Express Male (2 page)

He stopped abruptly, his expression indicating he’d almost said something he would regret later. Funny, that, since Marnie was regretting it right now. He’d mistaken her for someone who’d try to kill someone else? That couldn’t possibly be good, could it? Thankfully, he hurried on before she had a chance to think too much about that. Or experience a stark, raving panic attack.

“Well,” he said, “let’s just say I’m glad you’re here. For a number of reasons.”

“Um, look,” she interjected as gently as she could, thinking it would probably be best if she didn’t hear
any
of those reasons. “You’ve obviously mistaken me for someone else. My name isn’t Lila. It’s Marnie. I’m sorry I’m not who you’re looking for, but…” She shrugged, the internationally recognized sign language for
Can’t help you, fella.

“Of course you’re not who I’m looking for,” he said. “I should have realized that right away.”

Marnie would have breathed a sigh of relief, but the little man took a step closer, looked first one way, then the other, then leaned in very close, crowding her personal space way more than she liked.

“I didn’t realize we were being watched,” he whispered so softly she almost didn’t hear. “I should have realized.” He moved a hand to his mouth to mimic the locking of a lock and throwing away of the key. Very quietly, he promised, “From now on, I’ll just call you Marnie, Lila. I won’t call you Lila anymore, Marnie.”

Since he was so close, Marnie took advantage of the opportunity to inhale a deep breath, to see if it might offer some clue as to what he had been drinking. Smoking. Sniffing. Absorbing subcutaneously. All of the above. But there was nary a hint of alcoholic, herbal or chemical enhancement about him. A touch of garlic, perhaps, but as far as she knew, garlic had never driven anyone around the bend like this.

He did that look-one-way-then-the-other thing again, then held up a fat manila envelope that had seen better days. It was stuffed about as full as it could be and still be closed, the flap torn and bent, the paper soiled and wrinkled. Two big rubber bands were wound around it, one vertically and one horizontally, as if he feared the envelope might give way and spill its contents any moment, something that seemed entirely possible. Then he smiled again.

“Here’s my book,” he said. “I finished it, just as I promised them I would.”

Book? Marnie wanted to say. That was no book. It was just a big, dirty envelope full of papers. Why would he bring it to her? To Lila? To anyone? And just who was the “them” he was talking about?

“It’s only a first draft, you understand,” he hastened to add, “but it is my greatest opus.”

Ooh, it was a book he’d
written.
Now Marnie
really
didn’t want to have anything to do with it.

“Um, that’s really nice, and I appreciate it,” she said as politely as she could. She glanced around again, hoping
somebody
might have shown up by now. At this point, she’d even welcome the appearance of Bob Troutman. Well, probably. Maybe. Oh, okay, she could handle this little guy for a few minutes more. “But I’m probably not the best person to give it to,” she added. “I’m not much good when it comes to literary criticism. I’m more of a music person.”

“No, no,” he insisted, his smile falling some. “You’ll like this, no matter what. I assure you, it’s a wonderful
opus.
”

There was that word
opus
again. He really seemed to be attached to it. “Oh, I don’t doubt that for a minute,” Marnie assured the man. “But, honestly, I just don’t think I’m qualified to—”

“It’s the story of a powerful sorcerer,” he interrupted in a singsongy, once-upon-a-time voice. “A sorcerer who has betrayed people, and who’s been hiding from those people, hoping they won’t find him.”

“Um, sounds great,” Marnie said flatly, not wanting to encourage him—especially since fantasy novels
really
weren’t her thing. “But, really, I—”

“This book tells all about this
sorcerer,
” the man began again, emphasizing that last word meaningfully. Meaningful to him, anyway, since Marnie had no idea what he was talking about. “It tells things about the
sorcerer
no one knew before. And it tells about where the
sorcerer
has been hiding and what he’s been up to. It tells about where he’s going next. You’ll like it, I promise.” He winked at her again, a gesture that was beginning to creep her out. “It is my finest
opus,
” he said again.

