by Lara Lacombe
Owen blinked, taken aback by the question. “I, uh—”
“Today? Tomorrow? Next week?”
“I don’t know. I can’t say for certain.”
“Exactly.” Hannah folded her arms across her chest, treating the right one gingerly. “You don’t know. So how long am I supposed to take precautions? How long do I have to keep up my guard? And if he really is after me, don’t you think he’ll just wait until things settle down again? Strike when I least expect it?”
Owen’s hands fisted at his sides. “Yes, dammit! Is that what you want to hear?”
He clenched his jaw so tightly it made a muscle on the side of his face stand out in relief. She had gotten under his skin, that much was clear. Now she needed to drive her point home. But could she do it without hurting him?
She touched his arm, which was as solid and unyielding as stone. “Owen,” she said softly, waiting until he looked at her before continuing. “I just want you to see that there are no guarantees. Maybe he’ll come after me, but most likely he won’t. You can’t expect me to turn my life upside down for such a small chance. Besides,” she said, giving him a small smile, “I hardly think your captain will be willing to waste precious man-hours on a threat that may or may not materialize.”
“My captain has nothing to do with this,” he said stiffly. “I was going to take care of it myself.”
Hannah closed her eyes for a second, kicking herself for having missed it. This wasn’t just about keeping her safe; it was a point of pride for Owen, to be the one protecting her. No wonder he was so upset by her reaction. In his mind, her rejection of his suggestion was tantamount to rejecting him.
“I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if you wasted your time like that,” she said, trying to make him feel better.
“I wouldn’t consider it a waste,” he said quietly.
She was silent for a moment, digesting that. Maybe she could bend a little, if it meant not hurting Owen. “What did you have in mind?”
“I’m still working on it,” he admitted, his gaze faltering. “But I thought you could stay with me, at least for the time being.”
“So much for my life staying the same,” she muttered.
“Or I could move in with you,” he amended hastily. “Either way, we’d be spending a lot of time together. But that’s a good thing, right?”
The shock of his words hit her like a bucket of ice water. “You want us to live together?” she said numbly.
“Temporarily, at least until we get something worked out. But don’t worry,” he added, after seeing her expression. “I don’t expect anything physical to happen between us—I wouldn’t take advantage of you in any way.”
And why was that a little disappointing? Before she could really consider it, he pushed ahead.
“It would just be until I was certain you were safe. That’s all.” He sounded so matter-of-fact, as if their living together was a business transaction and nothing more.
But it wasn’t.
She couldn’t imagine having such an impersonal living arrangement, especially with a man she cared about. And while part of her was thrilled at the prospect of spending more time with Owen, her pride couldn’t accept the fact that he’d be there not because he wanted to spend time with her but because he was doing a job.
Maybe she was being selfish, but she deserved more than a man who saw her as an obligation. For a brief period of time, she’d thought Owen might be the guy for her. It was nothing short of miraculous, the way he’d broken through her defenses and installed himself in her heart. But it was clear that while she’d been falling in love with him, he’d seen her as part of his case.
She shook her head, kicking herself for having been so naive. Owen was a wounded soul, a man crushed by the death of his partner. He was convinced John’s death was his fault, since he had arrived too late to save his friend. Of course he’d feel the same about her. She wasn’t a woman he cared about, at least not in the way she cared about him. She was his chance at redemption. If he could keep her safe, maybe he’d stop blaming himself for John’s murder.
The trouble was, she didn’t want to be his savior. She wanted to be his partner, his lover, his friend. But she couldn’t be responsible for his happiness. He had to discover that for himself.
“Owen,” she said slowly, searching for the right words. “That’s not going to work.”
“Sure it will,” he cajoled. “You won’t even know I’m there.”
“That’s the problem. When I live with a man, it’s going to be because we have a relationship. Not because he’s on guard duty.”
“Hannah—”
“No.” She took a step back and swallowed hard, trying to push down the sudden lump in her throat. Her eyes prickled and she blinked hard, trying to hold back tears. “I like you, Owen. A lot. I was falling in love with you. But I’m not going to be an obligation. I’m not going to be a job to you.”
“You’re not! I promise you, you are not an obligation. Please, just hear me out.” His pleading tone was hard to ignore, but she pushed on, needing to finish.
“I know you still blame yourself for John’s death, even though it wasn’t your fault.”
His head jerked back as if she’d slapped him, the color draining from his face.
“I think you see me as a kind of second chance. That if you can keep me safe or save me from danger, you’ll have earned forgiveness. But I can’t be the one to offer you absolution. You have to figure this out for yourself, that you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not your salvation.”
He stood frozen in place, staring at her as if she’d just taken him out at the knees. His reaction broke her heart, but she knew it was for the best. For both of them.
The silence stretched between them, growing cold and brittle. She wanted to say something, anything, to take back the hurt she’d caused him, but she didn’t know the right words. And she refused to apologize. What she’d said was harsh, but it was also true and it was time they both acknowledged it.
