foyer, where she came face to face with a scrawnier version of the man four stories above.
They didn’t look alike. Davis was bald. This chap had black stringy hair down to his chin. But they both had the same malicious scowl and dead eyes. Those eyes ballooned at her appearance.
Mags could have skidded to a stop and landed in his reach. Instead, she pushed harder and lowered her shoulder. Even though the bloke was smaller than Davis, her teeth rattled on impact. His arm came up fast and caught her in the mouth. Stunning dots and diamonds glittered behind her closed lids.
The blow couldn’t stop momentum. Mags opened her eyes in time to watch the man land flat on his back several feet from where he’d stood. Her hands shot out to the glass bank of doors and she smashed into one on the hinge side. The wrong side. A crack resonated a moment before sharp pain radiated from her finger and cut its way up her arm. It stole the air from her lungs. Air she didn’t have to spare.
“Bitch,” the guy barked from behind.
Instantly the hurts vanished and her feet started moving. With one side step, Mags pushed through the door. Concrete scuffed her heels as she sprinted toward the streetlights. This time she chanced a look over her shoulder. As she distanced herself from the building, Greasy Hair rose from the floor. A spike of adrenaline carried her to the road.
The utterly desolate campus street provided no safe haven. Rows of lantern lights illuminated the nothingness and brought Mags acute understanding. You’re alone. Alone. She’d been so afraid of being alone in the past, she crowded her bed with men to ward off loneliness. And finally, after more than a year of self-improvement, she no longer feared it.
Except, now, she did.
9
M agdalena’s arms waved as wide as they could reach. The effort cost her and she ground her teeth against the pain in her hand, arm, and shoulder. She’d pay the price as long as the damn hackney stopped. If the men caught her it would cost more than she was willing to imagine.
Brakes screeched as the black taxi stopped a few feet from her bare, bloody toes. The driver opened his door. “Fuckin’ Christ, lady. You trying to get killed?”
Mags hurried toward him. “Get in and drive,” she demanded.
His youthful face wrinkled in rebuke. “Hey, I ain’t on…” Thin lips gaped open. “Are you okay?”
“Please,” she begged. Mags passed him and wrenched the door open. “Drive.”
“Yeah,” he breathed.
She fell into the back and the young man closed the door. He hopped in and shoved the car in gear like he was running from the men too. When he pounded the gas, her shoulder hit the seat and a groan filtered through her teeth.
“Sorry,” he said with a shrug.
She watched out the back window, expecting the two to come barreling into the street at any moment, but they didn’t. When they turned the corner and she could no longer see the low-lit alley of hell, she faced forward.
“I’m Martin.”
“Thank you, Martin. You can call me Mags.”
Magdalena let the cumbersome bag plunk to the leather seat, and then she reached her good hand into its depths. She chunked the file with her dissertation proposal to the floor and continued searching for her phone.
“So, are you okay? Want me to take you to the campus police or the real deal? The metro bobbies aren’t far. Station house is five minutes.”
“I’m sorry, Martin. Can you just drive for a minute?”
“Sure.”
The phone came to life with a touch of a button, but she only stared at it. Dad wasn’t home. He didn’t have a cell and she didn’t know Ruth’s number. Baine wasn’t home. She needed to get in touch with them before those guys did something to hurt the people she loved.
“Martin?”
“Yeah?” His gaze found her in the mirror and bounced between her and the road.
“I need to go to London. So, if you’ll drop me where I can get another cab, I’d be grateful.”
“I have friends, Mags.
They didn’t look alike. Davis was bald. This chap had black stringy hair down to his chin. But they both had the same malicious scowl and dead eyes. Those eyes ballooned at her appearance.
Mags could have skidded to a stop and landed in his reach. Instead, she pushed harder and lowered her shoulder. Even though the bloke was smaller than Davis, her teeth rattled on impact. His arm came up fast and caught her in the mouth. Stunning dots and diamonds glittered behind her closed lids.
The blow couldn’t stop momentum. Mags opened her eyes in time to watch the man land flat on his back several feet from where he’d stood. Her hands shot out to the glass bank of doors and she smashed into one on the hinge side. The wrong side. A crack resonated a moment before sharp pain radiated from her finger and cut its way up her arm. It stole the air from her lungs. Air she didn’t have to spare.
“Bitch,” the guy barked from behind.
Instantly the hurts vanished and her feet started moving. With one side step, Mags pushed through the door. Concrete scuffed her heels as she sprinted toward the streetlights. This time she chanced a look over her shoulder. As she distanced herself from the building, Greasy Hair rose from the floor. A spike of adrenaline carried her to the road.
The utterly desolate campus street provided no safe haven. Rows of lantern lights illuminated the nothingness and brought Mags acute understanding. You’re alone. Alone. She’d been so afraid of being alone in the past, she crowded her bed with men to ward off loneliness. And finally, after more than a year of self-improvement, she no longer feared it.
Except, now, she did.
9
M agdalena’s arms waved as wide as they could reach. The effort cost her and she ground her teeth against the pain in her hand, arm, and shoulder. She’d pay the price as long as the damn hackney stopped. If the men caught her it would cost more than she was willing to imagine.
Brakes screeched as the black taxi stopped a few feet from her bare, bloody toes. The driver opened his door. “Fuckin’ Christ, lady. You trying to get killed?”
Mags hurried toward him. “Get in and drive,” she demanded.
His youthful face wrinkled in rebuke. “Hey, I ain’t on…” Thin lips gaped open. “Are you okay?”
“Please,” she begged. Mags passed him and wrenched the door open. “Drive.”
“Yeah,” he breathed.
She fell into the back and the young man closed the door. He hopped in and shoved the car in gear like he was running from the men too. When he pounded the gas, her shoulder hit the seat and a groan filtered through her teeth.
“Sorry,” he said with a shrug.
She watched out the back window, expecting the two to come barreling into the street at any moment, but they didn’t. When they turned the corner and she could no longer see the low-lit alley of hell, she faced forward.
“I’m Martin.”
“Thank you, Martin. You can call me Mags.”
Magdalena let the cumbersome bag plunk to the leather seat, and then she reached her good hand into its depths. She chunked the file with her dissertation proposal to the floor and continued searching for her phone.
“So, are you okay? Want me to take you to the campus police or the real deal? The metro bobbies aren’t far. Station house is five minutes.”
“I’m sorry, Martin. Can you just drive for a minute?”
“Sure.”
The phone came to life with a touch of a button, but she only stared at it. Dad wasn’t home. He didn’t have a cell and she didn’t know Ruth’s number. Baine wasn’t home. She needed to get in touch with them before those guys did something to hurt the people she loved.
“Martin?”
“Yeah?” His gaze found her in the mirror and bounced between her and the road.
“I need to go to London. So, if you’ll drop me where I can get another cab, I’d be grateful.”
“I have friends, Mags.
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