nonetheless.
She sagged across his arm, her head bobbing like a rag doll when he shook her gently. Her face had paled to a deathly white.
"Mommy!" Mary cried out.
Connor winced. "Hang on!" he yelled, running to her. He grabbed Ira's knife hand and pushed it away. "Let go of her, you coward! You're scaring her to death."
"Watch yourself," Ira warned, but allowed Connor to take the shivering woman into his arms.
"Can't you see what you've done?" Connor accused him, gently shifting Mary higher in his arms. She wasn’t a dead weight, which meant she was still conscious. But her high pitched keening sent tremors through him. He wanted to kill Ira with his own knife.
He had to tell them about Mary so they would be more cautious— if it wasn't already too late.
Ira stared at him. "What's wrong with her?"
"Her mother was murdered in front of her. The killers used knives. Mary was nine."
"I was holding it away from her. I didn’t threaten her."
"You didn't need to."
"She was running from Ramone. All I did was stop her—"
"Ramone?" Connor exploded. "If you let that maniac loose on Mary—"
"Don't worry. He'll leave her alone." A fierce warning accompanied the growl of Ira's voice as he spat a look of hatred toward Ramone. “He knows better than to mess with me.”
"She's already living on the edge. If he pushes her over, she won’t return. Then she'll never lead you anywhere."
Connor paused, feeling her slight weight sagging against him. Why had he ever left her, even for a second? Anger flared, this time at himself. He had never felt so helpless. Talking his way out of things wasn’t his method, but he had to to keep Mary alive.
He glared at the men. "You have to treat her with care. That means keeping that scum-bag under control."
Mary huddled in upon herself. She could feel Connor's arms supporting her, keeping her on her feet. Safe arms. She burrowed into them, her hand clutching the ivory dragon on its chain. The jagged edge dug into her palm, the pain returning her to reality.
She had to resist the past to stay in the present.
"Hang on, Mary." The deep rumble of his voice— Connor's voice— the low-pitched tones, soothed her. She could feel the black cloud receding. "Mary? Can you hear me?"
She managed to nod. "Connor." She thought the word. Had she said it? "Connor." This time Mary heard herself say it. She opened her eyes. Cautiously, she peered about.
Ira stood in front of Ramone, one hand raised to warn him off. Then Judd grabbed the dark-haired predator, spun him around and shoved him into the kitchen.
“It’s all an act,” Ramone protested, trying to shake off Judd’s hand. “It’s as phony as she is. Let go of me.”
"Keep him away from her," Connor demanded. "Far away." His voice dropped, became gentle as he added, "It's okay, Mary. You'll be okay."
Mary pushed herself closer against Connor, her legs still unable to hold her up.
"Take some deep breaths," he suggested.
She did. It helped. She wanted to cry, but squinted hard instead. She put her head against his chest, seeking to stay within the shelter of this stranger who had become her fortress.
Mary knew what was wrong, having fought the cold, clammy fear before. She gulped in more air.
"Keep him back, Connor," she begged.
"I will. That's a promise. Right now, Judd's got him. He'll hobble him."
"Judd didn't sound,” she paused to gasp, “like he cared what Ramone did."
"I think he's convinced."
Releasing the front of Connor's coat, Mary hunched her shoulders, crossing her arms tightly while she allowed her mind to clear completely. Several more deep breaths and she could stand alone, although Connor continued to hold her. She lifted her head to gaze into his eyes.
He smiled at her, a smile of genuine thankfulness that she had returned from the darkness. His smile helped fortify her. She tried to smile in return, letting out a long sigh.
Ira stepped closer, his knife now sheathed. "What happened when you were a
She sagged across his arm, her head bobbing like a rag doll when he shook her gently. Her face had paled to a deathly white.
"Mommy!" Mary cried out.
Connor winced. "Hang on!" he yelled, running to her. He grabbed Ira's knife hand and pushed it away. "Let go of her, you coward! You're scaring her to death."
"Watch yourself," Ira warned, but allowed Connor to take the shivering woman into his arms.
"Can't you see what you've done?" Connor accused him, gently shifting Mary higher in his arms. She wasn’t a dead weight, which meant she was still conscious. But her high pitched keening sent tremors through him. He wanted to kill Ira with his own knife.
He had to tell them about Mary so they would be more cautious— if it wasn't already too late.
Ira stared at him. "What's wrong with her?"
"Her mother was murdered in front of her. The killers used knives. Mary was nine."
"I was holding it away from her. I didn’t threaten her."
"You didn't need to."
"She was running from Ramone. All I did was stop her—"
"Ramone?" Connor exploded. "If you let that maniac loose on Mary—"
"Don't worry. He'll leave her alone." A fierce warning accompanied the growl of Ira's voice as he spat a look of hatred toward Ramone. “He knows better than to mess with me.”
"She's already living on the edge. If he pushes her over, she won’t return. Then she'll never lead you anywhere."
Connor paused, feeling her slight weight sagging against him. Why had he ever left her, even for a second? Anger flared, this time at himself. He had never felt so helpless. Talking his way out of things wasn’t his method, but he had to to keep Mary alive.
He glared at the men. "You have to treat her with care. That means keeping that scum-bag under control."
Mary huddled in upon herself. She could feel Connor's arms supporting her, keeping her on her feet. Safe arms. She burrowed into them, her hand clutching the ivory dragon on its chain. The jagged edge dug into her palm, the pain returning her to reality.
She had to resist the past to stay in the present.
"Hang on, Mary." The deep rumble of his voice— Connor's voice— the low-pitched tones, soothed her. She could feel the black cloud receding. "Mary? Can you hear me?"
She managed to nod. "Connor." She thought the word. Had she said it? "Connor." This time Mary heard herself say it. She opened her eyes. Cautiously, she peered about.
Ira stood in front of Ramone, one hand raised to warn him off. Then Judd grabbed the dark-haired predator, spun him around and shoved him into the kitchen.
“It’s all an act,” Ramone protested, trying to shake off Judd’s hand. “It’s as phony as she is. Let go of me.”
"Keep him away from her," Connor demanded. "Far away." His voice dropped, became gentle as he added, "It's okay, Mary. You'll be okay."
Mary pushed herself closer against Connor, her legs still unable to hold her up.
"Take some deep breaths," he suggested.
She did. It helped. She wanted to cry, but squinted hard instead. She put her head against his chest, seeking to stay within the shelter of this stranger who had become her fortress.
Mary knew what was wrong, having fought the cold, clammy fear before. She gulped in more air.
"Keep him back, Connor," she begged.
"I will. That's a promise. Right now, Judd's got him. He'll hobble him."
"Judd didn't sound,” she paused to gasp, “like he cared what Ramone did."
"I think he's convinced."
Releasing the front of Connor's coat, Mary hunched her shoulders, crossing her arms tightly while she allowed her mind to clear completely. Several more deep breaths and she could stand alone, although Connor continued to hold her. She lifted her head to gaze into his eyes.
He smiled at her, a smile of genuine thankfulness that she had returned from the darkness. His smile helped fortify her. She tried to smile in return, letting out a long sigh.
Ira stepped closer, his knife now sheathed. "What happened when you were a
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