Hoo-kay, Marnie thought. Whoever this guy was, he’d caught the express train from la-la land and hopped off at weirdsville. And now he was looking around for the platform for his connection to loonytown.

He shoved the envelope at her again, using both hands now. “Take it,” he insisted. “Read it. Read my
opus
about the
sorcerer.
”

He was growing agitated now, and Marnie wasn’t sure what crazy people did when they became agitated. Nor did she have any wish to find out. She wondered if she should just take the envelope from him and hope that would make him leave. Then she could return to Lauderdale’s and alert mall security about the incident and go home.

“Um, okay,” she said as she warily took the manuscript from him. “I’ll read it tonight. How will that be?”

“It’s just a first draft,” he reminded her. “I have many notes, and will write more. When it’s done, I’ll bring it to you.”

Oh, goody. “Well, that’s…that’s just fine,” Marnie said, nodding. Hoping he fell for her fake smile. Hoping he went away soon. Hoping he didn’t hack her to death with a carving knife on his way. “I’ll, um, I’ll really enjoy that.”

He nodded, too, his own warm, benign smile so at odds with his stark, raving lunacy. “Thank you, Lila. Oops, I mean…Marnie.” He winked again, and she tried not to flinch. “I know where to find you now,” he added. As if she really needed for him to put that fine a point on it. “And I’ll contact you again when the time is right.”

Now there was something to look forward to. She held up the hefty manuscript. “I, um, I’ll read this tonight,” she said again, since he didn’t get the hint the first time and leave.

“Good,” he said. “Take good care of my opus. Marnie.”

“I will,” she told him. “I promise your opus is safe with me.”

His smile went kind of sentimental and satisfied and serene at that, and his expression softened to the point where he looked almost lucid. Relief, Marnie realized. He looked profoundly relieved about something. As if by taking the manuscript from him, she had just freed him of a burden that had been almost too much for him to bear.

He leaned in close again and said quietly, “I knew not to believe what they were saying about you, Lila. I knew you could never do what they said you did. I trust you completely. I always have. And I’m so glad you’re back. They need you.”

Strangely, there was something about the way he said it, and the way he looked at her, that made Marnie feel honestly grateful for his trust. Something that made her want to promise him she would do anything for him in return. Suddenly, he didn’t seem mad at all. In fact, he seemed quite sane, and quite sincere. Before she realized what she was doing, she reached out to touch his shoulder, the physical contact feeling surprisingly nice. Surprisingly comfortable. Surprisingly
comforting.
It was the oddest thing.

“I will take care of this,” she told him as she held up the manuscript, “whatever it is.” And she was astonished to discover that she meant exactly what she said. “You don’t have to worry about it anymore, okay?”

He nodded and smiled again, then lifted a hand in farewell. “I’m glad it’s with you…Marnie,” he said. And without another word, he turned and walked away.

Marnie stood motionless in the middle of the deserted parking lot as she watched him go, mesmerized by his steady, purposeful stride. Not once did he look back, clearly content with how their exchange—whatever it had been about—had gone. She waited for him to approach one of the half-dozen cars still scattered in that direction, but he kept walking until he reached a hedgerow at the edge of the parking lot. She watched, amazed, as he pushed the branches of two bushes aside and stepped through them.

On the other side of that hedgerow was a park, she knew, which eventually spilled into woods. All the houses near the mall were in the other direction—and none was within comfortable walking distance for a man his age. She couldn’t imagine where he was going.

Strange. Very strange.

She looked down at the thickly stuffed envelope in her hands and, for the first time, noticed writing on the outside of it. Nothing intelligible, mostly a bunch of doodles that didn’t make sense. Turning it over, she saw the flap was fastened with one of those winding cotton cords that was whipped into a figure eight over and over again. Marnie told herself to go back into Lauderdale’s and call mall security. Instead, she took the end of the string between thumb and forefinger and began to unwind it.

