Page 79 of Illusionist
Nova.
I'm on my feet and out the door before conscious thought kicks in. The carnival's afternoon crowd mills around, cotton candy and popcorn forgotten as they crane their necks toward the commotion.
Behind the Tilt-a-Whirl, I see her.
Nova's backed against a wall, her flowing dress hiked up around her waist by thick, grubby hands. A man with greasy hair and stained clothes presses against her, one hand groping between her legs while the other covers her mouth.
I see red.
Pure, blinding rage floods my system as I recognize him from the research photos. Roman Miller. Her husband. The man who tortured her for twelve years.
I don't remember crossing the distance. Don't remember my fist connecting with his skull. But suddenly I'm on him, driving my knuckles into his face with satisfying cracks.
“Get the fuck off her!”
Roman staggers back, blood streaming from his nose. “What the hell—she's my wife!”
“Not anymore.” I hit him again, this time in the gut. He doubles over, wheezing.
“Silas!” Teddy's beside Nova, hands hovering as she slides down the trailer wall, sobbing. Her dress is torn, makeup smeared, eyes wild with terror.
“Baby,” I drop to my knees beside her, Roman forgotten for the moment. “I'm here. You're safe.”
She can't stop shaking. Can't catch her breath. Her hands clutch at my shirt like I might disappear.
“Hey, hey.” Jules appears with two cotton candies still in her hands, takes one look at Nova, and drops them both. “What happened?”
“Roman,” Nova gasps. “He found me. He—” She breaks off, fresh sobs wracking her frame.
Teddy's face hardens. “The husband?”
I nod grimly, standing as Roman tries to straighten up. Blood drips from his busted lip, but his eyes burn with familiar cruelty.
“She belongs to me,” Roman snarls. “Twelve years of marriage don't just disappear because the little whore ran away.”
Wrong thing to say.
I grab him by the throat and slam him back against the neighboring trailer. His feet leave the ground as I lift him, my grip cutting off his air supply.
“You touch her again,” I whisper, “and I'll make sure they never find your body.”
“Silas.” Teddy's voice is calm but firm. “Not here. Too many witnesses.”
He's right. Families with children are starting to gather, phones out, recording. I release Roman, who crumples to the ground gasping.
“This isn't over,” Roman wheezes. “She's still legally mine. I'll call the cops, report her kidnapping?—”
“Go ahead,” Teddy says mildly, pulling out his FBI badge. “I'm sure they'll be very interested in your outstanding warrants. Domestic violence, stalking, violation of a restraining order...”
Roman's face goes pale. “There's no restraining order.”
“There is now,” Teddy lies smoothly. “Funny how paperwork gets filed when you know the right people.”
I help Nova to her feet, wrapping my arms around her trembling form. She buries her face against my chest, still crying.
“How did you find me?” she whispers.
Roman spits blood. “Wasn't hard. Carnival circuits talk. Someone mentioned a redhead escape artist who looked like my runaway wife.” His smile turns cruel. “Thought I'd come collect what's mine.”
