ me from freakin’ out.”
Ivan reaches for several overloaded tote bags hanging off Jules’s shoulder before gesturing toward the side street beyond the market.
“The vehicle’s this way.”
I exchange one uneasy glance with Jules before following him through the crowded square toward the black SUV waiting beneath hanging oak branches near the curb. Even after the doors lock behind us and the market disappears outside the tinted windows, my pulse still refuses to slow. And the crazy part is that Ivan never looked worried at all. Like this level of danger is normal for him.
Neither of us says anything for a few minutes. Mostly because Jules and I are still trying to process what just happened. I can still feel my pulse pounding behind my eyes while I stare out the tinted window, watching pedestrians move along the sidewalks,completely unaware that two grown adults just sprinted through the market like fugitives.
Beside me, Jules presses one hand against his chest. “I would just like the record to show that I’m far too pretty for cardio like that.”
I let out a laugh that sounds half hysterical, half exhausted. Then I look toward the front seat. Ivan keeps his eyes on the road, his face blank under his baseball cap. Except for the faint bloodstain on his shirt, he looks completely unfazed by what just happened.
“What did you mean by handled it?” I ask.
Jules groans beside me. “Maggie.”
“No, seriously.” I lean forward. “One second somebody’s followin’ us through the market and the next second you magically appear with blood on your shirt lookin’ calmer than a damn yoga instructor.”
Ivan glances briefly toward the rearview mirror. “There’s no longer a threat to you at the market,” he says evenly.
“That’s the most terrifyin’ non-answer I’ve ever heard in my life.”
Jules points toward the front seat. “See? This is exactly why I said stop askin’ questions.”
“I’m askin’ questions because my life turned into an organized crime documentary without my permission.”
The corner of Jules’s mouth twitches despite the tension hanging inside the SUV.
Ivan says nothing else.
Beside me, Jules grows quieter than usual while staring out his own window. His earlier humor has faded enough that concern is written all over his face now.
“You okay?” I ask.
He snorts once. “Well, I just participated in my first public chase scene, so I’d say we’re thrivin’.”
“That wasn’t funny.”
“No, honey, it really wasn’t.”
Silence fills the SUV again. Then Jules turns toward me fully, lowering his voice enough that only I can hear it.
“That man knew your name.”
