by Jodie Bailey
Kristin lifted her head, letting anger at her lack of control overtake the fear until even her skin felt hot. She was not a victim, not to her own emotions and not to the man who had damaged her body and spirit. Nobody got to treat her the way the man in her kitchen had. She grabbed the edge of the sink and pulled herself up, then covered the cut on her cheek with a bandage. Grabbing the first-aid kit, she headed downstairs to find a file, deal with her trashed fingernails and ice her hip. She had all night, since sleep probably wasn’t going to be her friend. There was no doubt with dark firmly settled in, every little creak in the house would sound exactly like footsteps.
Might actually be footsteps.
Halfway down the stairs, she stopped, the sight in her living room surging her heart with something very close to fear, but a whole lot warmer.
Lucas stood in between the front door and the coffee table, sliding a phone into his pocket. He lifted his head before she had a chance to turn away and school her reaction. “I thought you left.”
“You should know better.” The lines along his face were rigid and spoke of anger, although something in his expression hinted her words had wounded him. “I went home to get my phone and called the police.”
She stiffened. It wouldn’t do any good. There had been too many of them around already, so many more than she’d ever wanted to face. “I don’t—”
“I understand how you feel. But, Kristin, you have to understand...every situation is different. It’s safer—”
“Nothing’s safe. Haven’t you figured that out yet? Having an alarm didn’t help me tonight, did it?”
“It brought me.”
His low words stopped her, thumped an increasingly familiar rhythm into her heart. One she definitely didn’t want him to know about.
Kristin dug her fingers into her hair, and the edges of a broken nail caught with a tearing pain. She winced, then wiped the expression off her face. Her emotions may have whacked her, but she wasn’t weak, and Lucas didn’t need to start thinking she was.
Still, she was smart enough to know when help was needed. And to know when she was acting like a two-year-old. Pulling her hand from her hair, Kristin pointed to the wing-back chair near the door. “If you’re staying, you might as well sit.” To be honest, Lucas could pitch a tent in the living room and camp out if he wanted. She was tired of fighting, tired of fending off fear and anger and everything else. She’d had enough physical altercations for one day, and engaging in a verbal one might be the end of her.
She dropped to the couch as far away from him as she could get. He was a temptation, plain and simple. This afternoon had been proof. Distance was best. Pulling a file from the drawer on the end table, Kristin tried to decide which of her nails had taken the worst damage.
Lucas skirted the chair she’d indicated and dropped into the one closest to her, reaching for the file. “Let me—”
She pulled away. If Lucas touched her now, especially in any remotely tender way, she was finished. All of her emotions were closer to the surface than they’d been since she was a teenager, and the cracks were sure to rupture. No, she couldn’t. It would open the door to talking about their kiss. About how much he had come to mean to her. The door to friendship would slam shut for sure.
Even the heat of his leg near her knee was enough to remind her of how much more she’d started to want, how she ached for him to touch her, to stand beside her. If something didn’t tamp down what he did to her heart, she’d give in to those emotions. Would make the same bad decisions her mother had. Would lose herself and all of her common sense.
It would give Lucas all the power and leave Kristin with nothing. She would never again be the one without the power.
Lucas sat in the chair, his posture straight, as though he were three times more uncomfortable than she was. He watched her work then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his denim-clad knees and lacing his fingers together. “I want to talk about what—”
A knock pounded on the door, and adrenaline jolted her fingers. The police. She’d forgotten them.
Trying to cover her reaction, Kristin shot Lucas a glare, then set her stuff aside and refused to stand. Her knees probably wouldn’t hold her. “Well, there are the police you called.” Her voice was laced with sarcasm she was too tired to hold back. All her confusion and anger and fear were pouring out in hostility she couldn’t fight. “You want to be the one to talk to them or am I allowed to tell them they can leave?” She ignored the hurt on his face and sat staring at him. He’d called them—he could answer the door and deal with them. They wouldn’t do anything helpful anyway. How could they? The damage was already done.
“You don’t get to tell them to go away.” He shoved out of the chair and stalked to the door, his shoes thudding on the hardwood. “Every time I think I understand you...”
Kristin watched his back, muscles tense from the day’s abuse. Here she sat while he let the police into her house, the same police who hadn’t been able to stop her father from slaughtering her mother.
Somehow, she’d already lost control.
* * *
Lucas lay on the sofa and stared at the ceiling, counting the ticks of the wooden clock on the mantel and desperately wishing they’d lull him to sleep.
The police had come and gone, taking Kristin’s statements and his before trying unsuccessfully to talk her into a trip to the hospital. They promised to increase patrols around the house, but Kristin had gotten into Lucas’s head. Nothing felt like enough. His instincts and all of the events surrounding the past few days said she wasn’t safe alone.
The argument they’d had when he’d told her he was bunking on the couch probably should have brought the police right back. She’d actually yelled.
He’d sat in the chair near the couch with crossed arms, refusing to engage in the heated discussion. He’d made his decision, and he wasn’t changing his mind. Unless she called the police to kick him out, he wasn’t leaving her alone.
