Page 11 of Marked By His Touch

The street is strangely deserted. Alexander’s still inside the store, and there’s no sign of the black Mercedes, or anyone else, for that matter. A drizzle starts, a surprisingly refreshing feeling against my tense skin.

My eyes are drawn to the beauty shop window again.Wait, is that?I move closer to get a better look. A familiar face stares back at me, framed by purple highlights and high cheekbones.Dorthea?I haven’t seen her since we left Port Haven, but I’d recognize her anywhere.

She doesn’t see me; she is busy talking to a tall, sharp, angular woman with long black hair and way too much makeup. Dorthea looks like she’s paying and chatting with the woman.

There’s another woman inside, another customer, I assume. She’s slumped in a plush velvet chair, a pale shadow with dark circles under her eyes. She looks so fragile, like a wilting flower. It’s a ghost of Michelle, my own dark reflection.

I shake my head, forcing myself to banish the thought. It’s wishful thinking. Michelle is gone. I step back, out of sight, so Dorthea won’t recognize me when she leaves.

A few minutes later, Alexander emerges from the shop with a brand-new phone. He’s already unwrapping it, his eyes scanning the street.

He makes a quick call, his voice low. He’s muttering something to someone on the phone. I assume it is Isaac. I can’t tear my eyes away from the girl inside, but Alexander grabs my arm, yanking me along.

“Ava, are you with me?”

“Sorry, what?”

“We’re not playing tag here,” he says, his voice sharp. “Someone’s after us. We’ll walk to the waterfront, and Isaac will pick us up there.”

Isaac. I’ve missed having someone on our side since we left. I wonder how he’s doing and how the women are. We haven’t been in touch much. He told Alexander that they were safe at the house, but that’s all I know. He was supposed to tell us when it was safe to come back.

It looks like he was right to keep us away. The minute we’re back in town, we’re being followed. It’s like they have eyes everywhere. A shiver runs through me.

“I’m coming,” I manage.

The wind picks up, whipping the rain into a frenzy. I shove my hands in my pockets, the crumpled newspaper brushing against my skin. The Russian headline keeps playing in my mind – human trafficking, a ship under fire.

A cold prickle runs down my neck. It feels like there’s a connection, but I can’t quite grasp it yet.

The harbor smells like brine, smoke, and something metallic, a strange, unsettling blend that mirrors the city itself. We reach the docks, the wind whipping the rain into a proper downpour.

Isaac is waiting for us. He steps out of the car, his eyes scanning the street. Shielding his face from the rain, he gestures for us to come over.

“Welcome back to Port Haven,” I mutter, straightening my clothes, trying to look like I have it together. But I probably look like a drowned rat. I can’t shake the feeling that this city, my city, feels different now. Something has changed, but I don’t know what.

Alexander’s hand is still in mine. I love the feel of his hand.

As we reach the car, Alexander throws an arm around Isaac, his face softening, a flicker of relief in his eyes. “Good to see you, man.”

Isaac smiles back, his eyes glinting with warmth and something else, a sense of cautious awareness. “Good to see you too, Mr. Bourne. Looks like things have been—interesting.”

“Just a little excitement,” Alexander says, but the tension in his shoulders betrays his words. This place is dangerous, but it’s home for both of us.

Isaac nods towards me. “Miss Parker.”

“Isaac,” I say, the tension draining from my shoulders like a deflating balloon. His presence is a rare ray of sunlight in this rain-soaked world. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“Here to save the day, ma’am,” Isaac says, his voice firm and reassuring. He climbs into the driver’s seat, his gaze scanning the street, alert and focused. “Get in.”

The harbor is a maze of shadows and rain soaked streets. But right now, I’m glad to be back, even if it’s just for a moment.

The rain is coming down hard, a relentless curtain of grey blurring the city lights. For a moment, I let myself believe we might be safe and finally catch a break.

The city streets are becoming more deserted, and the day is ending. I lean back in the seat, trying to relax, but my muscles are tense, and my senses are still on high alert.

“Alexander–” I say, turning to him. But before I can speak, there’s a flash of movement in the rearview mirror. It’s the Mercedes again. Its windows dark as night, pulls up alongside us at a stop light.

Its headlights cut through the rain-slicked streets like a lion’s gaze.

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