The Scribe

She wandered the edges of the palace, looking out over stunning views of the sea and snapping pictures for hours. Every now and then, she’d catch a glimpse of him at the edge of her frame.

Hello, stranger. Ava snapped another picture of him, pushing a button on her camera to examine him more closely.

At least they’d hired an attractive one this time.

He looked Turkish. Taller than average. Most professional bodyguards were far from the romantic notions portrayed in movies or books, even farther from the giant thugs who followed musicians around. The best were men and women who could blend into any crowd. They were overlooked until they became necessary, and they rarely garnered an admiring stare.

But this man was… not handsome. Compelling. Something about him made her eyes want to linger. Lean muscle covered his frame, and despite the heat, he was clothed from head to toe, though his suit appeared to be made of linen and not some hotter material. His collar lay open, exposing the edge of an intricate tattoo. That was unusual. His hair was dark and straight, falling onto his forehead and almost into his eyes. He could use a haircut, which meant he was probably not married. She glanced at the three college-age girls who checked him out as he pretended to read a book at the café. He didn’t even give them a glance. Focused. He blended into the crowd admirably for someone as physically imposing as he was, but there was still something about him that drew Ava’s camera over and over again.

Or maybe it was just his voice.

She’d caught it almost as soon as she’d left the hotel. Thankfully, the bodyguard was keeping his distance. Carl must have clarified his instructions. The man followed, but not too closely. Occasionally, Ava would turn and deliberately snap his picture, letting him know she’d seen him. He looked away every time she did, a slightly irritated expression crossing his face.

She caught him at the edge of another frame just as he was pulling out a mobile phone. Probably calling Carl to complain about her.

“Won’t do any good,” she sang under her breath.

Her stepfather had tried for years to understand how Ava could pick up on any security he assigned to her. He knew she could hear them—her mother had never hidden her secret from Carl—he just chose not to believe. He wasn’t a bad guy, really. Carl adored her mother, and he was honest to a fault. The fact that he’d been saddled with a stepdaughter who was slightly crazy was just the cost of capturing Lena Russell’s heart. Ava couldn’t fault his indifference as she’d never made an effort with him, either.

The stranger was still talking, so Ava grabbed a coffee and perched on a bench, lifting her camera to capture a boy who was laughing at something his mother had said. They teased and giggled with each other as Ava clicked. A common moment between mother and child set in the grandeur of the old Ottoman court. It was exactly the kind of photograph she loved.

A young man brushed a little too close, causing her to tense, to grip her cup as her coffee spilled hot over her fingers. Her bodyguard started toward the man, but Ava gave a small shake of her head.

Not a threat. The unspoken message seemed to reach him, because he stopped, looking between the retreating man and Ava.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to rid the angry sound of the young man from her mind.

Sharp, piercing tones. His thoughts were shot through with a deep thread of pain. Most people’s inner voices were like tiny orchestras in the moments before a concert. An odd cacophony of emotion and tone only occasionally smoothing out into a discernible voice. The young man who had just passed her was angry, but also in pain. It was all there in his voice.

Ava took a few more deep breaths and looked up to find her bodyguard staring at her. His voice, in contrast, was the smooth, clear note the moment before the orchestra played. Perfectly in tune. She didn’t know quite what to make of it.

Time to say hello.

If she wanted him to cooperate and leave her be without reporting every flinch to her mother and Carl, she’d have to play nice. Tossing her coffee in a nearby trash can, she stood and walked over. He didn’t run. Didn’t look away. He stared at her from behind shaded lenses as she tucked her camera in her bag and held out her hand.

“Hi, I’m Ava. I imagine you know that already.”

The bodyguard just blinked at her, staring at her hand as if it might bite. Finally, she dropped it. She had surprised him. His silent voice whispered in circles so rapid she felt as if she was in the middle of a minor storm. But he didn’t speak to her, not out loud.

“I know I heard you speak English the other day. It might not be your first language, but I’m sorry, I don’t speak any Turki—”

“English is fine.”

His spoken voice was deeper than his silent one, but it held the same odd resonance that had drawn her since she first heard it. Ava tried not to lean closer, even though the urge was there.

“Okay.” She nodded. “I just wanted to introduce myself.”

“Hello.”

What about his one-word greeting did Ava find amusing? She didn’t know why she smiled, but she did. “That back there? With the guy… I get headaches—it’s a medical thing that’s not a big deal—so don’t panic if you see me looking like I might pass out. I’ve never passed out in my life. And I have no idea why Carl hired you, but since I can’t get him to fire you, we might as well be friendly.”

He just shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation.

“I know you’re going to be following me, so please don’t feel like you have to hide. If you could just keep your distance and stay as unobtrusive as possible, that’d be great. I’ve had guards before, but I’m pretty independent. I’m honestly not sure why Carl felt like he had to do this, but since there never seems to be any reasoning with him, let’s just go with it, okay?”