Page 5 of Stalked

She was skittish, scared. She’d been that way since the moment she’d walked in. It made him want to wrap an arm around her, pull her close and tell her to take a breath. He’d protect her from whatever demons she was trying to fight.

It surprised him a little that he felt that way. His entire life had been spent helping people, first as an FBI agent, then as he was recruited into Omega Sector. But usually he was more at a distance, less personal.

He already felt personal with this woman and he didn’t even know her name.

“I’m sure you could’ve handled them. I just was doing my fatherly duty.”

She snorted and humor lit her blue eyes. “Father, my ass. You’re what? Thirty-nine? Forty?”

“Forty-one.”

“Oh. Well, he should’ve saidgrandfather, then.”

Her smile was breathtaking. Steve couldn’t stop himself from taking a step toward her. “I’m Steve Drackett.”

She shook his outstretched hand. He knew the thought that a flash of heat hit them both as their skin touched was both melodramatic and sentimental. Steve was neither of those things.

But he still felt the heat.

“I’m Rosalyn.”

No last name. He didn’t press. It was just another sign she was trouble, but Steve somehow couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Can an old man buy you a drink or something?”

She studied him hard as they finally released hands. They were halfway between the bar and the door. He honestly wasn’t sure which way she’d choose. To stay with him or to leave.

She ended up choosing both.

“May I ask you something?” She slid her tote more fully onto her shoulder. She had to step a little closer so they could hear each other over the noise in the bar. He found himself thankful for the chaos around them.

“Sure.”

“Are you some sort of psycho? A killer or deranged stalker or both?”

She asked the question so seriously Steve couldn’t help but laugh. “Nope. Scout’s honor.” He held up his hand in what he was sure was an incorrect Scout salute. “I’m an upstanding member of society. Although you know if I was a crazy killer, I probably wouldn’t answer that question honestly.”

She shrugged, her eyes back to being haunted. “I know. I guess I just wanted you to tell me so I could see if I would believe you.”

“Do you?”

She smiled so sadly it damn near broke his heart. “I think so. Or maybe I just don’t care anymore. And to answer your question, yes, you can buy me a drink. But let’s get out of here.”

CHAPTER THREE

Rosalyn knew her actions bordered on reckless. Even if she hadn’t known she had a deranged stalker following her every move, leaving a bar with a man she’d just met would still have been pretty stupid.

He’d laughed—in a kind way, but still obviously thinking she was joking—when she’d asked if he was a killer or crazy. But like he’d said, no true villain would give her an honest answer about that.

Actually, she believed the Watcher would. If she ever met him face-to-face and asked him outright if he was her stalker, she believed he might actually tell her.

Steve Drackett wasn’t the Watcher. He might be an ordinary garden-variety psycho, but he wasn’t the psycho she was desperately attempting to escape right now.

And in that case, she was willing to take her chances with him.

She looked up at him as he led her to the door. He had joked about being a grandpa but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. His brown hair might be graying just the slightest bit at the temples, but that was the only sign whatsoever that he wasn’t a man fifteen years younger. His green eyes seemed kind, at least to her, but the rest of his face was hard and unforgiving. Stark cheekbones, strong chin. Definitely not a pretty face but very much a handsome one.

His body was well honed—the black T-shirt Steve wore left no doubt he was in excellent physical shape. His khaki shorts were quite appropriate for a bar in Florida on a May evening, but she doubted it was what he normally wore. She was positive the flip-flops weren’t.

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