Page 10 of The Daredevil

“We were never friends, and I don’t consider it a loss. I’m only a contractor and not a full-time employee. She has to be respectful to those paying her, right?”

“True. Let me give you a tour of our office. Then you can go home and let everything sink in before brainstorming your marketing strategy. Today is a good day to browse the city. Weather isn’t too cold yet for mid-September.”

The office building was small, with a lot of glass walls and doors. I met Margaret Evans, the CEO. She was an older woman with short brown hair, giving her a classy look. We’d chatted when she hired me, but it was always good to meet someone in person versus seeing their faces on the computer screen. The company employed about fifty people, including the spa staff. Though it was small, everyone appeared excited about their products.

When the tour and greetings ended, I opted to browse the city. I loved staying in the city, which gave me easy access to everything. I could have waited for a taxi, but what better way to explore than on foot?

Maybe I could see if that gift shop was still around. I’d bought a pair of customized earrings back then, but lost one of them. They had been a gift to myself, and the designer—a young man—created them for me while I waited in the shop. That had been seven years ago.

I went to the shopping area and glanced around. That location was now a hair salon. My heart sank, and I muttered, “Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.”

Disappointed, I walked back toward my apartment three blocks away. Footsteps sounded behind me. I turned just as a man yanked at my purse and held out a knife in my direction. Instincts had me blocking, screaming like a madwoman, and kicking him. My reaction probably startled him, and he shoved me as he ran off. The force sent me to the ground, scraping my hands.

The asshole! My belongings!

Everything happened so fast. I got up and ran after the thief. He wore a blue cap with a brown jacket and dark pants.

“Stop! Someone help me! He stole my purse!”

Fear of losing my personal items in a foreign country—which would be a disaster trying to get everything replaced—forced me to run faster. Accustomed to running, I didn’t lag too far behind him in heeled boots. But his long legs enabled him to stay ahead of me.

The thief ran across the street, but a car blocked him. He rounded the hood and continued. The driver got out of the car and rushed after him. Was that Royce? People stopped in the streets, watching Royce punch the thief and then grab my purse with one hand. With his free hand, Royce gripped the thief by the throat, pushing his back against the wall of a building.

“You fucker!”

“Royce!” I approached him, but the deadly look on his face made me stay a few feet away.

Royce looked at me, and the green eyes that had intrigued me earlier sent a sharp chill running down my spine. At that moment, they looked glacial, like they could freeze the blood in my body. His gaze slid to my hand, which was absently rubbing the scrapes.

“You okay?” he asked, his elbow pressed into the thief’s neck.

“Yeah.” I lifted my palms. “Just minor scrapes.”

The thief paled as he tried to yank Royce’s elbow away.

Fearing that Royce would kill the man, I placed a gentle hand on his back. “Thank you for getting my purse back.”

“Royce, what’s going on here?” asked a police officer with dirty blond hair. He wore a dark uniform and held a baton in hand.

Police officers in Iceland didn’t carry guns, which struck me as a little strange. Maybe this country had a better handle on gun control.

The other police officer with red hair stepped up to Royce. “We’ll take over.”

Royce removed his elbow from the man. “He stole her purse and injured her hands.”

The police officer with dirty blond hair looked at me. “Are you okay, miss? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“Oh, no. I’m fine. I just want my purse back.”

Royce spoke to the police officers in Icelandic. Based on the casual conversation, he knew them. The police officers handcuffed the thief and shoved him into their car.

Royce turned to me, gripped my wrists, and examined my hands. “Do they hurt?”

The contact warmed me down to my toes, and the chill from his green eyes disappeared, leaving me mesmerized by how much emotion he revealed in them.

“I’m fine. I was more nervous about losing my wallet.”

He handed me my purse and watched as I checked for missing items. I felt his stare on me, and my body yearned for him, which didn’t make sense at all.

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