Page 27 of Saint of the Shadows

“You’re my patient with a bleeding head wound. Of course, I didn’t want you to worry about me.”

“Another explanation is that you’re protecting yourself because you think I wouldn’t give a shit if you told me what really happened. Lying saves the sting of unexpressed sympathy.”

“Or my bedside manner doesn’t consist of regaling patients with my problems.” Marisol stood and tossed her gloves into the waste bin.

Vincent moved toward her. “Or you like to jump to conclusions about me. You think I’m a vapid rich guy.”

“Aren’t you?” Marisol cranked the dispenser for a sheet of paper towel, tore it away, and turned on the sink.

“I find it interesting that you care about what I think.” He leaned against the sink counter.

“I don’t.” She vigorously scrubbed her hands and made an effort not to look at him.

“She doth protest too much.”

Marisol shut off the sink. “Someone mugged me last night. Satisfied? He didn’t make out with much, but it was enough to be annoying.” The percussive sound of the dispenser and the loud ripping of the paper coincided with her growing irritation. “I wasn’t even that scared, so don’t even give me that pitiful look. I stupidly thought I could fight him off but lost. Voila!” She pointed to the bandage on her head. With the truth exposed, Marisol turned her eyes away, afraid to look at Vincent and see his concern. She wadded up the paper towel and threw it away, but she struggled with opening and closing the lid.

The memory of the mugging traveled like a tremor through her body and tightened in her throat. Not to mention that between Dad’s financial woes and a new phone, she’d be having a rough time until payday. It all came for her at once—the fear and the struggle—and she wasn’t going tobreak down, certainly not in front of Vincent Varian.

“I’m sorry.” Vincent craned his neck. His eyes offered her sincere concern.

She fought the urge to cry the best way she knew how. Marisol met his concern and lashed out. “What do you want from me?”

With the same energy, he replied, “What I want is one less person in my life sparing my feelings. I thought you had more guts than that.”

Good. Keep pissing me off. Anger stopped the whole on-the-verge-of-crying thing. She rolled her shoulders back and put her hands on her hips. “Is this a favorite sport of yours? Irritate the poor nurse?” She stared into his eyes, imagining fire flaring from them and scorching him.

Vincent cracked a haughty grin.

Tobias stuck his head in the door. “She taking care of you?”

Vincent’s gaze didn’t leave Marisol’s. “She’s terrifying.”

Tobias put his hand on top of Vincent’s head. “Now that’s what I call a patched-up head. You did good, kid.” He winked at her, and she, heating with a blush, nibbled her lower lip. “I have more questions about your little incident, Mr. Varian. Come with me.” Both men headed out the door. If Tobias straightened his stooped posture, he’d stand a head taller than Vincent. But if he did? It’d give away how much of the Patron Saint he was.

“Wait!” Marisol blurted. The cocktail of anger and flirtation mixed into half-formed ideas: Add more fuel to the heat, get under Vincent’s skin. She brushed past Vincent and pulled Tobias by the necktie to bring his head lower. “You did good, too, old man.” On her tiptoes, one hand pulling on his tie, the other caressing his neck, she kissed Tobias.

The first touch of her lips tasted as sweet as vanilla. Her mouth opened for more. More burned like a shot of good whiskey, and warmth prickled from her lips, down her throat, across her chest, zinging straight to the dark pit inside her.

Tobias backed away, eyes big and mouth agape. He scratched the back of his neck and laughed. “Well…”

She overdid it. Her lips moved to muster an apology. She never could quite gauge when she’d been too much. The last bit of his tie slid from her fingers. “I’m sor—”

“I could use a kiss,” Vincent said as his lips curled into a feline’s smile.

“No!” She overdid that too—the volume this time. All because her belly fluttered at the chance of using Vincent to draw out the real version of Tobias.

Tobias shoved Vincent out of the room, gaze fixed on her. “See? Ass kicked.”

She rolled her eyes to hide the blush that for sure emerged.

“Call me,” he said as the door closed behind him.

She felt like champagne poured with abandon, bubbling over. She had another chance. A chance to really kick Tobias’s ass with a kiss and devastate him with her lips and tongue. Another chance couldn’t come soon enough.

At the end of her shift, Marisol put on her fixed necklace. But she noticed something else folded inside her locker. She pulled it into the light—a brand-new, black cashmere coat. She whipped off her sweatshirt and threw it in the Lost and Found box. The silk lining glided over her arms as she pulled on the coat. It was tailored perfectly to her body, tapering at her waist and flaring out around her legs. She zoomed through the hallway. The coattails caught in her manufactured wind.

She had become a superhero.

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