Promise (9 page)

I took a deep breath, picturing it.
Public
place. Lots of people.
He seemed to know exactly what I needed.
After another deep, cleansing breath, I opened the door and said,
more calmly than I thought possible, "That'd be great."

Mario's was a pizza-parlor-slash-bar. When we
arrived at nearly nine o'clock, it took on more of a bar
atmosphere. The lights were dimmed and neon beer signs glowed
colorfully on the walls. The jukebox played oldies music and people
talked and laughed loudly over it. We shared a sausage-and-mushroom
pizza and, after eating, Tristan somehow convinced me to play
darts.

He was excellent at it. I sucked. He seemed
to be able to easily zero in on his target—several times I swore he
aimed away from the bulls-eye to prove he could "miss." Most of the
time I couldn't hit the board, let alone any specific place on
it.

Tristan's close eye on me didn't help. He
leaned against a table about halfway to the dart board and to my
right, watching me with an amused expression. He made me nervous. I
held the dart in my hand, up near my face, eyeing the board—no
particular place, just the board in general.
It's a big enough
area. Surely I can hit it at least once
. Just before I let the
dart go, my eyes slipped to Tristan.

And the dart flew. And missed the board. By a
long shot.

"Oh, oh,
oh
!" Both hands flew to my
mouth.
Holy crap!
I stabbed Mr. Beautiful!

I stared at the dart lodged in his bicep. He
raised his eyebrows with an I-can't-believe-you-just-did-that look
as I hurried over to him. "I'm so
sorry
! Are you okay?"

He grimaced. "I don't know."

I lifted my hand gingerly to pull the dart
out. He flinched and I jumped back.

"Don't touch it! Aren't you supposed to leave
these things for the doctor to remove?"

I fretfully bounced on the balls of my feet.
"Then what do I
do
?"

The grimace disappeared and a huge grin
spread across Tristan's face as he easily plucked the dart out of
his arm. He leaned forward and whispered, "You can kiss it and make
it better."

I narrowed my eyes and scowled at him. He
burst into laughter.

"I'm…sorry…but…you…should've…seen….your
face!" He nearly fell over from his belly laughs.

I crossed my arms against my chest and
glowered at him. I couldn't hold it for long, though. He was
laughing so hard and he was so dang irresistible. I couldn't help
it. I started laughing, too.

"I am seriously sorry," I said again once we
regained our composure. "I can't believe I did that. Are you really
okay?"

He lifted his sleeve. The only evidence of my
assault was a miniscule hole, though I was sure the steel-tipped
dart had pierced at least half an inch, maybe more, through his
skin. I exhaled with relief, expecting it to be worse.

"I think I'll live," he said, grinning. "But
you
are
rather dangerous. Let me show you how it's done
before you really hurt someone."

He stood close behind me and tried to teach
me the proper way to hold the dart and when to let it go, but the
electricity distracted me every time he touched me. We laughed at
my absurd technique. I had more fun than I'd had in a long
time—maybe ever.

When he slid the bike into the driveway a
little after midnight, though, the panic started to set in again.
Not like earlier, but enough to make my stomach flutter.

"Did you have fun?" Tristan asked as he
walked me to the door.

"Yeah, I did. Thank you." I watched the
ground.

"My pleasure. Maybe we can do it again
sometime?"

I took a breath to steady my nerves and
looked up at him as we stood on the front porch. "Hmm…you're
brave."

He chuckled. "I'll just be sure to stand
behind you next time."

"You saw my throws. That doesn't guarantee
anything."

"Yeah, you're right." He smiled. "But I'll
take my chances."

My heart raced as I looked into his sparkling
eyes and wondered if he was thinking about kissing me.

"I better let you get some rest," he
murmured.

"Mmm, yeah. I do have to open the store in
the morning."

He held my gaze for a moment and then cupped
his hand gently around the side of my face. My skin tingled. Then
he leaned over and ever so lightly brushed his lips across my
cheek, then whispered in my ear, "Good night,
ma
lykita
."

