Shirlee McCoy - The Guardian's Mission

“Good. The less comfortable you are, the happier I’ll be.”

“Gee, thanks.” She shoved the keys in the ignition, but he put a hand over hers before she could start the car.

“Johnson is a cold-blooded killer, Marti. If making you uncomfortable keeps you safe from him, that’s exactly what I want to do.”

“Look, Tristan, I know you’re trying to help, but—”

“I’m not trying to do anything. I’m doing it.” He squeezed her hand, the gesture easy and warm. “Now, let’s go. We don’t want to be late.”

She should keep arguing, tell him to get out, remind him that she was a grown woman capable of taking care of herself, but something told her that Tristan Sinclair was not going to be dissuaded and that short of getting out and walking to church, Marti had no choice but to accept her unwanted passenger.

Or maybe not so unwanted.

The fact was, having Tristan around didn’t seem like such a bad thing. As she pulled up her long driveway, she imagined a million eyes watching from the woods that lined the street, a million dangers lurking just out of sight. Silly, she knew, but as real as the air she was breathing. Anyone could be hiding in the thick fall foliage, ready to jump in front of the car, shoot out a tire, force her to a stop. And if that anyone happened to be Gordon Johnson, Marti figured that having Tristan in her car might not be such a bad idea after all.

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