She pulled her foot away too quickly. He looked up, his blue eyes worried. "Am I hurting you?"
She looked down at her own blood on his handkerchief, embarrassed.
"It was so clean."
He laughed, put her feet back into his lap, nearly lifting her off the ground. He pulled another white handkerchief from his pocket and went to work on her other foot. This time, she leaned into his hands, knowing that wherever this man took her would be worth the stain of leaving.
A Man Called Intrepid author dies aged 89(Dec 03 2013) William Stevenson, a journalist and author who drew on his close ties with intelligence sources to write two best-selling books in the 1970s, A Man Called...