by Lori Foster
Bruce sighed, then tugged on her until she was up against his side. "I know you have a past, honey. I know you were mistreated. If you lashed out at someone—"
"At Palmer." Why was he calling her "honey"? Sincere endearments were new to her, so she wasn't quite sure what it meant.
"You had good reason."
He sounded so insanely sure of that. She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing. "If Jamie's right, then Palmer isn't dead. I've spent my life doing stupid things, avoiding notice, hiding, for no-good reason at all."
"You were a runaway."
She laughed at the absurdity of it all. "No one would have looked for me. No one cared that I was gone, unless Palmer wanted me back just so he could dole out retribution. But mad as he must have been that I hit him and got away, he couldn't have done much about it. He didn't have money or resources."
"The school might have gotten involved after you dropped out of sight. Who knows? But don't think about that right now, okay? What matters is the present. Whatever reason Jamie has for wanting us to check in with Scott, it must be important. And I trust Jamie."
Strangely enough, she did, too. But she was scared. More scared than she'd been in years. So many times she'd lied to herself, claiming to have no fear because fear, like tears, was a waste of time. She knew the truth. "I hate being such a coward."
Bruce pulled into the station and shut off the engine. In the next instant, he had her hauled into his arms. "You, Cynthia Potter, are about the bravest woman I know."
"Knock it off, Bruce. I'm not stupid."
"Not stupid, and not a coward. You're incredible. Believe me."
"And you," she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder, "are a nut." She pushed back. "A nut in rose-colored glasses."
"I'm a realist."
"And I'm a whore. Before that, I tried to kill a guy. I thought I had killed him and I was so glad. Nothing incredible about that."
"You were a kid acting out of desperation, and you're no longer a hooker. Now you're Shay's assistant—"
She said, "Ha!"
"Okay, Shay's helper, then. And her friend. You're also the caretaker for two horses, and you baby them shamelessly." He leaned forward and kissed her brow. "You're a good woman. Quit trying to convince me otherwise."
Cyn sat there a moment, frustrated, feeling unworthy and hating herself for it "Why don't you kiss me again, like you did two weeks ago?"
He looked blank-brained, wary, and she warmed to her topic. She was anxious, upset, and he made a good target for her churning emotions. "You started to back on the road, but then you pulled away. Why all these brotherly pecks, Bruce? Why the damn handholding and placating, when we both want more?"
Bruce released her and settled back into his seat. "The way I kissed you on the road ... I don't know. That was adrenaline, I guess."
"Felt like lust to me."
"And that business in the loft..." He shook his head. "It was a mistake."
"Well, I know that, but you keep insisting that I'm things I'm not."
He studied her face. 'You're young. Only twenty-two."
Where had that complaint come from? "So? I've lived enough to be three times that."
His half-smile made him look more appealing than ever. "You accuse me of wearing rose-colored glasses, when you're the one in blinders. You see things your own way, in any way that suits you. I'm thirty-five, Cyn. A grown man when most would consider you little more than a kid."
'That's just plain stupid."
"I'm also well used to women who are confused about who they are and what they want from life, thanks to tragic backgrounds or personal disappointments."
"Give me a break." Exasperation rolled over her. "In other words, you think I might just see you as some grand savior, and I'm confusing my feelings because of it?"
Rather than react to her antagonism, he seemed to focus on one small thing she'd said. "What are your feelings?"
Cyn pinched her mouth shut. No way was she going to open her heart to him while he sat there, all sanctimonious and full of grave understanding, telling her what she thought and felt. "Never mind."
"Cyn ..."
"Come on. Let's get this little visit with the law over with."
Cyn wanted to get back to her loft, where she could curl up on her narrow bed and console herself—as she'd done many times in the past. She didn't need Bruce Kelly and his bleeding-heart favors. She didn't need him looking out for her. She sure as hell didn't need his perfunctory kisses that didn't mean a damn thing.
She could take care of herself and Bruce would only get in her way. Things were looking good, and she wouldn't let bad news change that.
