Beyond Fearless by REBECCA YORK

and she saw them together the way they had been in the fantasy. She and Zachary Robinson were holding each other tightly. She felt his hard-muscled body, his erection pressed to her middle.
    The sensation was so strong that she expected him to turn around, come running back down the alley, and pull her into his arms.
    But he kept walking—around the corner and out of her sight. Because she had sent him away.
    No. Yes.
    She made a small sound as she fought to separate fantasy and reality. Truth from imagination.
    â€œEverything’s rosy,” Bertrand said. “Nothin’ bad is gonna happen.”
    She knew he was wrong. She could feel the danger like lightning crackling in the clouds. A few miles away, but rolling inexorably closer.
    Bertrand spoke again, breaking into her thoughts. “You know that guy?”
    â€œNo,” she said quickly. “I just saw him in the audience.” She certainly wasn’t going to admit anything else. Not when she hadn’t worked her way through it herself.
    â€œYou want I should take care of him?”
    â€œYou mean hurt him?”
    The club owner shrugged.
    â€œNo. Just take me home.”
    â€œMos def,” he answered easily. “Maybe you been workin’ too hard. Maybe you need to relax a little. Take a vacation on the island when you finish this gig.”
    Her head snapped toward him. “A vacation…here?”
    â€œJust a suggestion. Let’s get you to your hotel. You relax tonight. Sleep late.”
    â€œYes. Thanks,” she answered, but her mind was racing again. He wanted her to stay here ? Why?
    They walked through the midnight streets, then through the empty marketplace, and she knew she was safe from robbers. Nobody was coming after Etienne Bertrand. At least, nobody in his right mind.
    But robbers weren’t her main concern. Not now.
    â€œHave you hired a psychic before?” she asked.
    â€œYeah. Once. Why?
    â€œI was just wondering.” Relief flooded through her. So maybe her theory was right.
    Maybe.
    Bertand watched her walk into her hotel, the Palm Court, and she was grateful that he didn’t try to follow. She’d heard some of the girls who worked in the club talking about the way he took advantage of them.
    But not her. It was almost as though he’d labeled her off limits.
    That should be reassuring. But somehow it wasn’t.
    Â 
    ETIENNE waited until he saw the light come on in Anna’s room. He saw her walk to the window and pull down the shade, and he knew she was tucked in for the night.
    Bon. It was his responsibility to keep her safe. So walking out of the club with her and into the middle of a street fight had set his teeth on edge. And he didn’t much like finding one of his patrons heading for the stage door.
    He’d instinctively reacted to the fight scene, letting the two islanders know they’d better crawl back under the rock where they’d come from. But if he’d been alone, he would have made sure that the tourist guy stayed away from Anna in the future.
    He hurried back the way he’d come, the street lights giving the town a romantic look that he had always liked.
    When he stepped into his office, which was furnished with comfortable chairs and a desk purchased from a small hotel going out of business, Raoul San Donato was waiting for him.
    The two of them went way back. He’d been a ten-year-old living in his momma’s hut when Raoul had come back home with tales of life in Palmiro. And when Etienne’s aunt had decided to look for work in the city, he’d begged to go with her.
    Once he’d gotten to the city, he’d never looked back.
    Raoul, who was a few years older, had shown him the ropes. They’d been street vendors together. Then Etienne had worked as a waiter in one of the hotels, saving as much money as he could, until Raoul had clued him in that Eddie Morgan, the owner of the Sugar Cane Club, had been murdered