Page 11 of Edge of Ruin
At the grocery checkout stand in Pebble River, we eyed each other’s choices with furtive curiosity. I had gone for the fruits and veggies mostly, stuff from the health food section. He was more classic in his tastes, and definitely a carnivore, but most of his groceries were real food, not empty junk. Which did not surprise me, when I looked at his amazing body. Which I did, at every opportunity.
In the parking lot, he turned to me as soon as he started up the engine. “Let’s get some food,” he said.
“Didn’t we just?”
“I mean a restaurant. You like Mexican?”
“Uh, yes,” I admitted, and suddenly, the idea of a plate of steaming, cheese- smothered enchiladas took me by storm. Oh my God, yes.
The meal went smoothly enough, at first. He started by asking me for a rundown of the security situation, so I munched on the freshly fried tortilla chips with fabulous fresh salsa and pico de gallo, and regaled him with the long and harrowing tale of Lucia’s death, the gift of the necklaces, the abductions of my two sisters, and the evil Ulf Haupt and his demonic minion, John. Both of whom were convinced that the D’Onofrio sisters could reveal the whereabouts of these mysterious lost sketches, whatever they were, if sufficiently terrified or tortured. I took off my necklace and showed it to him, the last of the trio that Lucia had given to us. He squinted at it for a while, from every angle, and handed it back, shaking his head.
“Un-fucking-believable,” was his laconic comment.
“Tell me about it,” I agreed, fervently.
Then he started asking questions about me. I told him about studying art in New York, and about my brief and dizzying burst of artistic success when I signed the contract with Brian’s gallery. I did not mention my personal relationship with Brian, or why I had broken the contract and run. In fact, I started glossing over more and more details as I went. That cool, assessing look in his eyes shut me up. It was as if he thought he knew something about me. Or rather, like he’d already made up his mind.
“So, you just left everything you built when it was all going so well, and ran off into the sunset to find yourself?” he asked.
My chin went up as I bristled. “I suppose you could say that, if you were being unkind. I didn’t like the way the gallery management was pushing me around. I decided I’d do better on the road, on the crafts fair circuit, developing my own designs. With nobody breathing down my neck.”
“I guess you must hate that more than anything.”
I frowned at him, confused. “Excuse me? Hate what?”
“Having someone breathing down your neck,” he specified.
I chewed on that for a thoughtful minute. “Depends on the person,” I said. “And what they want from me.”
“Doesn’t it always,” he said. “Did you break any hearts when you ran?”
My belly clenched. Yikes. His hidden agenda was rearing its horned, fanged head, big-time. “That sounds like a trick question,” I said. “Extremely personal, too.”
“Sorry,” he said, sounding anything but. “Just wondering.”
I stared down at my half-eaten enchiladas. My appetite was swiftly fading.
“So you did leave someone,” he said.
My teeth clenched. “I broke up with the man I was seeing before I left, but I had damn good reason.”
“Yeah? What was that?”
Well, actually, I found out that he was the devil, I wanted to say, but didn’t, it being none of his damn business. Besides, I didn’t want him to think I was a total shit magnet, considering my current problems. “I’m not sure I like your tone,” I said.
He lifted his shoulders. “I didn’t mean to offend.”
“You have no right to judge me, you know,” I told him.
“I’m not judging.”
The fuck he wasn’t. From there, the conversation went swiftly downhill. I did my part, but his responses were terse monosyllables. And his shuttered, glittering stare was starting to unnerve me.
I took a fortifying swallow of my margarita and stared him straight in the eye. “Look, Mr. Kendrick?—”
“Call me Jack.”
“Okay, Jack. Just tell me what’s on your mind, okay?”