She was just freeing the final figure eight when she heard the scuff of a shoe over the asphalt behind her.

When she turned, she saw a man standing there who was much larger, much younger and much more menacing than the one who had just left. And where the first man’s smile had been sentimental and satisfied and serene, this man’s smile was feral and forbidding and frightening.

“Hello, Lila,” he said. “You naughty girl, where have you been? Opus has been looking all over for you.”

A
CID HEAT SPLASHED
through Marnie’s belly at the man’s words, spoken in a velvety voice she might have found appealing in another situation. His sophisticated good looks, too, she might have rather liked under other circumstances. A situation or circumstances like, oh…she didn’t know…like maybe if she
wasn’t
standing in the middle of a dark, deserted parking lot with her car still a good ten yards away. Like maybe if she
didn’t
feel as if she’d slipped into the
Twilight Zone.
Like maybe if he
hadn’t
come up out of nowhere like a deranged movie murderer. Like maybe if she
wasn’t
a complete sissy about things like deserted parking lots and surreal life and deranged murderers.

Stuff like that.

But since Marnie was the proud owner of a sissiness that rivaled some of the greatest sissies in history, she wasn’t much impressed by the man’s good looks and velvety voice. Especially since he was calling her Lila, something that jerked her right back into that distorted—and soon to be sordid—reality, and, well, suffice it to say that her day just wasn’t turning out to be anything like she had anticipated when she’d rolled out of bed that morning.

“And OPUS isn’t the only one who’s been looking for you, sweetheart,” he added, the endearment dripping not with affection, but with what sounded very much like animosity. “I’ve been looking all over for you, too.”

Too frightened now to even move, Marnie tried to at least mentally catalogue the man’s features, so that she could give an accurate description to a police artist later. Providing, of course, she survived. Somehow, though, she didn’t think she could ever forget his face, so arrestingly handsome was he, in spite of his malevolence. His dark auburn hair was groomed to perfection, his amber eyes reflected intelligence and, incongruously, good humor. His clothing was faultless and expensively tailored; dark trousers and a dark T-shirt beneath a jacket that was darker still. All the better to hide in the darkness with, my dear. Nevertheless, had Marnie seen him inside Lauderdale’s instead of out here, she would have thought him a very attractive, wealthy businessman on the way home from happy hour. Out here, there was nothing happy about him. And she didn’t even want to think about what kind of business he might be up to.

“I’m not Lila,” she said before she even realized she’d intended to speak, amazed at how calm and level her voice was. “I seem to have one of those faces that resemble a lot of others. I’m not who you’re looking for.”

In response to her assurance, the man smiled and said, “Of course you’re not. Your name is Marnie, right? This week, anyway. Of course, the last time I saw you, you were going by the delightful moniker of Tiffannee. With two
f’
s, two
n’
s and two
e’
s.”

Oh, please, Marnie wanted to say. What kind of woman actually claimed such a name? “That wasn’t me,” she insisted politely. “I’ve only gone by the one name all my life.”

But the man seemed to have stopped listening to her. Because his gaze was fixed on the battered manuscript she was hugging to her midsection, as if it were a magic shield that might shelter her from harm.

“Well, just give me what Philosopher gave you,” he said, “and I’ll forget all about that pesky episode in Indianapolis. Fair enough?”

Philosopher? Marnie wanted to ask. Indianapolis? What was he talking about? She hadn’t been to Indianapolis for years. And what kind of name was Philosopher? Obviously the guy was talking about the little man who’d given Marnie the manuscript, but how did this guy know him? And if he knew him, then why hadn’t he asked for the manuscript before Marnie ended up with it? And why had both men mistaken her for the same woman?

Just what was going on?

He brought his gaze back up to hers, his smile in place again, then extended his hand, palm out, in a request for the package. “Come on, Lila, hand it over.”

Having no idea why she did it, Marnie clutched it more tightly to herself. Very slowly, she shook her head. “No.”

