Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

Amanda stood in front of her bay window and watched the street. What kind of car would Mark drive? A truck, perhaps? A sports car? Maybe one of those cars from the eighties with the doors that swung up.

Yeah, a DeLorean. That seemed like a superhero car. Or maybe he'd just pull up in the Batmobile.

Giggling, she peered in the opposite direction. No Batmobile. But a silver sedan parked in front of the fire hydrant, the only space available on her block. Mark stepped out and headed for the door of her building. From her third-floor window, she noted how wide his shoulders were, how thick that brown hair.

Amanda resisted the urge to hurry down to meet him. Instead, she waited until he buzzed. Then she left her apartment, locked the door behind her, and took her time descending the stairs.

Mark waited for her in the breezeway. Beneath his jacket, he wore a black cable-knit sweater with a small V-neck that made his shoulders look broader and his waist trimmer. No cape. "Good morning."

Was it too soon for his deep voice to be familiar? She felt her smile, fearing it was too big and gave away how happy she was to see him. "Hi."

He opened the outside door, then his car door. "Here you go."

Polite. She liked that.

After he sat beside her, he glanced her way, his brows drawing together. He'd called the evening before and invited her to go for a drive with him today. She'd been reluctant, thanks to the lecture Carl had given her the previous afternoon about how Mark could be dangerous, how she didn't know anything about him, how he could be a stalker or a killer. But she'd agreed.

She felt stupid for the worry that filled her now.

He must've seen it on her face. "We can stay nearby, if you'd prefer."

"I'm fine."

"If you're sure." He slid the gear into drive, checked the rearview mirror, then slid it back into park.

"What's wrong?" Had he changed his mind?

"Just giving your friend time to jot down the license plate number."

She turned around. Sure enough, Carl stood in front of the building next door, half-hidden in the shadow, writing on a small pad of paper.

How dare he? Anger surged through her, and she grabbed the door handle. "Carl. I can't believe him. Last night, he suggested?—"

"It's okay." Mark rested his hand on hers and squeezed gently. "He's just worried about you. It's good you have people who care."

She let go of the handle and gazed at their joined hands, then at his warm brown eyes. She liked the smile she saw there. His lips, the color of strawberry licorice, parted slightly and turned up at the corners. She blinked, returning her gaze to his eyes, and blushed.

His smile widened. "We'd better go before Carl decides to rescue you. Not sure I'd allow that." Mark slid the car in gear again and pulled away from the curb.

His car was immaculate. No dust on the dash, no wrappers on the floor. Not even a green cardboard pine tree hanging from the rearview mirror. It didn't need one, though. It smelled like him, all masculine and musky.

He followed a sign for the highway.

"Where are we going?"

"I thought we'd head down to Narragansett, if that's okay."

The beach in November? "Sounds like fun." Her voice squeaked, but he didn't notice, or at least he pretended not to.

"I don't want to start out on a bad note," he said, "but I have to tell you something."

She turned to face him. "Okay."

"I'm sorry I took off so fast yesterday."

"Why did you?"

"I saw the guy from Thursday night."

"What?" She stiffened like over-whipped eggs. "Are you sure?"

"He was standing in a doorway across the street, watching the deli. He must've seen me get up because he was on the move by the time I got outside. I followed, but he turned down an alley and disappeared. I lost him."

"What would you have done if you'd caught up with him?"

He glanced at her but didn't answer.

"Are you…?" Her voice was high again, like a scared little girl. She cleared her throat. "You're sure?"

"I'm sorry." He shot a look her way. "I wish I'd caught him."

She folded her arms and leaned forward, trying to stave off a wave of nausea. How had he found her?

"Do you want me to take you home?" Mark's gaze flicked to her.

She shook her head. Couldn't speak yet.

"Are you sick?"

She pulled in a deep breath through her nose, blew it out through her mouth. She did it again and again until her stomach settled. "I'm fine."

At a red light, Mark studied her. "You sure?"

"Yup. It's just…"

After a moment, he said, "Yeah." He reached behind her seat and grabbed something. "I got this for you."

He plopped a paper sack on her lap. When the light turned green, he pulled forward and angled up an on-ramp.

She pulled out a small, pink can. "What is this?"

"Pepper spray. It's easy to use. Just point and shoot."

She turned the can over in her hands. "Is this legal?"

"In all fifty states. Aim for his eyes. It'll blind him, and the pain will stop him and give you time to run."

"That makes sense."

"There's something else in the bag."

She pulled out a smaller item—a key chain. "Push the button."