She gave him a final smile, one that she hoped conveyed the affection she still held for him. Even though he didn’t care for her the way she wanted, she still liked him, still wished him the best. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you wrap up your case,” she said softly.
Then she walked past him and out the door, trying to ignore the wrenching pain in her heart.
Chapter 15
Three weeks later...
Owen sat at his desk, trying to focus on the paperwork he was supposed to be filling out. The forms were simple enough—just fill in the blanks—but his concentration had deserted him, leaving him staring blankly at a page that should have taken less than two minutes to complete.
It had been like this since Hannah had walked away, leaving him standing in the break room with a hole in his chest where his heart had been.
He wasn’t sure why her leaving had hurt so much. After all, he’d figured she would. What kind of woman would want to stay with a man who couldn’t protect her, who had let her assailant slip through his fingers, free to hunt her again? He didn’t deserve her, but he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
He’d spent the past few weeks chasing down every lead, every clue. Even though the FBI had been brought in, Owen hadn’t stopped working on the case. He’d dug into Dave Carlson’s background, searched the man’s home and office, and talked to his friends and family. Owen had done everything possible to get inside the guy’s head, and yet he still didn’t know where he was and couldn’t predict what he’d do next. From all accounts, Dave was a cool, methodical man who was highly organized and made sure all angles were covered before he acted. His friends and family had all agreed Dave was long gone, probably settling into a new life in a nonextradition country, far from the mess he’d left behind in Houston.
But Owen didn’t buy it.
Because in addition to describing Dave as a cautious planner, people who knew him also talked about his long memory. And those who’d gotten on his bad side had shared tales of Dave’s retribution. Apparently, Carlson was not big on forgiveness, and he didn’t forget people who he thought had wronged him in any way. Even though months, or in some cases years, had gone by, Dave didn’t miss an opportunity to retaliate.
So even though he was on the run, Owen figured Dave hadn’t gone far. His pride wouldn’t let him leave, not when Hannah was still alive. She had been the key to unraveling this whole mystery, and Carlson had to know it. She had bruised his ego, and a man as conceited as Carlson couldn’t let that pass.
But as the days passed with no sign of him, Owen’s patience had begun to wear thin. Captain Rogers was sympathetic and wanted Owen to keep pursuing the case, but the leads were growing cold, and they had new cases coming in. While the captain hadn’t expressly told him to devote his efforts elsewhere, Owen knew it was just a matter of time before he’d be asked to put it aside and focus on the newer stuff.
Nate had been supportive, chasing down leads with him and never expressing doubt or insinuating that they were wasting their time. He hadn’t asked about Hannah, but sometimes Owen would catch his partner watching him with a concerned expression on his face, the way he had back in the early days of their partnership. He’d been tempted to confide in Nate, but every time he thought about talking to him, the words froze on his tongue. Besides, what could he say? Hannah thinks I see her as an obligation, as a way to make up for getting John killed. Do you agree with her? Not really the kind of conversation he wanted to have with anyone, much less a man he had to work with every day. Better for Nate to suspect his inner turmoil than for him to spell it out in excruciating detail.
Besides, the only one who would really understand was Casey, John’s widow. He’d been meaning to call her, to see how she was faring. Was she still raw with grief as he was? Part of him was afraid to find out, scared that he’d discover she had moved on and had adjusted to life without John. And if that was the case, did that mean something was wrong with him? If John’s widow could recover, why couldn’t his friend? He hoped he wasn’t the only one who still felt jagged and gray, even though it pained him to think that way.
Get over yourself. It was high time he called and checked on her. He’d left her alone for too long. Granted, the last time they’d talked she’d told him never to call again, but that was her pain talking. He’d let his shame and grief blind him to Casey’s own suffering, and he needed to reach out, to make sure she was okay. He owed John that much.
Paperwork forgotten, he reached for his phone and dialed automatically, the number coming back to him effortlessly. He held his breath while the phone rang, torn between hoping she would answer and hoping she wouldn’t. It would be easier to leave a message, but there was no guarantee she’d call back, and he really wanted to hear her voice so he could gauge how she was feeling.
After a few endless seconds, someone picked up. “Hello?”
“Casey?” It came out rough, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “Casey? It’s—”
“Owen!” She sounded genuinely pleased, and he felt a weight lift off his shoulders. “How are you?” she continued. “I’ve been meaning to call you.”
She had? That was surprising. Where was her anger, her disgust with him over his part in John’s death? “I’m fine,” he replied, feeling a little out of sorts. “How are you?”
“Doing better.” She punctuated this with a short laugh. “I have good days and bad days, as I’m sure you know.”
“Yeah,” he replied automatically. “I do.”
“Say, are you free for a drink? I have some things to show you, and I’d love to buy you a cup of coffee.”
“Uh, that sounds nice.” He named a place not far from where he knew she lived. “Meet you there in half an hour?”