He didn’t seem surprised by her answer. Which was funny, because Marnie sure was. The smart thing would be to forget about protecting it, since she didn’t know what it was anyway, and she certainly had no obligation to the strange—and she meant that in more than one sense of the word—man who had given it to her. She should just throw it as far as she could away from herself then bolt for the employee exit, and call mall security from the safety of the store. But something made her hesitate.

She remembered how the little man’s face had gone all relieved and gratified when she’d promised him she would take good care of his opus. She recalled the way his entire body had seemed to shift, as if she’d just literally unburdened him of a weight too onerous to bear. She heard again the utter trust in his voice when he told her he was glad she was the one accepting the responsibility. Even though she knew it was nuts to feel obligated to him, she did. She’d made a promise to him. And for some reason, it seemed vitally important that she keep it.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not who you’re looking for,” she said more forcefully this time. She curled her fingers tightly around the envelope. “And this doesn’t belong to you. It belongs to someone else, and I promised him I’d take good care of it.”

Once again, the man seemed in no way surprised by her reply. “Of course,” he said mildly. “It’s much too valuable for you to allow it to fall into the wrong hands, isn’t it? And whose hands could be more wrong than mine?”

“Look, mister, I don’t even know you,” Marnie said, biting back the fear that rose in her throat, and feeling uncharacteristically defiant. There was just something about the man that challenged her. Of course, that same thing that challenged her would probably be responsible for her being cut into little pieces and left at various landmarks around the city, too. For now, she tried not to think about that. “If you don’t leave right this minute,” she added, “I’ll scream.”

He chuckled. “Yes, well, the last time you screamed at me, Lila, it was because I was giving you a spectacular orgasm during the best sex either of us ever had. You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your threat too seriously.” He lifted a hand as if he intended to touch her, and Marnie instinctively, physically, recoiled. Smiling sadly, he dropped his hand again, and said in a voice that held both regret and resolution, “Pity things turned out the way they did, isn’t it? We were extraordinary together.”

Her eyes went wide at that, her stomach pitching at the implication. If he thought she was a woman he’d known intimately—or whatever it was that passed for intimacy with a man like him—then he wouldn’t think twice about trying it again.
It
being a word for something she absolutely didn’t want to think about.

Run away,
she told herself.
Now, when he’s not prepared for it. Run back to the store and hope someone’s there.

He seemed to read her mind, though, because before Marnie could even lift a foot from the ground, he lunged at her, grabbing her upper arms and hauling her against himself. His face barely an inch from hers, he said, “Give me the manuscript, Lila. I’d rather not hurt you if I can help it.”

Marnie’s heart was pounding now, her entire body going hot. Her brain lurched into action, but it rushed in so many directions at once, she couldn’t hang on to a single thought. The man’s fingers curled more tightly into her arms, hard enough that he was able to lift her partly off the ground. When she cried out at the pain, however, he eased his grip some, as if he really
didn’t
want to hurt her.

But he did pull her forward even more and murmured, “Give it up, Lila. You know you want to. You know they haven’t treated you as well as they should. And you know I treated you better than anyone has. Join me. You and I together would be invincible.”

Dizzy now, and too terrified to speak, Marnie felt her eyes begin to flutter closed. She feared she would faint, that she wouldn’t be able to fight back, and although she struggled to hold on, she had no idea what to do. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. She was the product of the most normal upbringing, the most normal life. She had no enemies. She avoided confrontations. She was tolerant, decent, compassionate. She lived a quiet, uneventful life. She taught music to children. She donated money to the local animal shelter. She volunteered at the food bank two weekends a month. She was a good person. Why was this happening to her?

She would have given anything in that moment for a knight in shining armor to gallop up on his faithful steed and fell her attacker with an enchanted sword. But as a thirty-three-year-old single female well versed in the local dating scene, she knew Cleveland wasn’t overrun by paladins these days.