Kristin had thrown in the towel and stormed up the stairs, leaving him with no pillow and no blanket.
Well, he’d slept in worse conditions.
The banging and stomping upstairs had stopped a couple of hours ago, and other than the creaks and pops of an old house settling in for the night, there was silence.
Still, Lucas couldn’t sleep.
The intensity of Kristin’s anger concerned him more than anything else. Her brave front was crumbling. He’d seen soldiers crack under less stress than she’d faced. Kissing her had been a huge mistake, adding confusion to an already complicated situation. He should have known better, and he should have apologized sooner instead of staying away all day. With him knowing his limits and with her facing violence and renewed grief about her brother...
Her brother. Lucas sat up and flipped on the end table lamp. Squinting, he stared at the front door, trying to puzzle out the questions pinging in his head. How did Kristin’s brother fit into this whole mess?
Lucas dropped his head against the back of the sofa and stared at the ceiling. When it came to Kyle Coleman, he had to believe Kristin knew her brother best. But by her own admission and his own observation, the dude wasn’t a stand-up guy. The way he’d wandered into his sister’s life, had lied about how long he’d been in town before he sought her out... Lucas couldn’t stop thinking it was all part of some greater plan. Problem was, there were too many missing pieces to form a whole picture.
If Kyle Coleman really was involved in trafficking stolen antiquities, Kristin was going to pay the price in the end, especially if Lucas didn’t find a way to prove she wasn’t involved. Even Travis had grown insistent when they’d spoken earlier. “Find a way to prove she’s not involved before CID decides she is.”
Lucas sank lower into the cushions and closed his eyes. God, I have no idea what to do here. There’s not a map for this. You’ve plan
ted me in a situation where I’m supposed to help this woman, and I’ve messed up everything I’ve touched.
He studied a fine crack in the ceiling, his thoughts tumbling over one another.
Somehow, he’d become the one person who could make inroads into whatever had led to Kyle Coleman’s murder. Since coincidences didn’t exist, he knew he was exactly where he was supposed to be, whether he wanted to be here or not, whether he knew why or not.
The sure thing was he wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. He pulled his phone off the coffee table and pressed the screen.
Dead.
That was all he needed. A dead cell when anything could happen. Well, Kristin had the same phone as he did, and last he remembered, her cable was attached to the computer in the kitchen. And coffee was in the kitchen. If he was going to be awake, he might as well make it count for something.
With a hefty groan, Lucas shoved off the couch and slipped into the kitchen, trying to tread lightly in his socks. He’d traded his jeans and sweatshirt for track pants and a T-shirt. The change wasn’t helping him relax. He was as antsy and ready to roll as he was when he was geared up in full battle rattle.
Dragging a hand down his face, where a day’s growth scrubbed his palm, Lucas searched cabinets and drawers until he found the coffee, then scooped it into the machine. The coffeemaker hissed, and coffee dribbled out, warming the air with the familiar scent of the strong brew.
Once it started brewing, he went to the small desk by the back door where a laptop sat, the lone item on the pristine surface.
He surveyed the hardwood floor and the granite counters, noticing again how everything had purpose and a place. It was like Kristin laid her life out in a particular order and kept it just so.
Which made sense, considering the things she’d told him about her childhood.
Before he’d kissed her and wrecked her trust.
Scrubbing at the corner of his eye, Lucas turned toward the desk again and slipped the free end of the charger into his phone.
The laptop screen flickered to life.
Lucas stepped back and glanced at the door that led toward the rest of the house, then to the machine, Travis’s voice echoing in his head. Find a way to prove she’s not involved before CID decides she is.
He reached a hand toward the computer, his pulse double-timing at what he was contemplating. Could he really search for clues as to why she was being hunted and what her brother had to do with it? A way to stop this madness before Kristin was hurt again...or killed?
He eased closer as though the machine was a camel spider ready to leap, then stared at it, unsure what to do.
Was he the kind of guy who could invade her privacy, even though her brother could have dropped some sort of clue in an email that might save her life?
Lucas eyed the machine, which had opened to the mail program. Several windows sat open, various emails from Kyle. She’d been rereading her brother’s emails, probably looking for anything to indicate why his name was coming up in these attacks. He slid into the seat, gut twisting.
The coffee smelled strong enough to wake the dead, every creak of the chair a rifle shot in the silence. If she caught him...
If she caught him, kissing her would no longer be the worst thing he’d done.
All he needed was proof she wasn’t involved. Her brother’s emails were mostly brief responses to long, conversational emails she’d sent him. Coleman’s words were generic, the tone of a man answering an acquaintance rather than his sister. There was no pattern, nothing to indicate he’d ever even hinted to Kristin what he was involved in.
Relief loosened Lucas’s tight shoulders. So far, everything confirmed what he already believed about Kristin. She wasn’t involved. But her innocence didn’t bring him any closer to answers about her brother.
