“Sage is resilient,” he said. “Hard to kill once it takes root.” His words seemed weighted with meaning beyond the plant, and I found myself searching his face for clues. Did he suspect something? Was this entire meeting a test?
A man at the counter dropped his spoon, the metallic clatter making me flinch. Marcus noticed, his gaze sharpening at my reaction. “You seem jumpy today,” he observed, his voice deceptively casual.
I shrugged, aiming for nonchalance and missing by miles. “Just tired. Work’s been stressful.”
“Someone giving you trouble?”
“Something like that.” Not exactly a lie, but the deception tasted bitter on my tongue as it rolled out. I really was a horrible liar. Mainly because I hated when people lied to me and, therefore, I tried not to lie to others. Golden Rule and all.
A group of college students burst through the door, bringing with them the smell of rain and the ringing of laughter that seemed to belong to another world entirely, one carefree and minus all the intrigue and evil inhabiting mine. They shook water from their jackets, oblivious to the tension crackling at our small table in the corner.
“I missed you yesterday,” Marcus said after another stretch of silence. “After you left.”
The simple admission caught me in the center of my chest, a direct hit to whatever defenses I’d managed to construct. I swallowed hard against the sudden tightness in my throat. I had to fight not to rub my chest where the ache tightened painfully.
“I missed you too,” I whispered, the truth of it surprising me. Two tears slipped from my eyes and I ducked my head. I had missed him. I’d been looking forward to seeing him again. Of seeing everyone I’d met in the compound. Because, despite everything Detective Reeves had told me, I still had trouble with the fact that every single person in Kiss of Death I’d met had treated me with kindness and respect. The kiss I’d shared with Rancor had been the highlight of my life up to this point.
His expression softened just slightly, the barest hint ofwarmth in those dark eyes. For a moment, we were just two people sharing coffee on a rainy afternoon, nothing more complicated than that. But the moment passed like a shadow, reality reasserting itself between us. He was still while I fidgeted. If he didn’t already know what I’d done, I couldn’t hold out telling him if I stayed with him very long.
“Something happened,” he said, not a question but a statement of fact. “Between when you texted me and when you arrived at the compound yesterday. Something that changed you.”
The coffee turned to acid in my stomach. His perception was too sharp. And too accurate for my peace of mind. I stared down at my hands, unable to meet his gaze. “Marcus, I…” I began, but the words died in my throat. What could I say? That I was spying on him? That Detective Reeves had threatened to destroy the life I’d built for myself if I didn’t do what he’d told me? That I’d already betrayed him once and didn’t know if I could stop from doing it again because my cushy life was more important than his freedom? Yeah. Didn’t sound good to me either. He waited, patient as stone, for words I couldn’t find.
When he finally spoke, he measured his words carefully, like he tried to choose them so they’d have the desired effect. Or maybe my guilty conscience liked playing tricks. “Knight found something interesting yesterday,” Marcus said, his voice dropping lower, forcing me to lean forward to catch his words. “After you left.” The café noise receded as my focus narrowed to the man across from me, his words landing like stones in still water. “Surveillance equipment. Not ours.” He took another sip of coffee, his movements deliberate and unhurried despite the bomb he’d just dropped. He didn’t take his gaze from me, studying me hard. Which wasn’t unnerving in the least. “Police-grade, according to Knight. Very high-end. Very illegal without a warrant.”
My lungs seized, refusing to draw breath. The rim of my coffee cup clicked against my teeth as my hand shook. I set it down before I could spill, the ceramic making a hollow sound against the wooden table. “Where?” The question escaped before I could stop it, my voice barely audible even to my own ears.
Marcus’s gaze never wavered. “Kitchen, under the fridge.” The exact spot where I’d dropped the device I’d tried to plant. “Strange place for something like that to appear, don’t you think? Especially right after your visit.” He wasn’t accusing, just stating a fact. If he was angry, his expression betrayed nothing. Ice still flooded my veins. He knew. Or at least suspected.
