“Or fucking don’t listen to me,” he grumbles, as I yank the piece from my ear. After shoving it back into my pack, I use my size to my advantage and bulldoze through the people separating me from her. I step into view just as the man reaches behind his back for what I can only assume is a weapon.
“Dr. Hart?” I call brightly, and far too loudly, as I walk toward them. “Dr. Hart? Hey! I thought it was you!”
The man stiffens. As he freezes, his eyes flick to me, irritation flashing before it morphs into something even colder. He grouses under his breath and steps backward, disappearing into the shadows with a curt whisper.Fucking coward.
I take a step toward Blake, closing the distance between us but stopping well short of her personal space with my palms up in exaggerated surrender and a broad smile across my face. “Hey.”
She stares back at me, wide-eyed. Her lips are pressed into a thin line like she isn’t sure whether or not I’m a threat. It takes a moment, but her body relaxes slightly. “You’re… you’re?—”
“The mildly delusional guy who definitely doesn’t have a sprained ankle. Or Jagger for short,” I finish for her. Her gaze flits down the now-empty alley, then back to me. I nod toward the market. “How about we get out of murder row before it starts smelling like regret and poor life choices?”
She catches her laugh, glaring at me like she’s annoyed that I’m actually charming and a little funny. “Fine,” she huffs before stepping past me.
We reenter the market, swallowed by the throng of stalls, and quickly blend in with the crowd. I walk beside her in silence, matching her pace and letting her know that I’m not a threat. I can feel the tension bleeding off her in tiny increments with every stride, though her jaw stays tight and she keeps glancing over her shoulder.Don’t worry, Doc… I’ve got you.
“So…” I start conversationally, keeping my tone deliberately light, “you come here often?”
She looks up at me and rolls her eyes at the cheesy line. “Every now and then. I like the produce here better than the little market by the hospital.”
I raise a brow, glancing around at the overflowing crates and hanging herbs. “Makes sense. It’s hard to beat fruit this fresh.”
Her lips twitch, almost to a smile. “And I get to meet the locals.”
“Truly living dangerously,” I acknowledge, referring to the man in the alley.
She huffs softly. “That’s not the kind of people I come out here to meet.”
“Noted.” I tilt my head. “I’m not big on cornering women, but I get it. You do kind of have a talent for standing out.”
She gives me a sideways look, skeptical but curious. “You say that like it’s intentional.”
“Maybe not, but some people draw attention whether they want it or not. You’re one of them.”
She considers that for a moment, then exhales a small huff of a laugh. “You’re awfully confident for someone who barely knows me.”
“Occupational hazard,” I reply. “Reading people is kind of my thing.”
Her gaze lingers on me a second longer before she looks ahead, and I catch the moment her shoulders ease—just a fraction—as if she’s decided I’m not entirely full of shit.
She shakes her head, amusement flickering across her face, and I notice it—the way her brown eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. The way her posture loosens, a fraction, like she’s finally letting herself breathe.
We move from stall to stall, passing baskets of bright vegetables and fragrant spices, making small talk about trivial things: which fruits we prefer and which bread is worth the wait at an upcoming stall. She relaxes incrementally, her sarcasm sharpening as her fear dulls until she’s throwing quips and sarcastic remarks back at me. Her humor is dry and understated, but it hits like a punch.
At a tomato stand, she pauses for a second as she reaches toward the basket. It’s almost imperceptible, but my week of surveillance has trained me well. “Everything okay?” I ask softly, keeping one eye on the crowd.
“Fine.” She dips her head with a curt smile, turning over the fruit in her hand. “Just checking that they’re ripe and don’t have bruises.”
I nod, unconvinced, scanning the sea of people for the man in the black polo or any other potential shadows as we walk through the maze of vendors.
“Listen, you should be careful,” I share casually as we turn a corner. Right now, she’s in front of me and safe. Though I can’t help but wonder if she realizes exactly how big a threat that man actually was, or if there are more men with him. “Not everyone here is… friendly.”
Her gaze slides to me, wary and a bit suspicious. “I’m aware,” she exhales.
“I’m just saying, it’s probably best if you don’t come here alone.” I pause, my warning hanging between us as the already-thick air grows palpably tense.She doesn’t need more threats, dumbass. She needs reassurance.“If you want someone to come here with you, I’d be more than willing.”
She lets out a small breath and lightly grasps my forearm. “Thanks.”
I smile genuinely. “Anytime.”