I closed my eyes as the sensations washed
over me—his smell, the warm breath on my ear, the electric touch on
my face.

"'Night," I breathed. He let go of me and
when I opened my eyes, he was already half-way down the walk.
Electricity still pulsed on my skin and throughout my body. Part of
me wanted to call him back, but, with a heavy sigh, I turned and
went inside instead. And I realized I didn't get to ask what he
called me. It couldn't be bad, but it was annoying not to know. It
had sounded like something in French. I made a mental note to
research it.

The two-bedroom cottage was quiet and usually
comforting. It was one of the few places we lived that actually
felt like home. Usually, our moves required leaving everything
behind except the bare necessities. Since we actually brought our
belongings this time, they were at least familiar, if not
nostalgic. Mom decorated in browns and beiges, but with leather and
wood furniture and chenille and silk throw pillows, the variety of
textures kept it from being boring. Rather, it was cozy and
calming, like "Mom's place" should be. And I was scared to death to
be here alone.

I paced the cottage several times, mentally
going through self-defense moves Mom taught me many years ago. They
hadn't done me any good against those people last time, but I
thought if I was ready for them now….

I whirled on a whispered sound, my heart
hammering. It stopped when I did. Then I realized it was only my
own feet sliding across the tile floor.

Feeling the emotional tolls of the day, I
finally talked myself into going to bed. But while lying in my
bedroom, my eyes wouldn't shut and my ears strained, my mind
imagining various monstrosities lurking in the rest of the house.
Eventually I curled up on the couch with all the lights on, and,
somehow, sleep overcame me. I awoke several times, thinking I heard
something outside, but when I listened, all was quiet and I fell
back to sleep.

Chapter 6

The store felt empty and ominous when I first
arrived, but I came early to have a little extra time before
opening. Mom kept a small office in the back room and I thought she
might be more likely to hide something there than at home, where I
might find it. I tugged on all the drawers of her desk and filing
cabinet, but, of course, they didn't budge, locked against
intruders…and snoopers like me. There were no loose papers on her
desk and only one large, flat envelope in her inbox. She was
annoyingly organized.

I glanced at the single piece of mail and my
eye caught on the corner where the return address should be.
Instead of an address, though, there was a strange, yet vaguely
familiar symbol and the word "Amadis" embossed into the paper. I
picked the envelope up and studied it closer, holding it to the
light, but I couldn't read anything inside. I briefly debated
whether I could get away with opening it and resealing it, but
eventually just dropped it back into the tray. It was probably from
a publisher and I had seen the symbol on a book's spine. Or, for
all I knew, it was just junk mail, not worth the risk.

Curiosity gripped me all morning. As soon as
Owen arrived and relieved me of my duties, I hurried home to search
Mom's room. I didn't expect to find anything I hadn't already
discovered while unpacking, but there was something right on her
nightstand. A lone piece of paper with that strange word "Amadis"
printed at the top. The paper contained a list of names with
numbers next to them. Some were obviously phone numbers; others had
the wrong number of digits and I didn't know what they meant.

Two names stood out: Katerina and Stefan.
Katerina because it was my middle name.
Does the name on this
paper mean anything?
The number next to it wasn't a phone
number. I wasn't sure why Stefan struck me. The name was familiar,
but I couldn't place it.

A sticky note with Mom's handwriting clung to
the bottom corner of the page:

Alexis, This is for emergency use only. If
Owen can't help, call these people until you reach one. They will
know what to do. If this is not an emergency, though, you put us at
risk. SO STOP SNOOPING! Love, Mom

I snorted. She knew I'd be prying. I put the
paper back and lay on her bed, thinking. What did Amadis mean? Who
were the people on the list? Did she actually go to see one of them
this weekend? And how would I be putting us at risk? That last
question made me anxious. I knew Mom well enough to know she
wouldn't joke about this.
Is just calling them risky? Or is all
of my research?
I sighed. Regardless of the answers, my
research and snooping only led to more unanswered questions.

