Willow knew the warmly lit, vaulted interior of the historic Gare du Palais well. With St. Anne’s only a few blocks away, it was this very station she’d run to the night she fled without her sister. Now, she felt like a ghost moving beneath the high-ceilinged, Gothic-style, two-story brick building after so many years had passed . . . and after so much had happened in the last few days.
She didn’t realize she’d stopped walking until Razor paused and looked at her in concern. “What’s wrong?”
She slowly shook her head. “I never thought I’d come back here again. To this city. To the place I lost my sister for the first time.” She stared up into his stern, yet steadying gaze. “I’m scared.”
“Don’t be,” he said, and although he didn’t touch her, she felt his eyes move over every inch of her face like a caress. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’ll be right beside you. No one’s getting near you without going through me first, and they won’t get far, I promise you.”
“What if we’ve come all this way for nothing, Razor? I solved the code Laurel left for me in the book, but I have no idea what she wants me to do once I’m at St. Anne’s. What if I can’t figure it out? What if Sister Agathe won’t even let me into the house?”
An almost gentle smile tugged at the corners of his sensual mouth. “You let me worry about getting in, if that becomes a problem. As for you not being able to figure something out, not gonna happen, beautiful. I’ve seen your mind work. I’ve seen your tenacity. If there’s something your sister wanted you to do at that place, nothing’s going to keep you from figuring it out.”
Hearing the way he described her was a surprise. A warming one that touched her deeper than he could possibly know. She had always depended on herself as the woman he seemed to think she was, but after everything she’d been through, starting with Laurel’s horrific murder, it was hard to feel she was in control of anything.
Still, she forced a smile in spite of her self-doubt. She hated letting anyone see her weaknesses, and part of her desperately wanted to think she could have the strength and tenacity that Razor believed she had.
“You’re right,” she said, trying to sound confident and certain. “I’m sure I will feel better once I’ve had something to eat.”
He grunted, his usual response, while his eyes seemed to see right through her. “There’s a café over there, unless you want to find something better.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s fine. Anything will do. Let’s go.”
With a grim nod, his strong hand was at her elbow again and they headed for the little sandwich and coffee place across the station.
He led her to a small table in back, taking the seat that afforded him a clear line of sight to the café’s entrance. Willow took the chair across from him, so that her face was shielded from view to everyone with the exception of Razor. When the waitress came around to take their order Willow asked for water and the sandwich special.
“Black coffee,” Razor said when the young woman turned to him. After she was gone, Willow tilted her head at him in question.
“No sense broadcasting what I am,” he explained. “The more we can blend in, the less attention we draw to either one of us. Until I know who our enemies are, every time you’re out in public is a risk I’d rather not take.”
“Right.” She nodded, fiddling with the edge of the paper placemat on the table in front of her. “Thank you, Razor . . . for getting me this far.”
He studied her for a long moment, his gaze unreadable under the harsh slashes of his brows. “There’s no need to thank me. I’m doing this for myself because—”
“Yes, I know,” she cut in quietly. “You’re here because you feel you have a duty to protect me.”
He frowned and began to open his mouth, but at that same moment the waitress returned with his coffee. “You sure I can’t get you something more than this?”
He flicked his golden eyes up at her. Something in his gaze made the air tremble with a current of dark energy that Willow felt on the other side of the table.
“Just the coffee,” he said. “And the water and sandwich for the lady. Be quick about it. Bring the check with you when you come back.”
The waitress bobbed her head in eager compliance, then hurried away to obey him.
Willow stared, dropping her voice to barely a whisper. “You did something to her.”
He scoffed under his breath and gave her a bored look. “Just a small mental command. She’s none the wiser, but I’ll scrub her memory of any recollection of us before we leave just to be safe.”
“That’s a handy trick. Is that what you did back at the train station in Chicago too? What other cool things can you do?”
His mouth curved in acknowledgment, and the slow, sensual arc of his lips made her pulse beat a little faster. “You don’t really want to know about my methods. Even the harmless ones. Besides, this isn’t the time or place for questions.”
“That’s too bad, because I have hundreds of them.”
The admission slipped off her tongue before she could stop it. She stared at him, still transfixed by his wry smile and all the hard, far-too-handsome angles of his face. He wasn’t looking away from her, either.
His arresting eyes seemed to reach inside her from across the small table, making her feel both excited and afraid. Not afraid of him, but of the feelings he stirred in her.
The yearning . . . the undeniable physical need.
