The Scribe
Page 15

For some reason, the idea of Rhys digging into Ava’s background irked him. “Is that necessary?”
“Do you want to find out who this doctor is and why she’s seeing him?”
“Yes.”
“Then why do you care?”
The other man went back to furious typing while Malachi drifted back toward the kitchen. It was a good question.
Why did he care?
Chapter Four
Ava looked up from her tea when she heard the clanging streetcar moving down stiklal Avenue. She leaned back and watched it. Pedestrians in the crowded Beyolu neighborhood moved around the car. Tourists. Locals. Merchants. She was in the heart of Istanbul, but for the first time in her life, the city was… peaceful. The hum of voices had become quieter, easier to ignore. The manic energy that seemed to envelope her most days was absent. Ava felt grounded.
She took a deep breath and had to admit that, for the first time in her life, a doctor’s treatment seemed to be working.
Dr. Sadik’s methods were unusual, to say the least. Holistic in practice, the psychologist had prescribed her a diet of mostly Mediterranean foods and was using a kind of pressure-point massage in addition to talk therapy. She’d been skeptical. But one of his nurses assisted with the massage, and when she’d left the office after the first treatment, Ava had to admit the voices were slightly muffled. She’d felt more focused and relaxed. After a few days, the effects had worn off, but the next appointment showed even more relief. She was going in every three days and was starting to wonder whether she’d ever be able to leave.
Glancing over her shoulder at the man sitting a few tables away, she wondered what her mother would do if she decided to stay. Would she and Carl continue to pay her shadow? Malachi had started following her more closely since the cruise but still kept his distance. He was both the least and the most annoying bodyguard she’d ever had. He was more than discreet and carried himself with a quiet confidence that put her at ease. At the same time, Ava sensed he wanted to come closer—to talk to her, to know her more—but he didn’t. She supposed that was her own fault. It wasn’t his job to keep her company.
Still…
She glanced over her shoulder again. He was sipping tea two tables away from her, lounging in a low chair and pretending to read a paper. Behind his sunglasses, she could see him scanning the street, still vigilant despite the peaceful morning.
Keeping her eyes on him, she spoke in a low voice. “Malachi.”
His eyes zipped immediately to her.
“Yes?”
“You have good hearing.”
“Among other talents.”
She grinned. “Why are you sitting two tables away in an empty café?”
One dark eyebrow lifted. “I believe I was told to keep my distance by a certain prickly photographer.”
“Well, that was before we got to be friends.”
“We’re friends?” There was an amused smile on his lips, and Ava saw the hint of a dimple on his slightly stubbled cheek. He had thick dark hair and would likely have a full beard within days if he didn’t keep clean-shaven. Handsome? Not classically. But the man had definite appeal.
“Of course we’re friends. Do you think I habitually strike up conversations with random men in foreign countries?”
“I wouldn’t even try to guess the answer to that.” He had set the newspaper down and leaned back in the plush chair, bringing the glass of tea to his full lips as she watched him, watching her.
“I don’t. Strike up random conversations, I mean.”
“Is there something you want, Ava?”
She let her eyes wander over him, not caring that he noticed her perusal. “You said you’re from Turkey?”
“Yes.”
“So why don’t you stop following me and just show me around?” She surprised herself with the question. Usually she never asked for company. Prolonged contact of any kind could become maddening. But the treatments had calmed her mind, making the soothing resonance he exuded even more appealing. For the first time in her life, the thought of spending the day with a man was attractive, not overwhelming. “I’m bored by myself.”
He put down his glass of tea, almost scowling. “I’m not paid to be your tour guide.”
The disappointment was quick and sharp. “Fine.”
She spun around and turned her back to him, resisting the urge to get up and flee. It would be humiliating for him to see how his rejection had affected her. Besides, he’d just follow her anyway. She picked up her tea with tense fingers and sipped, grabbing a book out of her bag. She briefly debated taking out her small camera and capturing pedestrian traffic, but she’d been trying to take a day off from work and enjoy her newfound calm.
After a few minutes, Ava heard him rise and approach. She gritted her teeth and kept her eyes on her guidebook.
Damn, damn, damn. He’d rebuffed her. The least he could do was pretend to ignore her existence.
No, instead he was sitting down across from her, all six feet and something; his long legs slid under the table, unavoidably brushing against her own. She refused to move.
“Ava.”
“What?”
“My apologies. That was rude.”
“Yes, it was.”
She was still staring at her book. He continued to sit across from her silently. His inner voice took on an amused tone that made her scowl.
“Ava?”
“I’m reading.”