Page 8 of Deadly Threat
He gave her a lopsided, hopeful grin.
She didn’t reciprocate. He’d no doubt seen her on the news after what happened, her photo on every newspaper, magazine, and website. Disguises only hid so much. “Look, whoever you are, I just want to be left alone. Please.”
The smile fell off his face. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’ll find another meeting.”
There was something so genuine in his voice, and he seemed so disturbed that she feared him, it made her hesitate. As he began to walk away, she realized she wasn’t freaking out—not panic-attack level, anyway. Same as that morning, she was unnerved, but her internal radar wasn’t going off.
“Wait.” She stepped from the building’s shadow. “Why do you need a meeting?”
He slowed and turned to face her. “Got some bad news earlier, and it was accompanied by the fact I can’t control what’s going on in regard to it.”
She knew that feeling. “Bad news sucks.”
He nodded and pivoted to leave.
“I have control issues, too,” she called. “Which is why I have social anxiety. Logically, I know I can’t govern people and situations, but because I can’t, I freak out sometimes. Which leads to even less control and patronizing sympathy from those around me.”
Ladybug leaned into her leg, full of support. Mia’s pulse raced and her ears were filled with the sounds of a car passing by. But she wasn’t panicking.
This is good. Maybe the old me really is back.
The man stopped, keeping his body pointed away from her. Did he think she might run if he faced her again? “Do the meetings help?”
They weren’t Disneyland, but at times, easier than therapy where the spotlight was all on her. “Sometimes. I haven’t been to one in a while.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Did you also get bad news?”
She chuckled without an ounce of humor. “I should consider it good, actually.”
His massive body turned slowly, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking slightly confused. She couldn’t blame him, she was, too.
Keeping her phone in hand, she glanced around. A few folks were venturing out again, now that the rain had stopped. There were more cars roaming the area. It wasn’t a nasty neighborhood, just tired, she thought.
Know that feeling.“I should be happy. Pumped up, really,” she explained. Why wasn’t she? “Instead, a part of me wants to go on hiding, stay safe.”
“Not journey out into the world,” he added.
It was said so softly, she wondered if he’d intended for her to hear. “Yes, that. It’s a crutch, according to my therapist.”
“We all need a few of those.” He continued to keep his distance. “A buddy of mine has walled himself off from mostly everything. He was a Marine, like me, and used to be unstoppable.” Malachi smiled, as if remembering better days. “After some shit went down in Chad, though, he was never the same. Has nightmares and a load of social anxiety.”
So he understood. At least a little.
Wait. Am I actually having this conversation?
She forced herself to breathe in through her nose and out through her mouth. Her skepticism had reached an all-time high, but this was still too surreal.
He could be lying. Leading her on. Creating some kind of false security.
But why?
She ran a hand over her face. God, she was still so paranoid.
No one is after you anymore. You don’t need to worry about being kidnapped, she heard her therapist cajole. That voice morphed into Amber’s, the two of them a chorus in her head.
In spite of her attempts to rationalize the situation, the piece of her that still hadn’t recovered, wasn’t on board. Not yet. She reached in her bag for her stun gun. The cool metal and plastic gave her back some control. “Marines, huh?”
He nodded and looked casual, but she saw how he watched for her hand, now inside the messenger bag. “My twin brother and I joined up and served our country. He was caught in a bad situation, lost some good friends and nearly his life. Scared the shit out of me. We both left after that. He’s carrying more baggage than I am, but he lets off steam on a frequent basis. I tend to keep it bottled up.”
