Page 98 of Every Step She Takes
Earlier, I thought I’d be safe in public. Iamsafe. We’re surrounded by people on a busy sidewalk. I just need to be sure he doesn’t take me anyplace private, and I’m not stupid enough to allow–
Cold presses against my side, and this time it isn’t a knife. It’s a gun.
“Keep walking,” he says again in a voice so pleasant it chills me even more than that icy gun barrel.
I glance at him.
“Eyes forward, Lucy,” he says. “We’re just a happy couple out for a stroll.” Another two steps. “I think it’s time you and I had a chat, don’t you?”
I look around.
“You could do that,” he says, his voice still conversational. “It’s a busy street. You can scream. You can run. And you can find out how serious I am about pulling this trigger.”
Another two steps.
“Have you ever seen hit men in movies?” he asks. “They go through elaborate schemes to eliminate a target. It’s Hollywood bullshit. A silenced gun. A busy street. A nondescript guy who shoots and keeps walking. Or maybe he’ll shout for help.Oh, my God, this woman just fell to the sidewalk! She needs medical attention!Then as the crowd gathers, he slips away, invisible.”
My heart thuds so loud I struggle to speak. “Is that what you are? A hit man?”
“Mmm, no, that’s a very specific job description, and I’m much more flexible. You killed Isabella Morales, Lucy, and someone has decided they can’t rely on the justice system to see actual justice done. You–”
“Excuse me,” says a voice in a heavy Italian accent.
The man pretends not to hear and walks faster, but then he stops short as the speaker grabs his gun arm.
Marco’s gaze doesn’t even flick my way. He just meets my captor’s glare with a disarming smile.
“Excuse me,” Marco says again. “I look for… I look for 9/11 monument, yes?”
“Take your goddamn hand off my–”
“The 9/11 Memorial?” I say quickly, as if trying to get rid of this tourist.
Marco releases the man and turns my way. “Grazie.”
I give directions. As I do, I cut my gaze subtly toward the gun. The man looks as if he has his hand casually resting on my back, jacket draped over his arm. The gun must be hidden beneath it. Marco nods without even following my gaze. He’s already figured that out – the jacket over an arm in June is a giveaway.
Marco asks me to repeat a few parts of my directions. My captor grows increasingly impatient, but he doesn’t dare make a scene.
“Lincoln subway station, yes?” Marco says.
“Right. You want to head back to the Lincoln Center subway–”
I’m not even sure what Marco does then. It happens too fast. I’m midsentence, and he’s listening intently. Then I’m shoved aside, and when I catch my balance, he’s got my attacker by the arm. A sharp twist, and Marco is bouncing away, holding the jacket in a bundle.
“And I’m not going to tell you again!” Marco says, slamming his open palm into the man’s chest, his accent American now. “I catch you sniffing around my girl, and I will kick your ass. You got it?”
People part around them, as if the two men are traffic cones that shot up from the concrete.
Marco continues his diatribe as my stalker struggles to regain his mental footing. I spot an available cab and leap to the curb, waving. Marco doesn’t seem to notice, but he has the handle before the taxi rolls to a stop, yanking open the door and bustling me inside. He climbs in behind me as I tell the driver, “Just drive.”
My stalker lunges for the door as the cab pulls away. I spin on Marco. “What–?”
“PCTracy,” he says, extending a hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
We’re in a hotel. I don’t know which one. Some grand old dame near the park. Everything else is a blur as Marco bustles me in and up the elevator. It’s only after I step into the room that I turn to him.