Unfortunately, the second Scott Royal made her acquaintance, things went downhill.
* * *
Bruce scowled at Scott. "She's wanted for what?"
"Stealing a trucker's wallet. He called it in, even gave a description of her."
Cyn blinked, chuckled nervously, then began to howl with laughter. When Bruce and Scott stared at her, she only roared that much louder.
Bruce went to her, gripped her shoulder. "Cyn, stop that."
"Don't you get it?" She hiccuped around an enormous smile. "It's nothing."
"Theft is hardly considered nothing, Ms. Potter."
Cyn waved that off. "It's a big, fat lie, made up by some pathetic bozo from a dining lot. And here I'd thought it was—"
Bruce cut her off before she could make any confessions she might later regret. "Can I get you a drink of water? A Coke?"
She drew in a shuddering breath and tamped down on her absurd mirth. "Naw, I'm okay. Just relieved."
Bruce turned back to Scott "You're sure it's Cyn? A swiped wallet could be blamed on anyone."
"I don't think so, Bruce. The guy described her as..." he cleared his throat, "well, attractive."
Cyn made a face. "Please, I'm going to blush."
"He also specified long, dark hair and the strangest, lightest blue eyes he'd ever seen. If it wasn't for the eyes..."
Cyn started laughing again. "Good old Jamie told me that it was my eyes that would give me away."
"Well, you can forget it," Bruce insisted. "I was there, and she didn't steal the guy's wallet."
"You were there?" Scott looked more than a little skeptical.
"Yes. It's how I met her. He was hassling her, giving her a hard time, and I intervened."
"And you're one hundred percent sure she didn't lift his wallet? Maybe before you got involved." Scott, the epitome of patience most of the time, kept looking between Cyn's smile and Bruce's frown.
"It wasn't like that at all," Bruce insisted. "The trucker was manhandling her, claiming she owed him."
"Money?" Scott asked, more intrigued by the moment.
Cyn piped up, saying, "Sex, actually."
Scott propped his hands on his hips and surveyed her. "And naturally, you refused?"
"That's right. But then Bruce showed up and being the incredible, generous man that he is—"
"Cyn," Bruce warned.
"—he gave the guy cash just to shut him up and send him on his way."
"And I watched him put the money in his wallet." Bruce moved to stand in front of Cyn. She was in a strange, defensive mood, and she wasn't helping the situation at all. "I was still standing there when he stuck his wallet in his back pocket. I saw him do it. He probably dropped it somewhere else later that day, but Cyn definitely didn't take it."
With Bruce blocking his view of Cyn, Scott paced away. He ran a hand through his sandy brown hair, rolled his shoulders as if vexed, and then sighed. "I still need to do a check. It's procedure. If you two can sit tight for a few minutes, I'll run her name and see what we come up with."
Cyn turned to stone.
Bruce glanced at his watch. "It's getting late."
"Tell me about it. I've been here twelve hours already."
"Where's the sheriff?"
With a wry look of disgust, Scott said, "Off on a fis
hing trip. As usual." He shook his head. "The man wants to retire and he's making no bones about it."
"Maybe you should take his job."
Scott turned his appalled frown on Bruce. "Not on your life. I have my hands full as it is. No way do I want his paperwork added to the pile."
The station was small, with cells in the basement and desks on the first floor. Scott led them to an empty, quiet room that could have been used for interrogations or regular meetings. Crime in Visitation was nearly nonexistent. But that didn't mean Scott was incompetent. On the contrary, the man knew his job.
"You'll be more comfortable here." Scott hesitated, then said, "Coffee?"
Cyn ignored him to roam the room, so Bruce nodded. "Sure. Thank you."
"I'll have someone bring it to you. And if you need anything else, let me know. This might take a few minutes."
Bruce was relieved to have the privacy of the closed room, but that same privacy only made it harder for him to keep his hands off Cyn. She was scared and trying to hide it with sarcasm.
"This is just great," she complained. "My one legitimate claim was that I'd never been arrested."
Leaning back on the edge of a long table, Bruce watched her. "You're not arrested now."