I tried to study, but my mind drifted in
various directions, eventually toward Tristan. I didn't know when
I'd see him again and as the afternoon wore on and evening
encroached, I really didn't want to be alone. As if in response to
my thoughts, the sound of a motorcycle resonated right outside the
cottage. I sprang to the window and my breath caught.

Tristan still sat on the metallic-blue
crotch-rocket, looking like a dream. He ran his hand through his
wind-blown, sandy-brown hair, slightly taming the wild look. His
muscles strained against his just-tight-enough t-shirt, tucked into
faded jeans cinched at the waist with a black belt. He slowly
pulled the dark sunglasses off and studied the cottage, his eyes
sparkling brightly. I almost expected to see cameras—he looked like
a model in a photo shoot.
Is he really here for
me
?

He swung his leg over the bike. I beat him to
the door.

"Guess I can't sneak up on you," he said,
smiling.

"I seem to be specially tuned to the sound of
motorcycles."

He chuckled. I hoped he understood my
innuendo.

"So, I have these exams to study for and I
thought it wouldn't suck so bad if I was sitting on the beach," he
said, then added with a smile, "and if you were there, too."

My stomach fluttered. "Just give me a sec,
okay?"

I hurried inside, threw my books into my bag
and grabbed a beach blanket. Tristan took my bag from me and we
walked again, but not in silence this time. We talked about how
boring the day had been for each of us so far and how we'd both
been procrastinating on studying.

Once on the beach, we spread the blanket out
on the sand and then spread our women's studies books out on the
blanket. We read in silence, stopping now and then to ask each
other a question or make a comment. More than once we discussed the
differences in how each gender thinks. He didn't act superior at
all and seemed genuinely interested in learning the thought
patterns of females…well, at least mine.

"Of course, I'm not exactly your typical
girl, so take it for what it's worth," I said. I packed up my books
and stretched out on my back, staring at the white wisps overhead.
My brain couldn't take another minute of studying and the sun was
low in the sky anyway, hovering just over the horizon, like a timid
swimmer not quite ready to make the plunge.

Tristan packed his things, too, and tossed
his backpack to a corner of the blanket. He lay on his side, facing
me.

"I think it's worth a lot," he said. "And I'm
glad you're not the typical girl."

He picked up my hand and turned it over, then
traced the lines on my palm with his finger. I continued staring at
the sky, the cloud wisps turning peachy-gold against a deepening
blue background, wondering what he would think when he found out
just how atypical I was. It was just a matter of time—one small cut
on the finger was usually all it took. Of course, I reminded
myself, he already knew more than he should, seemingly more than I
even knew. Because I knew so little.

"What are you thinking?" he asked quietly. I
turned my head to look at him. He watched his fingers on my hand,
now moving them along my wrist and inner arm, light as a feather. I
fought the urge to pull back from the tickle.

"About how you know more about me than I do
about you," I said honestly.

"Ah. But you're wrong. I know so little about
you. You don't share much. I can't even tell how you're feeling
most of the time."

Good. I'm doing my job then.
But I
frowned because I could hear sadness and frustration in his
voice.

"I think there's a reason for that shell you
have around you," he said. "You have experienced betrayal and have
a difficult time trusting people."

Bam! Hit the nail on the head!
So,
although I was good at hiding my feelings and thoughts, I was, at
the same time, transparent. I sat up and pulled my knees to my
chest, wrapping myself into a protective ball. I stared out at the
water, avoiding his eyes.

"Ah. I think I'm onto something." He sat up,
too, and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, pulling me against
him. "You've been hurt, I can tell, and I accept that as part of
you."

I blinked back the tears pooling in my eyes,
refusing to let them fall. I dropped my head to my knees and
whispered, "You don't have to."

"But I want to, Alexis. I hope one day I'll
be the chink that cracks your shell and I'll know all of you. I
won't push you, though. It's up to you. It just pains me to think
of someone else getting in there."

"And if you don't like what's in here?" I
could hear the edge in my tone.