Protecting His Witness. Marie Ferrarella

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      None of his thoughts were evident in his voice or on his face as he said glibly, “So that when I tell people the story of how an angel came to my rescue, I’ll be able to refer to you by name.”

      Uh-huh, she thought. Right. She turned back to her cooking. “Rumplestiltskin.”

      Zack laughed. “Not hardly. You don’t look like any ugly little fairy-tale creature that I ever saw in my sisters’ storybooks.”

      So, he had sisters. Or was that just what he wanted her to think? God, but she missed the days when a duck was just a duck and not a camouflaged cheetah.

      “That’s just to give you a false sense of security,” she told him.

      Done, Kasey divided the eggs that were in the pan between two plates. Just as she finished, the toast popped. After setting the frying pan down on a dormant burner, she took the toast and applied a light layer of margarine to both slices. She cut them in half at an angle and placed both onto the stranger’s plate, framing the eggs. If she’d had bacon, she could have made a smiley face, like her mother used to a million years ago when both she and the world were innocent.

      Kasey slid the plate in front of the dark-haired stranger. “There.” She placed her own plate opposite his on the kitchen table. But instead of sitting down, she asked, “Coffee?”

      He thought she’d never offer. His eyes darted toward the coffeemaker. “Just bring the pot.”

      She went to the cupboard and took out one cup, one mug. It was all she had. “Oh, you’re one of those.”

      Watching her stretch to reach the top shelf made him momentarily forget about all the little devils beating on his body with pointy silver hammers. She had one hell of a graceful body, he couldn’t help thinking.

      “Those?” he queried when she turned around again.

      Taking a little for herself—she only liked a small taste to get her going—she poured the rest into the large mug she ordinarily used when she sipped soup. “People who claim they can’t wake up until they’ve had their morning coffee.”

      There were days when he felt as if he ran on coffee. “Guilty as charged.”

      Leaving her cup on the counter, she brought his mug over to him. “Milk, sugar?”

      Zack shook his head, taking the mug from her and holding it with both hands, like someone receiving long-awaited sustenance.

      “Only gets in the way,” he told her. Zack took a deep drink and she could have sworn he sighed with contentment. Glancing up at her again, he said, “Good coffee.”

      “Grew the beans myself,” she deadpanned, taking her seat. She saw his eyebrows knit themselves together in a bemused line. “The coffee comes from a can,” she told him, erasing any misconceptions.

      Obviously the man thought she had no sense of humor. Ordinarily, he would have been right. She had no idea what had possessed her to make the quip. Things like humor and kidding around had long since ceased being part of her daily life. She couldn’t even begin to remember the last time she’d laughed. Running left no time for laughter, left nothing to even smile about.

      With coffee in his veins and his belly, he felt almost human again. And ready to pick up where he’d left off. Trying to find out who she was. “You’re really not going to tell me your name?”

      She didn’t look up from her plate. “Kasey,” she answered. “Kasey Madigan.”

      “Well, Kasey, Kasey Madigan, it’s an honor and a privilege to make your acquaintance.” He put out his hand as if to shake hers.

      Kasey kept her hand where it was. She nodded at his plate. “Just finish your breakfast. I have to leave soon and I can’t have you here when I’m gone.”

      He could see her point. Nodding, Zack applied his fork to the fare before him.

      He ate like a man who had only faint memories of his last meal. Quick and with gusto. Was he homeless? she wondered, going back to her initial impression of him. He was scruffy, but not that scruffy. The stubble on his face couldn’t have been more than a couple of days old. If he was homeless, it couldn’t have been for that long. But then, she supposed that even homeless people had a first week of homelessness in their past.

      “Where do you work?”

      He asked pleasantly enough, but she didn’t like dealing with questions. Any kind of questions. “In a bookstore.” She’d already told him that.

      Zack nodded. “I know, but where is the bookstore located?”

      “Why, are you looking to expand your library?” she asked.

      She was reluctant to give out any information, he thought. And yet, she’d taken him in and seen to his wound, something a lot of other people wouldn’t have done. Especially if they lived alone.

      The woman seemed like a walking contradiction.

      “You never know,” he answered, going with her last comment. “I like reading.”

      She merely nodded, as if she expected everyone to feel that way about books. Zack let the topic drop. He noticed her plate was empty. The next second, she was getting up, taking it to the sink. He quickly polished off the last of his eggs and toast. He could have eaten more.

      “This was good,” he told her.

      “It was simple,” she replied, ignoring the compliment he had given her.

      Leaning his palms against the table top, Zack slowly pushed himself up to his feet. Damn, he still felt wobbly. He had no patience with infirmity when he was the one who was infirm. This was going to be a problem, he thought.

      Approaching her, he asked suddenly, “Do you have a car?”

      She turned around from the sink and looked at him for a second, trying to read his expression before she answered. Did he want to take her car? If so, he was in no shape to drive.

      “Yes.” She let the single word hang in the air for a minute before asking, “Why?”

      He didn’t like asking for favors, especially from people he didn’t know, but he needed to get back and Aurora’s public transportation left a great deal to be desired.

      “Look, you’ve already gone more than out of your way for me—”

      She saw no reason to dispute that. “Yes.”

      He couldn’t tell if she was agreeing with him, or tossing out the word just to make him get to the point faster. “I need a ride,” he told her bluntly. “Someone slashed the tires on my car.”

      She wondered if it was actually his car, or if he’d stolen it. “Before or after they shot you?”

      “Probably before.” He stopped himself, his words replaying themselves in his head. “This sounds like some kind of melodrama, doesn’t it?”

      Her mouth curved slightly. “One that went straight to video,” СКАЧАТЬ