"I'm sitting in a sheriffs station, in an interrogation room. Feels the same." She flopped down into a chair, put her elbows on the table and propped her head on her hands.
"You know what I think?" Bruce pulled a chair up close to her. "I think you should be relieved it's just a misunderstanding, considering you were thinking the worst."
"The day isn't over."
170 had Foster
"Such an optimist." He shook his head at her. .,-
She lowered her hands to glare at him. 'Jamie;; did say I was in danger. I hardly think this is wha he had in mind." /
"No, probably not." Bruce dug out his ce" phone. "And in fact, I think I'll ask Bryan and Joel to run a check on this Palmer Oaks fellow. The^ should be able to track him down, find out wher he's at and what he's been up to since you last saw him."
"Since he's not dead."
"Since you didn't kill him."
Aggrieved, Cyn lifted one shoulder as if to say /; don't care. "Sure. Knock yourself out."
Bruce hadn't waited for her permission. The second Bryan answered, he explained the situation. It was actually a pretty amazing tale to retell, and to Bryan's credit, he didn't falter. He did question Bruce's motives, though.
"Yeah, I know what I said earlier, but this changes things."
"What did you say earlier?" Cyn asked.
Bruce covered the phone. "That I didn't want him poking around in your past."
She stiffened. "He would have?"
"If I'd asked him to, yeah." And then to Bryan, "No, I don't need you here. Thanks. And tell Shay not to make a big deal of it The fewer people who know, the better."
Hearing that, Cyn softened, sending him a grateful look. What had she expected? For him to throw her to the wolves? To have her name bandied around the entire town?
She gave him a thumbs up, and Bruce winked hack.
"So," he said to his brother, "you're pretty sure you can find this Palmer idiot for me? Yeah, I'm willing to bet he has a record. His kind always do." Bruce listened, grinned. "No, I'm not going after him. You know better than that. I'm serious. Bryan, I don't lie. If I wanted him, I'd tell you so. Swear."
Bruce meant what he said. He wouldn't seek Palmer out, but God help the fool if he came around Cyn again.
"I just want to know where he is, Bryan, to make sure he's nowhere near Cyn."
Bruce didn't go into his meeting with Jamie and the warnings. Bryan didn't put much stock in Jamie's insights, regardless of having experienced them firsthand.
"All right. Get back to me as soon as you can. And if you think Joe can help, fine. Just tell him to keep it quiet. Yeah, I know, an unnecessary warning."
Bruce hung up just as the coffee arrived. Pretending a detachment from the situation, Cyn added a lot of sugar and creamer to her cup, then sipped while eyeing Bruce.
After the door was again closed, she said, 'You're going to an awful lot of trouble for a woman who's too young for you."
The way her mind worked never ceased to amaze Bruce. "I didn't say you were too young for me."
She paused in mid-sip, then sent him an accusing frown. "You did, too. You said—"
"I said that twenty-two was awfully young. Too young to leap into a relationship. You have a lot going on in your life right now." He tasted his own coffee.
Cyn watched him. Bruce could see her calculating her next words, and he prepared himself.
"Who said anything about a relationship? I just; asked you to kiss me."
She might not want a relationship, but he did. So how could he reassure her, without encouraging or discouraging her? Honesty seemed his best bet. "I'm a man who doesn't get involved unless I intend to stay involved."
"Give me a break, here. We're talking about kiss-ing."
"Feels like a lot more to me." His gaze held hers, and he saw her reciprocal awareness of that truth. His voice went low and deep. "I'm not at all sure I can kiss you without wanting more."
"More?"
He took a breath. "Like everything."
"Oh."
"So, we're back to square one. Unless you want to answer my question now."
After everything he'd just admitted, she needed to take a second to catch her breath. She fidgeted in her chair, smoothed her hair, and finally cleared her throat. "Which question's that?"
"What are your feelings for me?"
Very slowly, her tongue came out to moisten her bottom lip. Bruce felt that warm, damp lick as if it had been against his own mouth. His nostrils flared, his body warmed and his abdomen grew taut. It was insane the effect she had on him. Insane, but undeniable.
