Once Upon a Princess

When the woman didn’t look convinced, Parker added, “I can protect us. I have pepper spray.”

“You’re sure?” she asked, her hesitation obvious.

“Have you ever gotten a face full of pepper spray? We’ll be safe enough. Just give me one minute.” Parker went to the small doorway that separated Monarch’s and the bookstore, Titles. “Hey, Cara?”

“Yes?” the small brunette said as she hurried toward Parker.

“I’m walking a customer to her car. No one’s in the store and I’ve locked the register, but keep an eye on the coffeehouse a moment, would you?”

“Sure,” Cara said. “Is there a problem?”

“No. I’m sure it’s nothing. Just a jumpy customer.”

“Okay. But if you’re not back here in ten minutes, I’m dialing 911.”

“Thanks.”

Parker returned to the woman. “I’ve got my pepper spray and someone to watch the store. We’re good to go.”

“You’re sure?” the woman asked again.

“Positive.”

“I’m just across the street,” she said.

They walked out onto the sidewalk.

Parker squinted her eyes, trying to see across the street and behind the tree bordering the Perry Square park that the woman had mentioned.

She spotted a shadow.

“Straight ahead?” she asked.

“Yes. Behind that big tree,” the woman whispered. “My car’s just in front of it—the little Tracker.”

“Let’s go.”

They walked across the street to the car. Parker waited patiently while the woman unlocked the Tracker’s door and climbed in.

“Thanks,” she said.

“No problem. Hope to see you at Monarch’s again soon.”

The woman shut the door, and Parker stepped back so she could pull out.

Rather than go directly back into the store, she walked into the park.

The paths were lit, but the tree where she thought she’d seen a shadow was far enough away that it was hard to make out if anyone was behind it.

Something moved. Just a flicker.

She was pretty sure it was a man.

As she neared, he tried to fade farther into the night.

She stopped on the path.

Parker had always thought the women in horror films were dolts. She’d sit on her couch watching and thinking, Don’t go down to the basement, you idiot.

She didn’t need someone telling her not to stray off the path. She knew she should go back into the store. But her curiosity won over common sense. She felt a spurt of empathy for those horror-flick chicks who always needed to know what was at the bottom of the stairs, even if it meant they were the next to get axed.

The man was almost invisible in the shadows, but she knew he was there. And she was pretty sure she was right about who he was.

Gripping the pepper spray in case she was wrong, she said, “Uncle Jace?”

There was a slight rustling, as if he was trying to sink into the shadows.

“I know you’re there, Uncle Jace. Coffee, black. A niece and nephew. You’re fond of dark clothes and dark looks.”

A bit more rustling.

“If you don’t come out, I’m going to call 911 on my cell, then stand here and point you out to the cops. It’s handy having a police station as a neighbor. They all come into Monarch’s for their coffee, so I’m pretty sure they’ll believe me when I swear you’re stalking me. And I suspect I know why you’re stalking me. He put you up to it, didn’t he?”

It was a stab in the dark, but Parker knew she was right. That same feeling was deep in her gut. Her father had hired someone to watch her…again.

That’s why Uncle Jace had looked familiar.

That’s why he was out here in the dark, watching her in the store.

He was her father’s paid flunky.

Maybe she did have a touch of second sight, because she was certain she was right. For the last few weeks she’d occasionally had that old feeling that someone was watching her. She’d tried to convince herself that it was just her imagination spurred on by her father’s renewed efforts to get her to come home. But maybe she’d been right after all.

“Okay, I’m getting out my phone,” she called.

He didn’t just step out of the shadows, he sort of materialized.

“What are you babbling about?” he asked.

Despite the fact she’d been expecting him, Parker jumped.

She tried to hide her nervousness by going on the offensive. “Babbling? I don’t babble. Ever. What does he have you looking for?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the man said.

There was enough light on the edge of the path for her to be reminded of how knee-weakeningly good-looking the man was. Dark and—here in the park at night—dangerous even. He was every woman’s fantasy.

Every woman but Parker Dillon.