She did, and an ear-piercing sound filled the car. They both winced while she fumbled with it.

Mark took it from her and pushed the button again. The sound stopped.

"Wow." Her hands trembled when she took the key chain from him again.

"If you see the guy—or anybody threatens you—use that. And scream."

"Okay."

He shot a look her way. "Do you know what to scream?"

"Um, ‘help'?"

"No. Never scream help. People will either think it's a joke or they'll take it seriously and won't want to get involved. Scream ‘fire.'"

"Why?"

"People like to see fire. They come running."

"So people should run from fires and run to help when someone calls for it, but you're saying?—"

"It doesn't matter what people should do. It matters what they will do. Pepper spray. Press the alarm. Scream ‘fire.' Okay?"

Not that it was complicated, but she repeated the instructions to herself. "Got it. And that'll make me safe?"

He pressed his lips together but said nothing.

She pulled her purse from the floor and dug through it for her keys.

"Leave the pepper spray in your coat pocket, please. It takes too long to find it in a purse. I have no idea what's in those things, but I've seen women dig through their purses for ten minutes looking for lipstick. You won't have ten minutes."

She added the new key chain to her existing key ring.

"You should always have your keys in your hand when you're on the street. Keys make decent weapons."

"I usually have them in my pocket when I'm on my way home, especially at night." She dropped them in her purse. "I assume they're okay in my purse for now?"

"You're safe with me." His voice was warm and sweet, a hot mocha on a chilly day.

She slipped the pepper spray into her coat pocket. "Satisfied?"

He smiled. "You won't need that with me, either, but better safe than sorry."

Mark took the exit toward the beach.

She wasn't the type to take off with some guy, even if he had saved her life and looked like Superman's big brother. She wasn't the girl who ignored her friends' advice and got in a car with a stranger and drove away. On the other hand, Mark had given her a weapon she could use against him. So that meant something, right? Unless he just liked a challenge.

She was being silly. If not for the weird circumstances of their meeting, she wouldn't suspect Mark of anything nefarious. He'd been kind to her. He'd bought her lunch and items to aid in her self-defense. She had no reason not to trust him.

He cleared his throat. "What are you studying?"

"Culinary arts."

"Oh yeah? You want to be a chef?"

"Since I was a little girl."

"How come?"

She settled back in the seat, relaxing. "The first time I attempted to cook something, I wanted to surprise my parents. I was eight, and I'd overheard my father say he loved chocolate and peanut butter. I waited until my mom wasn't paying attention. Then I got out a big bowl, filled it with peanut butter, added chocolate chips, and stirred. It was really hard to stir."

His warm brown eyes twinkled. "I can imagine."

"Then I dropped the batter on a cookie sheet like mom did with cookie dough and popped it in the oven. I think I'd preheated it to two-fifty. That seemed boiling to me."

He chuckled, and she laughed too.

"My mom came in, saw what I was doing, and rescued my cookies. The peanut butter and chocolate chips had melted into a horrible, globby mess. She lectured me about how dangerous the oven could be. I was devastated. But that night, she taught me how to make peanut butter cookies.

"They were so tasty, right from the oven. My dad came in, and my brothers. They were both teenagers, and they always had better things to do than hang out with me. But when they smelled the cookies, they wandered in to taste them." Amanda could still remember how it felt having her family gathered around to eat. Not because they'd oohed and aahed over the cookies, though they had, just to be nice, but because the cookies had brought everyone together at a time when they'd all been so disjointed. The boys with their sports and dad with his work and mom with all her social functions. But for just a few minutes, they'd been a family again. Laughing and enjoying each other. "I loved that I had a part in bringing everyone together. I've wanted to be a cook ever since."

"It sounds nice."

"It was one of those perfect family moments, you know?"

"Sure." But his smile faded.

She tried to muster the courage to ask him about it. But he was so…intimidating. Quiet and tough. Older, she thought. But not too old. Not the kind of old that would make her hate herself later.

"You want to work at a restaurant someday?" he asked.

"Probably. It'd be fun to be a head chef at some fancy place. Or maybe just a little family restaurant. Or maybe I'll be a caterer. That's kind of my thing, bringing people together."

"You'll be great at whatever you do."

Maybe. At that moment, she was curious about the man who sat beside her. What made him tick? What had compelled him to step in to protect her, then track her down? Then ask her out?

The thought that this strong, handsome man might be interested in her, romantically, had her silly heart racing.

She barely knew him, but what she knew, she liked. No matter what he felt about her, she was definitely interested in him.