Vin frowned. “What did you say?”

“Just that the two guys had been harassing me. That Trez spoke with them, and when that didn’t work, they were escorted from the club. Turns out that was what the two other witnesses who’d come forward maintained as well so it all matched.”

“Why did you lie for me?” he said softly.

To avoid his eyes, she looked out the window next to them. The river, which seemed close enough to touch, was sluggish and opaque, thickened by the rain they’d had earlier in the week.

“Why, Marie-Terese?”

She took a deep drink from her mug and felt the coffee warm its way down into her belly. “For the same reason Trez did. Because you protected me.”

“That’s dangerous. Given what you do.”

She shrugged. “I’m not worried.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Vin rub his face and wince as if the bruising hurt. “I just don’t want you risking more trouble down the line for my sake.”

Marie-Terese hid a smile. Funny, some things a man could say made you feel warm all over—not because the words were sexual, but because they went beyond that lowest common denominator and into more important, more meaningful territory.

Fighting the pull of his voice, his eyes, his savior routine, she said, “I’m sorry I left so quickly last night. You know, from the locker room. I was just…rattled.”

“Yeah…” He exhaled on a curse. “And I apologize for flipping out like that—”

“Oh, no, it’s okay. It…didn’t appear you had much control over it.”

“Try none.” There was another long pause. “I hate to bring it up again, but what did I say to you?”

“You don’t know?” He shook his head. “Was that a seizure?”

His voice grew tight. “Guess you could call it that. So…what did I say?”

He’s coming for you….

“What did I say?” Vin reached across and put his hand lightly on her arm. “Please tell me.”

She stared at where he touched her, and thought…yes, and sometimes it wasn’t even what a man said that made you warm—just the feel of his palm resting above your wrist was enough to heat your entire body.

“Your pancakes,” the waitress said, breaking the moment. As they both sat back, the woman put down a plate and a little stainless-steel pitcher with a flop top. “More coffee?”

Marie-Terese glanced in her half-empty mug. “For me, please.”

Vin got busy with syrup, pouring out a thin amber stream over three big, fat golden circles.

“Mine aren’t that high,” Marie-Terese said. “When I make them…they’re not that golden or that high.”

Vin let the lid on the syrup bounce shut and picked up his fork, cleaving through the stack, carving out a forkful. “I’m sure your son doesn’t complain.”