"I like you."
He suppressed a groan. "And?"
"I think you're handsome and sexy."
Humor saved him. He grinned. "That's an observation, Cyn, not a feeling."
Her shoulders straightened in defiance. "Okay, you turn me on."
He hoped so, because she definitely did it for him. But her past couldn't be dismissed, so he tilted his head in contemplation, and pressed her further. "You told me when I kissed you that you hadn't known a kiss could be so nice."
"Yeah, so?" She stared at his mouth. "Maybe you're just a good kisser."
Determined to make some headway, Bruce scooted his chair closer to hers. He didn't lighten his tone, didn't remove the seriousness from his question. "Have you ever been turned on before, Cyn? Seriously turned on?"
She actually blushed. "I was a hooker."
"Who didn't like kissing," he reminded her.
Disgrunded, she finally understood. "Okay, so for me it was a business. It's hard to feel anything when you just want to get the guy off so he'll pay you. And they were strangers, mostly pathetic, not exactly a young girl's dream, if you know what I mean."
Her words tore through him, leaving lacerated emotions in the wake. Bruce had to fight the awful, possessive urges because as much as it galled him, he couldn't protect her from her past. He could protect her from the present. And he would.
"You're different," she continued stubbornly. "I do want you. Physically, I mean."
Bruce hoped that was true, but he knew enough about abuse not to trust surface claims. He gentled his voice, took her hands in his. "Are you sure it is physical? Are you sure it's not just because I provide a sense of comfort, or acceptance?"
He could tell by her expression that she wasn't sure at all.
Back to square one. "That's what I thought. I want you, Cyn. Never doubt that." His hand lifted to her cheek, downy soft and warmed from their discussion. "I think you're desirable, inside and out. But I'd be an unconscionable bastard if I took advantage of you now."
As she often did when she felt defensive, she tucked in her chin and gave him such a sultry look, a slow burn started in his belly.
"Maybe I want you to take advantage of me."
It wasn't easy, but Bruce fought temptation. "Not yet, honey." And before she could get too upset about that, he voiced a niggling question. "You thought you had killed Palmer. Will you tell me what happened?"
"Why? He's alive, so obviously I failed."
"I care about you. I need to know what happened in case any trouble shows up."
"I don't want you involved."
"That's tough, because I am, and there's nothing you can do about it except make sure I'm informed, so I can better handle the situation."
She looked rebellious, before she gave up and shrugged with feigned indifference.
Bruce felt the trembling in her fingers and saw the wariness in her gaze. He knew this wouldn't be easy for her, and if he could, he would have spared her. But in case Palmer did show up, he had to know what had happened.
"He tried coming into my room."
"Your bedroom?"
"Yeah." She nodded, her gaze averted. "He'd been different all day, and I could practically feel him building up to something."
Bruce swallowed, squeezed her hand tighter. His throat felt tight, but he forced the question out. "Rape?"
She rubbed her forehead. "Yeah, I think so. He'd been in my room before, and it was awful, but this was different. He'd been weird all day. Full of... sick anticipation. It turned my stomach and I..."
Bruce put his forehead to hers and whispered. "Tell me."
"I couldn't take it." She swallowed, bit her lips. "I wasn't stupid even then, so I knew what he wanted to do and I knew I couldn't let him. I waited, and when he opened my door, I bashed him over the head with a lamp."
"I see."
"I doubt that." She gave a near-hysterical laugh. "Whatever you're picturing, add a lot more blood." She shuddered, and for only a moment, the pain suffered by a young, frightened child filled her eyes. "It was ... everywhere."
Bruce held her closer to his heart. "You struck him in the head?" At her nod, he explained, "Head wounds often bleed a lot. They can look worse than they are."
"Well, this one looked pretty damn bad. I hit him more than once." She stared at him, refusing to look away. "I hit him, and even though part of me wanted to stop, I kept hitting him. It was like I couldn't help myself. Like I was someone else. Then I realized he wasn't moving. He wasn't even breathing."
