Gift of Fire

his hazel eyes pinning her. Then he nodded once, apparently coming to a de ­ cision. “All right. I’ll go to your place. How far is it?”
    Mercy hesitated, trying to figure out the safest course of action. “Not far. Walking distance.” Once they were out on the street she would have a chance of calling at ­ tention to her situation, if she indeed was in a situation. Outside there were cars and pedestrians and other shopkeepers closing up for the night. She would feel much safer. “If you care to wait outside, I’ll just be a minute.”
    He nodded again, that single, economical movement of his head, and then turned, walked to the end of the aisle and disappeared.
    Mercy stared after him, holding her breath as she waited for the bell to sound, indicating he had actually left the shop. She couldn’t believe it was going to be this easy after all. The part of her that was convinced she was in jeopardy was still sending bursts of fight or flight signals through her nerves. But another part of her was perversely disappointed to see the stranger leave. She had never met a man who had such an instantaneous ef ­ fect on her senses. It was a strangely beguiling, if per ­ ilous experience.
    The bell didn’t tinkle and she didn’t hear the door open or close, but Mercy knew she was alone in the shop. Cautiously she walked to the end of the aisle and glanced out the window
    The dark stranger was out on the sidewalk, lounging easily against the fender of a black Porsche. His gaze was centered on the shop door as he waited for Mercy to emerge. His brand of patience was that of a hunter waiting for its quarry.
    Mercy sucked in her breath and set down the books she’d been holding. She darted toward the door, reach ­ ing for the dead bolt. Once she had him locked out she could either slip out the back way or call the police.
    As if he had read her mind, the man moved, reach ­ ing the door before she did. The knob turned, the door slid open just far enough to admit the toe of his boot, and Mercy knew she had lost the short race. The bell overhead tinkled this time, which was absurdly reassur ­ ing for some reason. That shot of confidence united with the adrenaline in her blood to make Mercy abruptly angry.
    “If you don’t mind,” she snapped, shoving the door against his foot, “this is my shop and I would like to lock up for the night. Get out of here.”
    He stared down at her assessingly. “You’re afraid of me, aren’t you?”
    “Let’s just say you aren’t the sort of customer I like to encourage.”
    “It’s all right, Mercy Pennington, you have nothing to fear from me. I just want to see the book. Ι won’t hurt you.”
    Mercy opened her mouth to tell him that under the circumstances he could hardly expect her to believe that, but when she met his eyes the protest died in her throat.
    For some groundless, totally illogical reason she did believe him. Somehow, she realized, she would know if she were truly in danger from him. The information would be there in his gleaming hazel eyes. At the mo ­ ment she was safe. Mercy didn’t know how she could be so certain of that, but she was. The strange sensation of having communicated with this man on a subliminal level went through her again, providing reassurance even as it raised odd questions.
    Tense seconds ticked past as her gaze locked with his. Neither of them moved. There would be no harm in simply showing him her precious copy of Valley, Mercy thought suddenly. Her hand fell away from the door.
    “I’ll get my purse,” she muttered and turned back to ­ ward the counter. He stepped out onto the sidewalk as she moved away from him. It was the lack of music from the bell rather than the sound of it that warned her he was gone again.
    When she emerged onto the sidewalk a moment later and closed the door firmly behind her, the bell chimed as brightly as ever. Her unusual customer spoke as she turned the key in the lock.
    “Doesn’t that damn bell annoy you?”
    She glanced at him in surprise. “It lets me know when someone’s entering or leaving the shop. It’s not an annoyance, it’s a warning.”
    “I would find it a definite nuisance. It’s unnecessary. The sound it makes isn’t even very pleasing. And there are other ways of knowing someone’s around.”
    She had known he was around even though the bell hadn’t rung when he had entered the shop the first time, Mercy reflected. She frowned. Then she dropped her keys into her red