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“What did he just call you?”
Callan doesn’t answer but his eyes narrow slightly. He knows that I heard him loud and clear.
Child killer.
My heart pounds, yanking at my nerves and I know I’ve paled when I look up at Callan and I lick my lips, my throat feeling dry and I move my fingertips when it feels like my circulation is freezing up. I don’t flinch when he pulls my hair behind my back, stroking his hand down my spine and despite everything the touch is too good to flinch away from.
Looking down at me with concerned eyes, he rasps, “Do you trust me?”
Inhaling, I nod, my heartrate going back down to normal again and I mutter, “Not sure if I like this town as much as I thought I would, though.” The people here are so...hostile.
Callan moves his head in a short shake. “Ignore them. You can’t change everyone. Some people are too set in their ways.”
“Then maybe they need tounset,” I mutter and Callan’s tense eyes soften. When a hard breeze dances past us, I shiver and he moves to take off his coat but I stop him.
“Are you sure?” he asks and I tell him that I am. His eyes go to a red booth and he asks, “How about some warm mulled wine?”
“That sounds nice,” I say, rubbing my hands together and when a second breeze blows by, I almost wish I’d brought my jacket. “Do you think I can go and stand over there by the heat lamps while you get the wine?”
Throwing a look at the heat lamps that are maybe only 35 feet away, Callan reluctantly nods. “Fine,” he says, his accent stronger than ever. “But do not go anywhere.”
“I won’t,” I promise and I hurry over to the lamps and he keeps his eyes fixed on me, before turning and goes to get us refreshments. A short line of people are queuing up along with him and they all make sure to keep a distance between themselves and Callan.
Previously I would have rolled my eyes and thought of them as ridiculous before but after what that man said, I wonder whether they have some genuine reason to fear him. Did Callan get into some kind of trouble when he was younger? Did he hurt someone? Even if it was an accident...?
The thoughts make me feel icky but I blame it on slight dehydration and on the cold. My dress has no pockets, so I wrap my arms around the stuffed bear, tucking my hands behind his belly and my gaze roams around the festivities.
A play is going on at a small, wooden stage and I watch with interest before moving on to two women that are over at a booth selling historically inspired clothes. They argue over the same dress and I follow their dispute for a short while before letting my gaze wander to Callan again but I don’t see him.
Where is he? Where...Too many people are passing through, flocking the street and then I see him...
A face in the crowd. A Venetian, tragedy mask and he’s standing there in the middle of everyone else, looking at me. Looking straight at me and I open my mouth and scream...
There’s a siren like sound in my ears, while everything else goes silent and I go numb, my knees slashing and I’m about to fall down to the asphalt when I’m grasped by strong arms and I stumble against a hard chest.
Blinking, tears flood my eyes when Callan shakes me and I realize that he’s trying to get me to focus and I clench his shoulders, whispering between cracked lips. “He’s here. He’s here in the crowd.”
“Who?” Callan asks, still shaking me. “Who’s fucking here? Romeo?”
“Yes,” I croak and Callan pulls his coat away, revealing the gun by his side and he turns around, his eyes hawk like, his body tense as a string and he covers me with his frame.
“Where?” he snaps. “Where did you see him?”
I blink again, searching for him but he’s not where I saw him. I saw him in the middle of the square. In full view. Lifting a trembling but hesitant finger, I point in the direction, “There...”
Callan follows with his gaze, his eyes turning ruthless but his brows curve when he doesn’t see anything. I don’t see anything either, the street filled with the usual people although some of them look at us even more strangely before. Probably because of my scream and I know what this must look like to Callan.
He must think that I’m some petrified girl who’s obsessed with thoughts of her old kidnapper that she sees him even when he is not there.
“I swear I saw him,” I whimper and Callan doesn’t turn to me, still keeping his focus on the mob, his eyes skillfully scanning the area.
“Was it a Venetian mask? Just like the one he wore?”
“Yes!” I cry silently. “Yes, I swear.”
Still in a serious and professional voice he asks, “And for how long did you watch him. Exactly how long were your eyes on him?”
Biting my lip, I wrinkle my forehead. “Don’t know. Maybe four s...seconds.”