But as if cued by her hopeful thoughts, a soft buzzing erupted out of nowhere, a sound Marnie recognized as one of the little golf carts the mall security guards used for their patrols. Until now, she’d thought the vehicles were kind of silly for law enforcement, even at an upscale mall. But when she glanced to her left and saw one circling the corner of the building just then, it looked very much like a white stallion indeed. And the uniformed guard behind the wheel could have easily passed for a gallant man-at-arms.

Ah. Just the paladin she was looking for.

Evidently making his nightly rounds, the security guard wasted no time coming to Marnie’s rescue. No sooner had he stopped the golf cart than did he launch himself out of it, running at full tilt toward her assailant. Without even stopping to ask what was going on—not that it probably wasn’t kind of obvious, a six-foot-plus man looming over a much smaller woman in a dark, deserted parking lot—the security guard hurtled herself at her accoster, who, likewise surprised, released Marnie and threw himself into the battle.

Everything happened very quickly after that. But even amid all the chaos and confusion, Marnie sensed something out of kilter. Both men, she noted, fought with a forcefulness and expertise that just didn’t jibe with the common man. As she watched them brawl, she realized they weren’t brawling at all. There was too much elegance of movement, too much definition in the blows, too much orchestration of the combat. It was almost as if she were watching a violent ballet, so graceful was the altercation. This was no garden-variety street fighting they were doing. This was something way outside the knowledge of the ordinary man.

They were well matched, though, however they had come by their learning, and for several long minutes continued their fight. Not sure what to do, Marnie stood where she was, still clutching the manuscript, marveling at the sight. If it looked like her assailant was going to win, she would make a run for it. But all signs were pointing toward her rescuer instead, who seemed to have a slight edge over the first man now. A moment later, his edge became dominance, until Marnie’s assailant lay flat on his back on the asphalt.

Though not for long.

Because he scrambled quickly back up again, his nose bleeding, one cheek abraded and studied the security guard through slitted eyes. For a single, weighty moment, both men only eyed each other warily from six feet apart. Then Marnie’s attacker smiled bitterly.

“I knew OPUS wouldn’t be far,” he muttered, “but I didn’t think you’d be this close, not yet.” Then, without further ado—or further adieu, for that matter—he turned and fled.

The security guard completed a half-dozen steps in the same direction, then must have had second thoughts about going after the guy. Smart man, Marnie thought. Who knew what kind of lunatic her assailant was? He might have even been armed. Best just to stay safe until they could make sense of what had happened. Not that Marnie thought for a moment that anything that had happened to her tonight would ever make sense.

After halting, the security guard watched her attacker flee until the other man was out of sight, his hands curled into fists at his side, as if he hated having to let his adversary go. Then he spun around to look at Marnie, pinning her in place with a ferocious gaze.

Wow. He was even better looking than her assailant. And as much as she hated to admit it, he kind of seemed more ominous, too.

Oh, stop it, she told herself. There was nothing ominous about this man. He’d just rescued her from danger. He might have even saved her life! Her nerves were just so raw from everything that had happened tonight that a scoop of butter brickle ice cream would have seemed ominous at that point.

Her rescuer was way too handsome to be anything but a good guy, with straight, dark blond hair falling over his forehead, and eyes so blue even the scant lamplight couldn’t diminish their vividness. As he made his way toward her into better light, Marnie noted that they were a lucent pale blue, the color and clarity of a summer sky. In contrast to his soft eyes, however, the rest of his face was all dark planes and hard angles. High cheekbones were carved out above lean, tanned jaws. An elegant nose was chiseled above a full mouth that looked as if it had been wrought by an angry god. It occurred to Marnie then that his fierce features gave him the look of not a paladin, but a mercenary. Someone who only came to the rescue when he was being paid for performing the service.

It wasn’t exactly a comforting realization.

Nevertheless, he was tall and strong and sturdy, easily topping six feet, his broad shoulders straining at the seams of his white shirt, his black uniform trousers hugging powerful thighs. He continued to stride toward Marnie until he came to a halt with barely a foot of distance separating them, a position that felt…