Lucas sat back and skimmed, then stared at the wall above the computer. Coleman had been on the larger forward operating base with near-constant access to a computer, yet he’d managed to email his sister a handful of times, and only in response to her queries. He skimmed the newer emails listed along the side of the screen, trying to see if he’d missed anything.
Until he stumbled on one from about a month ago.
One that contained his own name in the subject line.
From Casey.
His heartbeat drummed faster, adrenaline surging into his system. He’d met Casey around the time the email was sent, and a subject line like That Lucas guy indicated she’d had something to say about the meeting.
It was one bad thing to read Kristin’s open emails in an attempt to exonerate her. It was a whole other horrible action to snoop in her private emails to learn her thoughts on their relationship.
He tapped the desk, debating his next move and how much of an idiot he wanted to be. Once the email was opened, he could never undo it.
Lucas scanned the folders on the sides of the page—email strings from clients, based on the subjects. Still, Casey’s seemed to glow in his peripheral vision, calling him to see what she’d said and if Kristin had replied.
Until he caught sight of another folder halfway down the list.
Lucas.
A folder that could only be filled with emails from him. Kristin, who kept no clutter, held on to nothing sentimental, had saved his emails.
He pressed his lips together, refusing to give in to the temptation to peek as frustration washed through him. There was nothing open on the laptop to indicate a way to end this nightmare. Nothing to help. And no way would he violate her privacy by digging deeper. He had nothing to go on.
Only his emails, and more confusion than he’d had when he started.
ELEVEN
Kristin leaned against the kitchen counter and watched fairy dust dance in the light that slanted in from the windows and left bright squares on the hardwood. She’d spent the morning unsuccessfully stretching out the pain from last night’s altercation before she headed down the stairs and stood in the doorway of the kitchen, inhaling and exhaling in a rhythm designed to ward off the certainty she never wanted to cross the threshold again. The certainty she never wanted to see the place where she’d been bested and Lucas Murphy had become her hero.
The warm coffee mug resting against her palms soothed some of the stress. Sure, some of her colleagues hated the stuff, claimed it was all kinds of unhealthy and tea was the thing, but there was something about coffee that felt so much more indulgent than tea, like a guilty pleasure, a comfort she’d never felt anywhere else.
Except lately, with Lucas Murphy.
He’d left early, not long after first light, probably headed to church. Every Friday when they ran together, he’d ask if she wanted to go with him. And every Friday, she said no. In the chaos of this week, he hadn’t asked.
In the chaos of this week, she might have said yes.
It was a good thing he’d left.
She shifted her hip on the counter, trying to avoid the bruise that had created an ugly reflection in the mirror this morning. One more reminder this was real. It became more painfully real with each encounter with the man who wanted...
She sighed. He still hadn’t said what, other than that Kyle had it.
Her plan for the day had been simple. Stretch, get a shower and then face the kitchen. She’d climbed the first hurdle and was in the room. Although standing in this spot tensed everything her earlier stretches had loosened, she could slowly sense the power returning. This was her home. Nobody got to scare her out of it.
Kristin had thought she’d spend the rest of her morning cleaning blood off the floor, but apparently Lucas hadn’t slept last night. The hardwood was spotless, as good as if she’d scrubbed it herself. A smile wrapped around her mug as she sipped her coffee. He knew she was a hyperorganized freak.
The smile dipped. Maybe he knew her too
well. How had that happened? Her whole life, she’d managed to keep her distance. Lucas Murphy had kicked her walls apart with his combat boots. She’d kissed him.
And she wanted to kiss him again. To spend every day knowing she had the right to kiss him whenever she wanted, to feel the safety of knowing he was hers and he was watching over her. As much as she’d fought the idea of him bunking on the couch last night, it was the first solid night’s rest she’d had in...
Ever.
Kristin dropped her head against the cabinet and stared hard at the ceiling.
With a groan, Kristin shoved herself away from the counter and refilled her mug. Thinking about Lucas all day was going to do nothing but make the situation worse. Distance. She had to keep her distance and somehow cool off her emotions. The trick was finding something to overtake her thoughts until nothing else could filter in.
Taxes. Nothing put the kibosh on feelings like figuring out how much money she owed Uncle Sam. Might as well start now. If everything went her way, the job would take all day and leave her too mentally drained to think tonight.
Easing into the chair at the small desk, Kristin settled her coffee mug on the warmer and ran her finger across the track pad to wake the machine.
She leaned over to pull a file from the two-drawer oak cabinet next to her. The movement brought screaming protest from every muscle in her body. This was more than getting tossed around like an empty flour sack last night. This was the way-too-hard workout she’d attacked yesterday afternoon trying to work Lucas out of her mind. If she wasn’t careful, he’d wreck every bit of her, starting with her heart.
Determined to shove Lucas out of her mind, Kristin flipped open the file then glanced at the computer screen.
Something was wrong.
A device removal warning sat in the middle of the screen. Her forehead wrinkled. She’d used her laptop since the last time she’d plugged her phone into it, so it couldn’t be hers. The warning hadn’t been there yesterday afternoon. So who had connected a phone to her computer last night?
