The Serpent in the Stone - By Nicki Greenwood Page 0,21
billfold and stuffed it back in her pocket—“I give you your pretty face.”
She spoke pleasantly enough, but the underlying menace in her tone made Ian’s skin crawl. He hadn’t thought her capable. He hadn’t wanted to think so.
Of course she was capable. He itched with the desire to be anywhere else. Away from this insanity.
Away from her.
The shop owner divided a guarded look between Sara and Ian. “Who are you people?”
She held out her hand for the lockets. “If you’re not interested—”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Good.” She beamed. “We’ll wait in the pub, then, shall we?”
They entered the Rampant Lion to the roaring din of arm-wrestling customers at one end of the bar. Smoke lay thick on the air, mingling with the pungent odor of unwashed bodies. Ian bought two cups of coffee and set them on the table at the back of the pub, well away from the impromptu test of manhood. He sat down across from Sara. “What did you do to that guy in the pawn shop?”
“What makes you think I did something to him?”
“I’ve never seen a guy cave under pressure that fast, is what.”
She studied him. “I thought you didn’t want to know anything about me.”
He took a swallow of his coffee. The stuff stung his tongue like battery acid. Watching Sara, he set the cup carefully down. He already knew more about her than he should have. Some things, more than others. He closed his eyes, and her naked figure haunted him once more.
They passed an uncomfortable hour looking over everything in the pub but each other. They ordered another pair of drinks and a small meal. The arm-wrestlers declared a champion, a brawny mountain of a man who ordered a pitcher of beer to celebrate his own victory.
At last, Sara gave a soft sigh that he probably wasn’t meant to hear. “I’m sorry if I—”
He banged his mug down on the table harder than he intended. “Don’t do that.”
Lines appeared between her brows. “You aren’t even going to let me apologize?”
“What for?” He hunched his good shoulder.
“For making you change your post.”
“You didn’t make me change anything,” he said. “That was my doing.”
“Well, then, for delaying your departure,” she snapped.
Something in her tone made him look closer at her. She touched a finger to an old beer stain on the table’s grainy surface, avoiding his gaze. Sitting in the middle of a rowdy pub, with shouting people on her left and right, she looked desperately lonely.
He spoke without meaning to. “I like you, Sara.”
Her gaze flashed up in obvious surprise.
He glanced away. The admission surprised him, too. And did a few other things he didn’t want to think about. “I can’t be whatever it is you’re looking for,” he added gruffly. “I’m not that guy.”
“What makes you think I’m looking for something in you? I’m here for an excavation. That’s it. If you want to leave— No, wait. You are leaving.”
He backed away from the remark the same way he would from an unpredictable creature. “Why don’t we go see if that necklace is ready? I’ll pay our tab.”
“I’ve got it. Just go check on the necklace.”
He opened his mouth to snap a response, but thought better of it. Glad for the excuse to get away from her for a moment, he left the pub and went back to the pawn shop. He wished it didn’t feel so much like a retreat.
The radio had been turned off. The shopkeeper wasn’t at the counter, but Ian heard shuffling noises from the now-open doorway behind it. “Hello?”
MacRae swaggered out with a dirty handkerchief in one hand and a set of keys in the other. When he saw Ian, his eyes went wide. He covered it fast and looked around, presumably for Sara.
Ian didn’t like the relief on MacRae’s face one bit. Even from this distance, he could smell beer, and he wondered just how many the man had tossed back. “Is the necklace ready?”
“Oh, it’s ready. Not for you, though.”
“I know. She’s coming with your money.”
The man tossed the handkerchief down. He reached into his back pocket and produced a gun.
Ian froze.
MacRae gave him an unpleasant leer. “Not for her, either. I’m sure that trinket’s worth a bit more’n she’s paying me. So you’ll be leavin’ without it, I think. I know antiques when I see them.” He twitched the barrel of his pistol toward the doorway and advanced around the shop counter. “You snobby rich kids think you’re gonna come in here and threaten me,