Page 27 of Muzzled

And she knew.

Chapter Ten

Ryan moved closerto Logan, doing his best to stay out of Micah’s line of sight. “She doesn’t look good,” he said softly, watching as her eyes blinked with a slight unevenness. “Did she go to bed at all last night?”

Logan shook his head and turned his back to her, pretending to dust off the back of a canvas. “I woke up probably five times and all I could hear was her pencil scratching in the bathroom.” He set the piece down and grabbed another. “Nothing to be too concerned about, man. When she gets into funks like this, she just needs a little time and some sun.”

Ryan helped smooth out the display cloth and sat back on his heels. “Has she mentioned any problems with anyone? Maybe a fan getting a little weird or another artist getting jealous?”

“Everyone’s jealous of her.” Logan snorted, motioning at the charcoal work in his hand. “But no, she hasn’t said anything to me.” He narrowed his eyes and glanced back at Micah. “Why? She say something to you?”

“Nothing,” he grumbled, setting a few pieces on the cloth. “I was just noticing she seems a little skittish, like she’s watching for someone or waiting. But I don’t know her well enough to say it’s not usual.”

Logan propped a stand behind a large canvas. “I’ll keep an eye out on the audience today,” he said, angling the picture. “Are you going to be around all day?”

With a nod, Ryan stood up and brushed the dust from his jeans. “On and off. If you notice anything at all, let me know and I’ll check it out.” He looked over at Micah and smiled when she stuck her tongue out at him. “And she knows we’re discussing her.”

He approached her and held out his hand to accept the bundle of canvases she was unloading from her cart. “You should really let me pick you guys up,” he said, eying the heavy cases.

“Closest parking during the day is a block farther than my suite.” She laughed, hefting a bag onto her shoulder and dropping it beside Logan. “While the offer is much appreciated, the execution would be counterproductive.” Kneeling beside her paints, she pursed her lips. “Low on periwinkle. How am I possibly low on periwinkle? I hate the color.”

“Are artists even allowed to hate colors?” he asked, grinning at her as she flattened him with a dead stare. “Here, I’ll take a picture of it, and I can run across town and pick some up.”

She lifted the tube and posed, her bright smile almost hiding the exhaustion in her eyes as he snapped a photo. “Just because I can’t stand a color, doesn’t mean I won’t use it,” she replied, placing the paint back into the case. “You probably work for some people you can’t stand, either, right? But you do it, because it’s part of the job.”

“And periwinkle is a jerk. Is that what you’re implying?” he teased, checking his map app for the closest art store. “I’ll be back with this in an hour. Coffee?”

“Always.”

He did a quick walk through the growing festivalgoers as he made his way to the car, assessing the postures and legs of the men.

Once there was a third sighting, the Pirithous would begin to show physical changes, its knees bending backward and spine elongating as it arched forward.

It was a visual he had never become accustomed to seeing, despite having centuries to become desensitized to it.

The drive to the art store was quick, the traffic lightening the farther from the festival he drove. He was in line at the counter, periwinkle in hand, when his phone buzzed and an unknown number popped up on his screen.

Weird guy on site.

He opened his message app and checked out the photo accompanying the text.

Maintaining pleasantries with the clerk, he zoomed the photo in, dismissing the guy immediately when the eye shape didn’t match up to the images he had on his computer back home. He thanked the cashier and replied to the message.

On my way.

His foot was a little heavier on the gas than normal as he made his way back to the side street parking. The guy in the photo Logan had sent was definitely not his target, but if he was on Logan’s radar, he was a problem nonetheless.

The crowds had increased in his absence, the music of over a dozen instruments filtering through the happy chatter of the patrons. Ryan walked briskly to Micah’s site, making eye contact with Logan as he approached and changed his point of entry, so he had a chance to size up the guy in question.

“I’ve bumped him back three times already,” Logan muttered, arms crossed, and dark eyes narrowed at the man. “That’s right, buddy. Keep your ‘oops-hands’ off her.”

Shoving the small bag of paint into his back pocket, he watched as the guy inched forward, his hand lifting to rest on Micah’s chair. “I got this.”

Skirting the audience, he came up behind Micah and the guy, making no apologies as he spread out between them. “Periwinkle at your service,” he announced, passing her the bag and straightening to his full height. “Everything going well?”

“Aside from dipshit over there, yeah,” she said loudly, making eye contact with the guy. “You’ve been told to back off three times, buddy. Next time, Ryan here will be making the request. And he’s not anyone you want to go up against.”

He straightened, faced the man, and crossed his arms, cocking a brow in a silent challenge.

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