The Guardian's Mission. Shirlee McCoy
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not even surprised you know all that about me.”
“There’s more.”
“Of course there’s more. Since I know myself pretty well, and you now seem to know everything about me, let’s save some time and not rehash all the details of my boring life.”
“Who said anything about boring?”
“Compared to yours—”
“Why would you? Compare your life to mine, I mean?” He watched her with those striking eyes, leaning toward her, his body language, his posture saying he was really listening. That he really wanted to hear what she had to say.
Which was, of course, part of the courting game and meant absolutely nothing.
Courting?
As if.
Men like Tristan Sinclair did not notice women like Marti, let alone court them.
“I’m not comparing. I’m just saying that my life is pretty mundane and yours…well, yours isn’t.”
“I’ve got news for you, Marti. Your life is anything but mundane right now. And, by the time this is all over, you’re going to be wishing for boring.” The words were a grim reminder that Gordon Johnson was free, and Marti’s hands tightened into fists around the steering wheel.
“You really think Johnson is coming after me?”
“I don’t think it. I know it. Johnson is a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. He knows you’re bound to be the state’s key witness against Buddy and him. He’s going to make it his goal to keep you from testifying.”
“That’s not very comforting.”
“Good. The less comfortable you are, the happier I’ll be.”
“Gee, thanks.” She shoved the keys in the ignition, but he put a hand over hers before she could start the car.
“Johnson is a cold-blooded killer, Marti. If making you uncomfortable keeps you safe from him, that’s exactly what I want to do.”
“Look, Tristan, I know you’re trying to help, but—”
“I’m not trying to do anything. I’m doing it.” He squeezed her hand, the gesture easy and warm. “Now, let’s go. We don’t want to be late.”
She should keep arguing, tell him to get out, remind him that she was a grown woman capable of taking care of herself, but something told her that Tristan Sinclair was not going to be dissuaded and that short of getting out and walking to church, Marti had no choice but to accept her unwanted passenger.
Or maybe not so unwanted.
The fact was, having Tristan around didn’t seem like such a bad thing. As she pulled up her long driveway, she imagined a million eyes watching from the woods that lined the street, a million dangers lurking just out of sight. Silly, she knew, but as real as the air she was breathing. Anyone could be hiding in the thick fall foliage, ready to jump in front of the car, shoot out a tire, force her to a stop. And if that anyone happened to be Gordon Johnson, Marti figured that having Tristan in her car might not be such a bad idea after all.
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