“Sounds great!”
Owen hung up and stared at his phone, questioning whether that conversation had really taken place, or if it was just an elaborate fantasy he’d concocted to ease his mind. He checked the call log, verified that he really had dialed out and that the call had been received. Then he put the phone on his desk, shaking his head.
Strange. He’d been expecting her rage, pain and scorn. But she sounded good, as if she wasn’t drowning in despair. He was glad to hear it, and it lit a spark of hope in the depths of his soul. If Casey was okay then maybe he could be, too. Maybe she’d even share her secret with him. He almost laughed at the thought—A Police Widow’s Twelve-Step Guide to Grief for Partners Left Behind. It would be a bestseller for sure.
He’d felt almost normal again when he was with Hannah. Something about her made him feel as if he was going to be okay, that he could persevere and come out the other side relatively unscathed. She wasn’t a magical cure-all for his grief, but she gave him a reason to keep pushing, keep moving forward. It hurt to know she thought he was using her to assuage his guilt over John’s death. Nothing could be further from the truth, but how could he make her realize that? And should he even try? After all, she’d been the one to walk away. Chasing after her wasn’t going to change her mind, and he did have his pride.
Scooping up his phone, he pushed back from his desk and stood. Nate glanced up, and he gave him a quick wave. “Just stepping out for a few minutes,” he said.
Nate nodded. “Call me if you need me.”
“Will do.”
It was a short walk to his car, and for once, Houston traffic cooperated to make for an uneventful drive to the coffee shop. He found a close parking spot and sat for a moment, gathering his thoughts and composing himself. If Casey was doing as well as she sounded, he wanted to convince her that he was fine, as well. It wouldn’t be right for him to lean on her, not when she was dealing with her own issues.
He stepped into the shop with his heart in his throat, glancing around to see if Casey had arrived first. The rich aroma of coffee enveloped him in a comforting embrace, but he resisted the temptation to order a drink. It would be too easy to hide behind a cup, and he needed to face this head-on.
Casey waved at him from a small corner table. He smiled and began to wend his way through the shop, stepping over bags and dodging chairs. She looked different, he noted as he approached. She no longer had dark circles under her eyes, and her face had lost that haunted look she’d worn in the days after John’s death.
“Owen!” she said, standing to greet him. She moved around the table and pulled him into a tight hug. He sucked in a breath as the contact sent a fresh wave of pain across his skin. In the days after his chemical exposure, blisters had erupted along the skin that had been directly exposed to the gas. While they were mostly healed now, every once in a while he’d move the wrong way or brush up against something, and a spike of pain would remind him of their presence. Oblivious to his reaction, Casey gave him a squeeze before releasing him and sitting back down. “It’s so good to see you!”
He took the empty chair across from her and simply drank in the sight of her, momentarily speechless while the pain faded. This reception was so different from the last time he’d seen her, when she’d screamed at him while tears streaked down her cheeks. It was good to see her doing well again.
“You look great,” he offered, which made her smile widen.
“I’m trying,” she confessed. She tilted her head, studying him with slightly narrowed eyes. “How are you, though?”
He debated how to respond for a moment, vacillating between lying and telling her the unvarnished truth. Ordinarily, he would hesitate to dump all his problems on someone else, but sitting here across from Casey he thought he could actually feel John’s presence. It was silly, and probably just a trick of his imagination, but he liked to think John was looking down on them, smiling at the fact tha
t they had gotten back in touch.
He opened his mouth, and the words came tumbling out. He told her about his case, Hannah, all of it. Even the way she’d walked away, confirming his worst fears.
To her credit, Casey didn’t interrupt with superficial reassurances or comforting words. She simply listened, her expression rapt, as though he were the only person in the world.
When he finished, she sat there for a moment, absorbing what he’d said. Then she let out a long sigh. “I should have checked in on you,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry I pushed you away and left you to deal with your grief on your own.”
“You didn’t,” he said, blinking hard against the sudden sting of tears. “You were hurt. You needed time to heal.”
She gave him a sad smile. “I wasn’t the only one who lost John. And it took me a while to realize it. I’m sorry I never called you.”
“Don’t be.” He reached for her hand, gave it a gentle squeeze.
Casey let out a sigh, then pasted on a bright smile. “Well. Let’s see what we can do about your lady friend.”
Owen leaned back in his chair, the familiar sense of defeat stealing over him again. “I don’t know that there is anything to do. She clearly doesn’t want to be with me, and I’m not going to try to force the issue.”
Casey gave him an exasperated look. “Owen, I always thought you were smarter than that. Of course she wants to be with you.”
He frowned. “But she left...”
She held up a hand, dismissing the point. “She left because she thought you were using her to make up for John’s death. She thought that you were trying to save her so that you could forgive yourself for losing John. What she wants is for you to be with her because of her.”
He tried to speak but she shook her head, stalling him. “Tell me this,” she continued. “Do you still blame yourself for John’s death?”