Stealing Mercy by Kristy Tate Page A

continued, ignoring her lie. “Steele’s dangerous. What’s your connection to him?” His mind raced. Could she be his daughter? Sister? Surely, not his wife. He’d heard Steele’s wife had died by her own hand not too long ago. There had been, he supposed, ample time for Steele to remarry. Of course, a wife wouldn’t need bent hair pins.
    She cocked her head at him. “Maybe I like dangerous men.”
    He didn’t smile. “I doubt that very much.”
    “I’m here with you,” she offered.
    “Ah, but not by choice.” He stepped away from the door.
    She sucked in her breath, clearly fighting the temptation to try and bolt for the door, but she stood her ground. “Right,” she said drawing out the lone syllable. “Why is that?”
    “You seem to make poor decisions. Breaking into Steele’s room would have been foolish. His goons would have --”
    “I didn’t know he had guards,” she said.
    “Now you do, so I suggest --”
    She put her fists on her hips. “You misunderstand. You don’t get to make suggestions.”
    He stared at her, and felt his mouth drop open. “I could have let those men take you --”
    “And lock me in a room?”
    She wasn’t letting him finish any of his sentences. “Well, yes --”
    “And then I’d be exactly where I am now. Held hostage by a strange man.”
    “I’m not strange.” Finally, a full sentence, but one he disliked. Just saying he wasn’t strange, conversely, made him seem so. Some things shouldn’t be up for discussion or question.
    Mercy folded her arms across her chest. “Well, that’s debatable and a matter of opinion.”
    Trent fought down his rising anger and frustration. The evening wasn’t going at all as he’d hoped. His plans couldn’t wait and they couldn’t be postponed any longer. “Let me escort you to your coach.” He held out his hand.
    She looked at his proffered hand with disdain. “Thank you, but I walked.”
    He dropped his hand. “You walked?” He looked at the drizzle streaming down the windows. “In the dark? In the rain?”
    “It wasn’t dark or raining when I left.”
    Trent put his hand on the doorknob. “But you must have known both were inevitable.”
    “Are we going to spend the evening discussing the likelihood of Seattle rain? I’m afraid I’ve more important things to do. Please excuse me.”
    He stood, watching her, anxious to leave and yet reluctant to let her go. Heaven knew when he’d see her again. “We’ll leave as soon as you tell me what you hoped to find in Steele’s room.”
    “Steele?”
    He shook his head. “Try again.”
    “He’s a handsome man.”
    He remembered his gram’s maxim, it’s easier to attract flies with a honey jar than with a bottle of vinegar. Mercy, with her lips pursed looked like she’d swallowed a slug of vinegar. That wouldn’t do. He needed to win her over. Trent rolled his eyes and held out his arm. This time she took it. He tucked her hand close to his side and led her out the door.
    In the lantern lit hall, he could see Lector and Orson lounging near Steele’s room. Orson had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing a multi-colored snake tattoo circling his massive forearms. Lector wore an absurd red bowtie that should have made him look less dangerous, but it didn’t. The tie emphasized the man’s log-like neck. Trent swallowed and admitted to himself that his task neared suicide. He drew Mercy a fraction closer, liking the feel of her against him. He wondered if Steele ever felt the same and he fought a wave of jealousy.
    Mercy smiled a trifle too brightly, her eyes lingering on the hulking men. Orson and Lector straightened, stood and moved away from the door
    Trent strode faster. The two men were watching him. He could feel their gazes on his back.
    “Oh very well,” she said, after a quick look at his face. She had to skip to keep up with him. “I wanted to know if he had an interest in--” her voice dropped to an almost inaudible tone, “Lucky