Witchy Woman by Karen Leabo

me, miss.”
    “I have to catch my—”
    He grabbed her arm when she attempted to dart around him. “Please, I must speak to you.”
    Dark, repugnant images assaulted her brain. Stifling, suffocating, evil … She jerked her arm away.
    “Hey!” Nate objected.
    “You have something I want,” the man said, his voice low, menacing. “Let’s speak reasonably about it.”
    “Not a chance, Mac.” Nate put a protective arm around Tess’s shoulders. “C’mon, Tess.”
    The man grabbed at her again. This time she didn’t attempt to pull away. A six-inch knife glittered in his other hand.
    Nate froze, too, though he muttered a resigned, “Ah, hell.”
    “No!” Tess shouted. She knew what he wanted. She also knew, with some inner wisdom, that to give him the statue would invite an even worse tragedy than had already befallen them.
    The man brought his knife closer to Tess’s face. “Shut up. You’re only a child. What do you know?”
    Then Nate, easygoing, friendly Nate, got a look on his face that Tess had never seen before, a nearly palpable fury that rolled off of him in waves. His entire body tensed, then he leaned back slightly. One of his feet shot out in a blur of motion to connect with the other man’s midsection.
    In a tenth of a second the man was doubled over, groaning.
    “Run!” Nate ordered, taking Tess’s hand in case she had it in her head to ignore his advice.
    She didn’t. She took off running with him. They ducked into an alley, their legs pumping in unison. It was too dark for Tess to see much, but Nate led her on an unerring path around discarded boxes, garbage cans, and Dumpsters. Then it was through a small parking lot, over a low fence, and all at once they were in back of Nate’s building again.
    “Is … he … following?” she asked, gasping for breath.
    “I don’t think so.”
    “What did you do to him?”
    “What, you mean that kick?” He shrugged. “Tai kwon do. Haven’t practiced it in a while, but I guess I still got it.” He led her through the back door of his building, swaggering only a little.
    “Whatever it was, thank you. You might’ve just saved my life.” The memory of that knife poised inches from her face, her throat, gave her chills.
    “Yeah, well, next time give him the purse, all right?”
    “The purse?” Tess trooped after him up the stairs, her familiar little vinyl purse clutched against her. She knew she was supposed to be on her way home, but all she could think about was the cozy security of Nate’s apartment and the warmth of that brandy hitting her stomach. “He didn’t want my purse. He wanted the Crimson Cat.”
    “Huh? He didn’t say that. He said you had something he wanted.”
    “Nate, didn’t you recognize him? He’s the man who was hanging around outside Judy’s town house.”
    “I don’t … I mean, I don’t think so. It was dark. How could you tell?”
    “I just could. He wants that statue, and apparently he’s willing to do violence to get it.”
    “If that’s the case, why didn’t you offer to let him have it?” It was clear from his tone that he didn’t buy what she was saying. They reached his door, and he opened it to allow her inside.
    Tess shook her head. “Giving him the statue wouldn’t work. It would only make things worse.”
    “How do you know? Who is he? Why would he want the statue if it’s cursed? If you’re going to tell me a wild story like this and expect me to believe it, you’d better be more consistent.”
    “He’s a Gypsy,” Tess said. “That’s the only explanation that makes sense.”
    “Uh-huh.” Nate dropped onto the couch and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He was wildly attracted to this woman, and he didn’t want her to be crazy, but he was beginning to think she was. And he didn’t need to be involved with a nutcase. He’d dated a paranoid schizophrenic once. She’d seemed so normal at first. Then she’d exhibited behavior he termed