Page 27 of Past Due

He eyed the clientele streaming in and out of the hostel building she entered. There was a mix of college aged men and women, most of them seemingly quality people. Every now and then, an actual vagabond would shuffle through the door.

That one, in particular, had the look of a serial killer. Everything about him was designed to blend in, to make him invisible, unremarkable. He was the sort of man younger women would walk by without even a passing glance. Too old to be attractive but too bland to be interesting. The way the man watched others put Besian on alert. There was a darkness about the man, a predator’s aura that made his hackles raise in defense of Marley.

A trio of tall, noisy frat boy types strolled up to the doors of the hostel, and the weasely man with the serial killer vibes disappeared into the crowd. Besian rolled his neck, trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling, and wondered if he would cross paths with that creep again.

When Marley came out of the hostel a short time later, she dragged a single wheeled suitcase behind her. He ate up the sidewalk between them with quick strides and took the suitcase. She shot him a perturbed look. “It’s not heavy. I can handle it.”

“I know you can handle it.” He gestured toward the idling car waiting for them. “If we hurry, we can get to Tirana and grab the first flight to Paris tomorrow morning.”

“I’m not going to Paris.”

“Fine. London. Madrid. I don’t care. We’ll take whatever flight is available that is heading west.”

“No, you don’t get it. I’m not leave Shkodër yet. I know it sounds selfish, but I’m not leaving until I see the castle.”

Besian blinked. “The castle? Kalaja e Rozafës?”

“Yes. Rozafa.”

At a loss for words, he considered her situation. Frankly, it was probably safer to keep her here, in a place where he could protect her more easily, than to immediately take her back to Houston where there was a price on her head.

“You’re not selfish,” he said, thinking about how many times he had seen her behaving selflessly. He suspected this might be the first time in her entire life when she had been selfish, when she had put herself and her wants first. “If you want to see the castle, we’ll see the castle.”

“Tomorrow,” she negotiated. “I’m really tired, and also,” she admitted sheepishly, “hungover.”

Hungover? His thoughts circled back to the handsome Spaniard who seemed close to her. Had they spent the night drinking and partying together in the mountains?

Another troubling thought struck him. “Where were you staying while up in the mountains? A hotel?”

“Last night, yes,” she said carefully, and he sensed there was more to it.

The Spaniard, he realized with a sickening twist of his guts.

She’s not yours. She can do whatever she wants with any man she chooses.

Acknowledging that truth didn’t make it any easier to swallow. It should have been him with her last night. It should have been him taking her around the Albanian countryside, showing her his homeland and introducing her to the wonders of his culture and his people.

“And the nights before that?” he asked, his jaw tightening as he imagined the very worst. “Not a tent,” he said, almost pleading. “You didn’t camp up there. Right?”

She swallowed anxiously, as if anticipating his reaction to whatever she was about to tell him. “I sort of slid down the mountain and found a puppy.”

Shocked, he seized on her blasé description of her fall. “You slid down the mountain?” Looking her over, he wondered how many bruises she had hidden under her cargo pants and jacket. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. I didn’t fall that far.”

He wasn’t convinced. Images of Marley tumbling down a mountain and rolling to a stop at the edge of a cliff tormented him. How could she be so reckless?

“Anyway,” she continued, “I took the puppy down the trail to a café. The old man there told me the puppy belonged to a farmer back up the other side of the mountain.”

“Marley,” he interrupted with a low growl, “do not tell me that you wandered alone up to a farm and stayed the night in a barn.”

“Of course, I didn’t stay in a barn! I stayed in the guest room.”

He muttered a string of curses and tried to figure out how this incredibly brilliant woman could be so careless. “You stayed at a farm, in the middle of nowhere, with strangers?”

“Agnesa isn’t a stranger. Not anymore,” she added. “We’re friends. She let me help with her farm chores, showed me how to can pickles, feed her chickens, make byrek and...” At his thunderous expression, she trailed off. Reluctantly, she admitted, “I probably shouldn’t have taken a chance walking away from the trail and up to the farm.”

“Yeah. Probably,” he agreed tersely. Shaking his head, he asked, “What the hell am I going to do with you, Marley?”

“Hopefully not scold me anymore,” she answered with an annoyed frown. “Did you really fly all this way just to chastise me like I’m a naughty child?”

“No.” He had been a colossal asshole. “I’m sorry, Marley. I shouldn’t have taken out my stress on you like this.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Unlike so many, Marley had no problem putting him in his place. She didn’t shrink away in fear or kowtow to his whims. She expected the best of him, and when he disappointed her, she was only too happy to let him know it.

“I’ll do better.” Exhausted and desperate to get off the sidewalk where everyone was watching them, he held out his hand. “Come with me?”

“Where?”

“Wherever you want, rrushe.”

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