LITMIR.BIZ

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women’s underthings. “Well, maybe it would just be better for me to come to security. What time will you be in?”

      Two things occurred to Marnie as she asked the question. Number one, that although she knew most of the mall security guards by name and all of them by sight, this guy wasn’t one she recognized. And number two, his uniform didn’t hug his physique so snugly because he was muscular and well-formed—though, granted, he was certainly muscular and well-formed. It was because the uniform was two sizes too small.

      She dropped her gaze to the gold-tone name tag each of the security guards wore and saw that his said “Randy Fink.” Which was funny, because he didn’t seem like a Randy Fink at all. Who did seem like a Randy Fink was Randy Fink, a mall security guard who made regular rounds in Lauderdale’s. Him, Marnie knew well. And he was indeed both randy and a fink. The man who stood before her now was neither. Well, not a fink anyway—she couldn’t speak for the other. He wasn’t Randy Fink, though, that was for sure.

      Before she could say a word to point that out, her rescuer—such as he was—reached down to unsnap the holster of his gun. Marnie had always thought it a bit extreme for the mall to arm its security guards when the greatest enemy for most of them seemed to be the kielbasa at Hank’s Franks. Now it scared her even more that the mall security guards went around armed.

      He spoke then, finally, in a voice that was deep and smooth and even more velvety than her attacker’s. The words he spoke, however, were just as puzzling. “Enough with the games, Lila.” He fingered the handle of the gun that rose out of his holster. “I was hoping you’d come along peacefully, but now I’m not so sure. And I really don’t want to have to do this the hard way.”

      Funnily enough, it didn’t scare Marnie this time when a strange—and she meant that in more than one sense of the word—man called her by a name that wasn’t her own. No, this time, it kind of ticked her off. Whoever this Lila was, she really got around. And her choice of men left a lot to be desired. Marnie was sick and tired of being confused with her.

      She had infinitely better morals than Lila for one thing. Maybe she didn’t attract a lot of men—or any lately—but the ones with whom she had been involved had not carried weapons, or engaged in fisticuffs, or threatened women, or slunk around in dark parking lots. She did have some standards. Which, now that she thought about it, might explain why she hadn’t attracted a lot of men—or any lately.

      But that was beside the point.

      The point was…Hmm. Well, she seemed to have forgotten the point. Anyway, it was better to live one’s life alone than to be involved with guys like the ones Lila dated. So there.

      “I am not Lila,” she said adamantly for the third time, to the third man, that night. “I don’t know who Lila is, and I don’t know why you guys keep thinking I’m her. But lemme tell ya something. If I were her? First thing I’d do is torch my little black book and start over again. Because the men that woman attracts are just plain odd.”

      The faux Randy Fink continued to gaze at Marnie in the same way he had before—as if he weren’t buying any of it. And he remained silent in light of her remarks.

      She sighed heavily. “What do you want?” she asked calmly. Because so far tonight, she’d experienced, let’s see…fear, panic, confusion, terror, relief, happiness—oh, all right and a little lust for a minute there when she got that first good look at her rescuer—bewilderment, anger and sarcasm. Yep, calmness was about the only emotion she hadn’t felt tonight. And she figured she might as well just get them all over with, so she could go back to the beginning and begin once more with fear, since she figured fear was what she probably ought to be feeling again.

      Faux Randy’s eyes narrowed at her question. “You know what I want, Lila.”

      “No, I don’t, actually,” Marnie told him. “The first guy I met tonight wanted to give me this stupid manuscript. The second guy wanted to take it away from me. You seem to want to shoot me. At this point, I have no idea what to expect. So I’m asking you again. What do you want?”

      Faux Randy settled his whole hand on the butt of his gun. Uh-oh. She’d been joking about that. Still, he did seem to be weighing the prospect of shooting her against the prospect of answering her question, so maybe there was still hope for a good outcome. Or, at the very least, an outcome that didn’t involve gunfire.

      “First,” he said, “I want to know where you’ve been for the past five months.”

      Well, that was easy enough to answer. In a vague, I’m not-giving-out-my-address-to-strange-in-more-than-one-sense-of-the-word-men kind of way.

      “I’ve been here,” she said.

      Maybe if she could keep him talking long enough, a real security guard would come along. Not that she trusted a single person on the entire planet at this point. Except maybe Bob Troutman, who, she knew, would be a slimy little git no matter the circumstances. Which currently made Bob Troutman the only human being on the planet Marnie would trust at this point. And of all the things that were going to keep her awake tonight, that one had to be the most troubling.

      “Where’s here?” Faux Randy asked.

      “Cleveland,” Marnie said. “Ohio. I was born and raised here. Save five years in Columbus to go to college, I’ve always lived here.”

      “Right,” he replied in a way that indicated he believed not a word of what she said. “So I guess we are going to have to do this the hard way.” And with that, he did pull his weapon, and he pointed it right at Marnie’s heart.

      Okay, cycling back to fear again.

      “Look, this is nuts,” she said. She tried to hold up her hands, but thanks to the manuscript, could raise one only to shoulder height. Still, she turned both hands palm out. “I don’t understand any of what’s happened tonight, and all I want is to be left alone. If it’s the manuscript you want, take it. But please, just leave me out of it.”

      “Oh, it’s definitely the manuscript I want,” he told her.

      “And I definitely will take it. But you know full well there’s something else I want. And I’m going to take it, too.”

      “What more could you possibly want?” Marnie asked.

      “You, Lila,” the man said without hesitation. “I want you.”

      CHAPTER THREE

      AT HEARING THE ROUGHLY uttered declaration, every one of those emotions went zinging right through Marnie again. Even lust, briefly, which said a lot about her so-called standards. But instead of going back to square one this time—fear—she put on the brakes at calmness. In spite of the gravity of her situation, she sensed something about this man that prevented her from feeling true fear.

      She had no idea why, but her instincts told her he wasn’t going to hurt her unless she badly provoked him, and she’d always been a strong believer in instincts. The way she saw it, human instinct had survived from caveman times, even when the overhanging forehead and unibrow had evolved into much nicer lines. Well, for people other than Bob Troutman, she meant. There had to be a reason for that. Other than that Bob Troutman was a Neanderthal, she meant. So she’d learned long ago to trust her instincts, and her instincts had never let her down.

      The man released the safety on his weapon with a deft flick of his thumb and sharpened his aim.

      Of course, there was a first time for everything.

      “Please,” she said, spreading her fingers in entreaty. “There’s got to be some way to get this all straightened out without anyone getting hurt. Please,” she said again, even more solicitously this time.

      “Give me the manuscript,” the man said. “Hold it out with one hand, very slowly. And don’t try anything funny, Lila. Because I will shoot you if I have to.”

      Marnie did as he asked, keeping one hand airborne as she gripped the envelope with the other and very carefully

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