Out of Time 01 - Out of Time

really aren’t from around here are ya? That’s King Kashian,” Dix said as though that explained everything.
    King’s bodyguard approached a small table near the bar and said something to the young couple seated there. Their faces paled, and they quickly took their cups and fled.
    King moved like a big cat, all sinew and grace, a careless prowl. He and Charlie sat at the vacated table. Where King was the definition of calm, Charlie was jittery and nervous. He bobbed his head in answer to some unheard question.
    Elizabeth had never seen Charlie anything but affable and at ease. She’d only known him a day, but still... “What’s up with Charlie?”
    “I dunno, but King never comes here himself unless it’s something bad. The payment was on time. Gave it to Vic myself when he came in last week.”
    “Payment?” Elizabeth asked. “You mean protection money? King’s a gangster?”
    “Jeez,” Dix said anxiously and looked around to see if anyone heard her. “Just take some orders and don’t look him in the eye, okay?” She hurried back to work as far from King as possible.
    Elizabeth stood rooted to her spot. A real live gangster. It was kind of exciting. He wasn’t what she’d expected. He was young, maybe thirty and very handsome with naturally olive-colored skin and hair as black as pitch. A well-tailored suit covered his athletic physique. He was attractive in a dangerous, might makes right, sort of way. There was something cold about him, though. She could feel it even across the room. Maybe it was the way his black gloved fingers moved so sinuously, like snakes. Definitely, cold blooded.
    His expression was an odd paradox of disinterest and keen awareness. As if on cue, he looked away from Charlie and caught her staring. His eyes were piercing even from a distance. He seemed to be seeing right through her. She wanted to disappear into the crowd, but couldn’t look away. His lips curled into a thin smile.
    King said something to Charlie who shifted nervously in his seat and shook his head. King turned his gaze on Charlie and a moment later Charlie stood and called out, “Lizzy, come here for a sec.”
    Now she’d done it. She took a deep breath and approached the table.
    Charlie looked like he was about to have kittens. “King,” he said, and shot Elizabeth a quick apologetic glance. “This is Mrs. Cross.”
    Elizabeth would have giggled if Charlie hadn’t looked so pale. Mrs. Cross.
    King nodded slightly and leaned back in his chair. His eyes, the color of dark, bitter chocolate, traveled the length of her body. He reached into his coat pocket and took out a silver cigarette case.
    Elizabeth fought the urge to run, but stood her ground. His gaze inched up her body in a salacious caress. It was all she could do not to shiver. There was something terribly unnerving about the man. The way he moved, so fluidly. The way his eyes bore into her in a casual assault.
    He tapped the end of his cigarette on the table and then lifted it to his mouth. His bodyguard appeared at his side and flipped open a silver lighter, extending the flame. King leaned forward and steadied the light.
    She felt her stomach drop with sickening realization. It was all too familiar and suddenly the pieces fell into place. The night in the alley. The man wearing gloves. King was the man in the car.

Chapter Ten
    E xhaling a billowing cloud of smoke, King leaned back in his chair. Elizabeth wracked her brain for something to say. Nice to meet you. Have anyone offed lately? Finally, she blurted out nervously, “Those things’ll kill ya.”
    King’s lips curled in a Cheshire smile as if enjoying a private joke. “I wouldn’t worry about that.”
    The smile was even more unnerving, and she self-consciously pulled on her fingers. “Can I get you something to drink?”
    Charlie, who’d been standing to the side, shifted nervously. But Elizabeth couldn’t tear her eyes away from King. Instinct told her never to turn her back on this man. The surge of something unmistakably feral that flickered across his eyes told her she was right.
    “Perhaps another time,” he said.
    His voice was mesmerizing—smooth with a touch of melancholy, like a French horn. How very Peter and the Wolf, she thought. She wanted to walk away, to get as far away from this man as possible, but his eyes held her captive. There was a flame behind them, searing and dangerous. The flash inside them dimmed, but still smoldered beneath the surface. It