Even Jack understood my tone presaged a violent eruption.
Okay. So maybe I was hyper-touchy about my height. It was kinda hard not to be when it was all people seemed to focus on.
I’m short. I get it. It doesn’t make me incapable. Let’s move on.
Jack gestured futilely toward the door.
“He’s bigger than you, Chiara.”
“Brilliant deduction, Sherlock.”
“Don’t be like this.”
“Like what?”
“There’s nothing to prove here.”
“I’m not trying toproveanything, Jack. I’m just going to tell the paparazzi to go away.”
“Calling the police will have the same effect. Why don’t we do that?”
“I don’t need the police. I’m perfectly capable of doing this on my own.”
Jack rolled his eyes. It was a decidedly exasperated motion. I had that effect on men.
“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he said.
The lonely little girl part of me sat up at his words.He cares,she whispered.I know he cares about me. I’m special.
I shook the thought away and waved my mace again. “I’m not going to be.”
Jack clearly did not know me as well as he thought he did. I could handle this. Besides, no one came creeping around Jack’s house when the poor guy couldn’t defend himself. I was the only one who could defend Jack against the outside world. And I took my commitment to my ghost guyfriend very seriously.
I threw open the front door and walked outside, knowing full well that Jack couldn’t follow me if he wanted to avoid being photographed transparent and ghostlike.
Summer sun hit, a blast furnace of heat and light. Cicadas buzzed, white noise background against the chirp of birds and the far-off rumble of a tractor.
I gripped my mace tightly and moved around the side of the house, feet crunching softly on the gravel. The house cast a deep shadow on this side, the shade dropping the temperature at least fifteen degrees. The gravel extended around the villa, but here ivy and night jasmine climbed over the stone walls with planters of lemons and oranges tucked against the shelter of the building.
The unknown photographer was peering through a window into lower rooms that had once housed the old kitchens and wine cellars. Nothing to see there, that was for sure.
“Hey!” I yelled.
He flinched, whipping his camera around, body tense and ready for a fight.
Yeah. This was one of the über-aggressive ones.
Registering my small size, his snarl turned into a sneer. His eyes roamed over me, blatantly lurid. He took a step away from the villa, walking toward me.
I swallowed. The slightest thread of unease trickled through me. Jack wasn’t going to be any help if this guy decided to do something. The police wouldn’t arrive soon enough.
Maybe this hadn’t been my brightest idea ever.
Another classic example of my impulsive behavior sabotaging me.
“Hello, beautiful. Lost your mommy?” His Italian was saturated with Naples and innuendo.
Blind fury flushed any trace of concern straight out of my body. I would eat this guy’s liver for lunch.
