“Oh, I am so sorry,” she said, those eyes getting bigger as she slid off the stool. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
Her gaze flicked past me to the men at the door. Shifting back a step, the color drained from her face, a primal awareness kicking in. Too late.
A muted, discordant twang of guitar strings sounded under her trembling hand as she set the guitar aside.
She looked around again.
I planted my feet wider, ready to give chase if she bolted.
Instead, she took a deep breath and, lifting her chin, looked directly at me. Her voice wavered slightly. “Can I help you with something, sir?”
A slow smile pulled at the corners of my mouth. I ignored the tight pull low in my gut when she called me “sir.”
“Yes,” I said, voice low. “You can.”
CHAPTER 2
ANNA
Every single nerve in my body screamed to run.
A tall, muscled man with a Russian accent tinged with a hint of British, ink visible beneath tailored suit cuffs, did not walk into a hole-in-the-wall, vintage music store in Georgetown in the middle of the afternoon.
Something was wrong.
Behind him a trio of goons stood right outside the front door, blocking the quickest way to freedom.
I could run upstairs, but then I would be trapped.
There was a back door but that wasn’t much better since it only led to a bricked-up, dank back alley.
My best option was out that front door.
“Are you interested in buying an instrument, or perhaps some vinyl?” I asked, praying my voice wasn’t shaking with fear.
“I prefer classical music, but I’ve been told I need to experience the controlled chaos of American jazz.” His words were calm and controlled. Was I overreacting to this situation? “I hear it is best experienced on vinyl.”
My mother always accused me of overreacting. Maybe she had a point.
I did have a flair for the dramatic.
“It’s best experienced live,” I responded.
He was just a customer, nothing more.
An attractive and imposing customer, but still just a customer.
I’d pick out a few albums and he’d leave.
“But if that is not an option or maybe a little too much out of your comfort zone, then vinyl is a close second. Was there a particular artist or style you were hoping to hear?”
I clasped my hands behind my back, not wanting him to see me tap the tips of each of my fingers on my thumbs to calm my nerves. A trick one of my mother’s staffers taught me when I didn’t want to stand next to her on stage while she gave a speech.
That staffer was nice. She didn’t last long. They never did, around my mother.
I couldn’t shake the feeling I was in danger, and yet he hadn’t even stepped further into the store.
He’d kept his distance. Deceptively so. As if he were trying to lull me into a false sense of security.