My gaze darted toward the door, measuring the distance, wondering if I could make it before he grabbed me. As if reading my thoughts, Marcus shifted slightly in his chair, his posture relaxed but his position now subtly blocking my easiest path to the exit.
“I need to know if you’re in trouble,” he said, his voice so low I had to lean even closer to hear him. “Whatever it is, I can help you. Protect you.” The offer hung between us, sincere and impossible. My hands trembled harder, coffee sloshing over the rim of my cup onto my fingers. I didn’t feel the heat.
“You can’t,” I whispered, the words torn from somewhere deep and wounded.
“Try me.”
I stared at him, at the calm in his dark eyes, at the stillness of his large frame. The rain drummed against the windows, providing a soundtrack to my racing thoughts. How could I explain Reeves and the threats, the fabricated evidence? How could I admit what I’d already done? Marcus seemed to sense my struggle. He leaned back slightly, giving me space to breathe, and changed tactics.
“In Terre Haute,” he began, his voice still pitched for my ears alone, “I learned to read people. Had to. When you’resurrounded by men who’d kill you for looking at them wrong, you learn to spot trouble before it spots you.” He traced the rim of his cup in a slow, deliberate circle. “You watch for tells. The way someone’s pulse jumps in their throat when they’re lying. The micro-expressions that flash across their face before they can control them. The way fear shows in the eyes before the brain even processes the danger.” I swallowed hard, acutely aware of my own pulse hammering visibly at the base of my throat, of the cold sweat breaking out across my forehead, of every involuntary reaction my body was betraying me with.
“Most men in prison,” he continued, “they don’t know they’re about to snap until it’s already happening. But their bodies know. I learned to recognize the signs before trouble started so I could get out of the way.” His gaze dropped meaningfully to my fingers, which had begun tapping a nervous rhythm against the table. “In prison, knowing who’s about to break can save your life.”
The musician in the corner hit a discordant note, the sound jarring against the soft melody he’d been playing. Outside, a car horn blared, making me flinch. Every sound seemed magnified, every sensation heightened as adrenaline flooded my system.
“When I first got to Terre Haute,” Marcus said, “I was raw. Grieving and angry. Made me an easy target.” He pushed up one shirt sleeve slightly, revealing a thin, pale scar running along his forearm, different from the burn scar I’d noticed before. “Got this my second week. Guy came at me in the yard. I didn’t see it coming because I wasn’t paying attention to the signs.” I stared at the scar, physical evidence of the violence he’d survived. My gaze traveled up to the other mark on his face, the one I’d touched that day in the rain. “After that,” he continued, “I learned. Watched. Listened. Started noticing the patterns.” His voice remained calm, almost hypnotic. My tongue felt thick,useless in my mouth. I tried to swallow but couldn’t. “Right now,” he said, his gaze holding mine, “you’re showing every sign of someone who’s cornered.” As if to demonstrate, he reached across the table and gently covered my fidgeting fingers with one large hand. The warmth of his skin against mine shocked and grounded me. “I’ve seen fear like this before, Cora. Usually right before someone does something desperate.”
He touched me gently but with firm pressure, his calloused palm rough against the back of my hand. I stared at our hands, his so large it engulfed mine completely, and felt something inside me begin to crack. The weight of secrets, of fear, of choices made under duress pressed down until I could barely breathe.
“You don’t understand,” I whispered, my voice breaking on the last word. Tears tracked freely down my cheeks now.
“Then help me understand.” His thumb stroked across my knuckles, a gesture so tender it made my tears come even harder. “Whatever happened, whatever you did, we can fix it.” The certainty in his voice made something twist painfully in my chest.
“It’s not that simple.” I spoke barely above a whisper, my voice stretched thin with strain.
“It never is.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a small, sad smile. “But I’ve got time. And I’m here to help you if you’ll let me.”
Marcus waited, his hand still covering mine, patient as always. He didn’t push, didn’t demand. Just sat there, offering silent support while the rain continued its steady drumbeat against the windows and café life continued around us.
