the world. There were two in
particular, one black and one white, both dreadlocked and heavily pierced, both
with pant crotches down to their knees, both either high or drunk at all hours.
Both fixated on her.
35
If they happened to see her, it was like some inaudible signal had been
beamed to dogs. They'd stiffen, start whistling, calling out obscenities. Nicole's
only defense was to get into her car as quickly as possible, hit the locks, and pull
out, fast. The other day, horribly, the blond had moved fast and knocked on the
passenger-side window of her car just as she was getting in. She'd closed the locks
with a whump and taken off as quickly as she could, heart pounding.
The whole thing was incredibly...unpleasant, to say the least.
And there they were, both of them. Just her luck. As if the door closing
behind her were a secret signal, Creepy came out on the porch followed by
Creepier.
Sam felt her stiffen, followed her gaze, and tightened his hand on her
elbow.
They started with the cat calls and whistles, loud enough to pierce
eardrums. Nicole watched her feet and walked as fast as she could. Experience had
taught her that looking at them, acknowledging their existence, only made things
worse.
She and Sam walked down the street together as he calmly escorted her to
his car, a late-model, dark blue BMW. He seated her in the passenger seat and
walked around to the driver's side. He stopped for a second before getting in,
looking out over the roof at the two creeps grinning and whistling from the porch.
She knew what they were seeing. A guy dressed like a businessman
who...wasn't. When he'd seen the two, he had instantly morphed into the soldier
he'd been. Amazing. She'd been standing next to him, thinking he was so very big
when the air around him became supercharged and he grew even bigger.
The man had been a Special Forces soldier, a Navy SEAL, for God's sake,
and had won a chestful of medals. He beat Creepy and Creepier on the male scale,
hands down.
All she saw was a chunk of male torso through the driver's window but the
two creeps must have seen more, because the whistling and cat calls stopped, as
abruptly as if someone had put a hand around their throats and squeezed.
Males are, above all, animals. Herd animals, with a very keen instinct for
the alpha male and when to keep out of his way.
Just a minute's look, and the creeps' eyes were on the ground in
subconscious submission, another minute and they sullenly turned and slouched
back inside, slamming the front door closed.
Never, ever, in a million years could Nicole have achieved that, not even
with a gun in her hand, let alone with a look.
Sam got into the driver's seat, jaw muscles jumping. As soon as he was
seated, he activated the locks.
"It's truly a man's world," Nicole said, sighing. "I could never quell them
with a look."
"No, you couldn't." He shot a look at the front porch, then his gaze shifted
back to hers. He reached over her, pulled down her seat belt, latched it. His
36
shoulders were so broad they blocked out the evening light from the driver's-door
window when he turned to her. "Is that their usual MO? Standing on the porch,
shouting and whistling at you as if you were a dog?"
"Yes." Nicole sighed. Tense muscles started relaxing again. It was almost
impossible to feel afraid inside the big, safe, locked car with Sam Reston at the
wheel. "I think that they have a very narrow behavioral repertoire."
His dark serious gaze met hers. "Are they escalating? Becoming more
forward? Because that's what punks like them do. Feel for the boundaries, then
push until you push back. You're not going to pull a gun on them. If you were, you
would have already. So they take one step forward. Then another."
Were they escalating? They'd moved in a month ago. Or maybe not moved
in. They just appeared, like mold, out of nowhere. The first week they'd stared out
of the front window at her. Then they came out
particular, one black and one white, both dreadlocked and heavily pierced, both
with pant crotches down to their knees, both either high or drunk at all hours.
Both fixated on her.
35
If they happened to see her, it was like some inaudible signal had been
beamed to dogs. They'd stiffen, start whistling, calling out obscenities. Nicole's
only defense was to get into her car as quickly as possible, hit the locks, and pull
out, fast. The other day, horribly, the blond had moved fast and knocked on the
passenger-side window of her car just as she was getting in. She'd closed the locks
with a whump and taken off as quickly as she could, heart pounding.
The whole thing was incredibly...unpleasant, to say the least.
And there they were, both of them. Just her luck. As if the door closing
behind her were a secret signal, Creepy came out on the porch followed by
Creepier.
Sam felt her stiffen, followed her gaze, and tightened his hand on her
elbow.
They started with the cat calls and whistles, loud enough to pierce
eardrums. Nicole watched her feet and walked as fast as she could. Experience had
taught her that looking at them, acknowledging their existence, only made things
worse.
She and Sam walked down the street together as he calmly escorted her to
his car, a late-model, dark blue BMW. He seated her in the passenger seat and
walked around to the driver's side. He stopped for a second before getting in,
looking out over the roof at the two creeps grinning and whistling from the porch.
She knew what they were seeing. A guy dressed like a businessman
who...wasn't. When he'd seen the two, he had instantly morphed into the soldier
he'd been. Amazing. She'd been standing next to him, thinking he was so very big
when the air around him became supercharged and he grew even bigger.
The man had been a Special Forces soldier, a Navy SEAL, for God's sake,
and had won a chestful of medals. He beat Creepy and Creepier on the male scale,
hands down.
All she saw was a chunk of male torso through the driver's window but the
two creeps must have seen more, because the whistling and cat calls stopped, as
abruptly as if someone had put a hand around their throats and squeezed.
Males are, above all, animals. Herd animals, with a very keen instinct for
the alpha male and when to keep out of his way.
Just a minute's look, and the creeps' eyes were on the ground in
subconscious submission, another minute and they sullenly turned and slouched
back inside, slamming the front door closed.
Never, ever, in a million years could Nicole have achieved that, not even
with a gun in her hand, let alone with a look.
Sam got into the driver's seat, jaw muscles jumping. As soon as he was
seated, he activated the locks.
"It's truly a man's world," Nicole said, sighing. "I could never quell them
with a look."
"No, you couldn't." He shot a look at the front porch, then his gaze shifted
back to hers. He reached over her, pulled down her seat belt, latched it. His
36
shoulders were so broad they blocked out the evening light from the driver's-door
window when he turned to her. "Is that their usual MO? Standing on the porch,
shouting and whistling at you as if you were a dog?"
"Yes." Nicole sighed. Tense muscles started relaxing again. It was almost
impossible to feel afraid inside the big, safe, locked car with Sam Reston at the
wheel. "I think that they have a very narrow behavioral repertoire."
His dark serious gaze met hers. "Are they escalating? Becoming more
forward? Because that's what punks like them do. Feel for the boundaries, then
push until you push back. You're not going to pull a gun on them. If you were, you
would have already. So they take one step forward. Then another."
Were they escalating? They'd moved in a month ago. Or maybe not moved
in. They just appeared, like mold, out of nowhere. The first week they'd stared out
of the front window at her. Then they came out
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