Page 6 of Dark Medicine

“You remembered that, did you?” she said with a small grin.

“I rarely forget anything that has to do with a woman’s safety, particularly a woman I’m interested in and find exceptionally beautiful.”

Fiona looked sideways at him. He was so sure of himself, so confident and secure in speaking with her. For the first time, she noticed that he was easily ten years older than she was. The smattering of silver through his jet-black hair was more visible in the daylight, but it did little to deter from his classic features.

Blessed with a granite jaw, a perfectly angled nose, high sharp cheekbones, and the most beautiful mouth Fiona had ever seen, Adam Thorn was beyond handsome. His blue eyes drew her in every time she looked at him. He was simply spectacular.

“If you’re done assessing me, I’d like an answer,” he said casually.

“Oh geez! Sorry, Adam, it’s just that, well, I’ve never met anyone like you. I mean, I’ve dated men, not recently, but you’re different.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know. More, more confident, more secure in yourself, more mature.”

“So, I’m old,” he said with a grin.

“That’s not what I said at all. But since you brought it up, how old are you?”

“I’m thirty-seven. How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-seven,” she said. Adam raised an eyebrow. She was a few years older than he’d originally thought, but still, ten years was quite a separation.

“Now, running at Wicklow alone,” he asked impatiently.

“Christ, you must have gone to the same military school as my brother. You just don’t give up. All right, already. I used to run up there every weekend, both days, Saturday and Sunday. I have a friend who owns a bed and breakfast, and I would stay up there or just use it as a place to change.” She looked at his face, waiting patiently for the story to conclude.

“Anyway, I went up one weekend about two months ago and started my run on Saturday. She told me to be careful as there were gypsies in the area, and they’d been aggressive with some of the locals.”

“Gypsies? Like, wagons and pickpockets?” he asked.

“Not exactly, but sort of. Ireland has a large population of gypsies who travel around in travel trailers and just set up camp wherever they feel like it. They don’t like to be called gypsies. They prefer their ethnic name of Romany. Most are hardworking and find honest jobs. But there are always those that ruin it for others.” She took a deep breath and turned onto the main highway headed to Wicklow.

“So, I went for my morning run. I was about halfway through when three men stepped out from beneath a small stone bridge. At first, I wasn’t going to stop, but they spread out across the road as if to block it.”

Adam curled his hands into fists, rubbing his thighs hard. Men who abused women, children, or animals were the lowest form of beings, in his opinion.

“I asked them to move, but they said they wanted me to join them for a party. When I refused, one of them reached out for me. I kicked him in the groin hard. His mates didn’t like that and started towards me. My brother taught me to punch hard in the throat, so I did. The second one fell, and I knew that was my chance. I started running. He tried to run after me, but I’m fast, and I was warmed up.”

“Did you report it to the police?” he asked.

“I did. They said they’d moved on, but I gave a description anyway. The thing is, the next day, I decided I would run again, but took some pepper spray with me. They were in the same place again, but I saw them quick enough to turn around before they saw me. They hadn’t moved on at all.”

“Did you go back to the authorities?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “My friend said they most likely had paid the authorities to ignore their presence. It was the last time I ran up there alone. I’ve been a few times with friends, but most don’t run as far as me.”

“Well, there’s no guarantee I’ll run as far as you either, but I won’t let you run alone,” he said, reaching for her hand. There it was again, the zap up his arm. She had no ailments, no bruises, no scrapes, nothing. “Your hands are healed.”

She whipped her head quickly to stare at him. He was calm and cool as he held her hand, palm up. Fiona tried to pull her hand away, but he held tightly.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“I saw, Fiona. I saw your hand was scraped pretty bad last night. It’s completely healed this morning,” he said.

“You’re mistaken. It was just a small scrape. I put some cream on it, and it was great this morning,” she lied. She hated lying to this man. She lied to every person she’d ever known who picked up on her little “gift,” but somehow, lying to this man made her stomach hurt.

“Maybe I was mistaken,” he said calmly, not wanting her to become frightened and leave. “You said your brother had military training?”

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