“You were young when they died, right?”
“Five, and they didn’t just die. My father murdered my mother and then committed suicide.” It wasn’t something she mentioned often. She’d been too young to remember much about her parents. The memories she did have were happy ones. Playing on the swing set in the backyard, riding on her father’s shoulders, playing hide-and-seek with her mother.
“I’m sorry.”
“I am, too, but it doesn’t really seem like it happened to my family. My parents always seemed happy, and that’s the way I remember them.”
“I’m glad all your memories are good ones. Not everyone has that.” He smiled, and her pulse jumped in response.
She ignored it and tried to ignore him as she thumbed through the papers.
A newspaper article about her parents’ deaths.
An unused bus ticket from Oregon to Pine Bluff. A wedding photograph with her parents’ wedding date and names scrawled in the corner.
“Are those your folks?” Darius asked, leaning in so close she could feel every muscle in his arm, every breath that he took, feel him settling into that place in her heart. The place she hadn’t let anyone touch since Peter’s betrayal.
“Yes.”
“They were kids.”
“He was nineteen. She was sixteen.” And she was obviously pregnant, her stomach burgeoning out from the too-tight dress she wore.
“Sixteen is young to get married.”
“Her parents agreed to it. The way Eileen tells it, they were happy to get rid of her.”
“Harsh.”
“I wouldn’t know. I never met them. They moved out of state after my parents died and didn’t bother telling Eileen where they were going.”
“Afraid they’d be asked to help raise you?”
“Probably. Like I said, I didn’t know them.”
“And you haven’t tried to get to know them as an adult?”
“They didn’t have time for me then. I don’t have time for them now. That’s kind of how I see things.” She had tried to contact them through extended family when she was eighteen, but they’d never responded, and she’d given up.
“You haven’t had a very easy life, have you, Catherine?” he asked quietly, the warmth in his voice matching the warmth of his palm as his hand slid down her neck, her arm, her side, settled on her waist.
“Don’t feel sorry for me.”
“Who said anything about feeling sorry for you?”
“You didn’t have to. I see it in your eyes.”
“What you see,” he said, leaning closer, “has nothing to do with me feeling sorry for you.”
Heat unfurled in her belly, the feeling so unexpected, so unwelcome, she jumped up. “I need to get back to the hospital.”
“Running away never solves anything.”
“I’m not running.” She stopped at the door, wanting to prove the truth to him and to herself. She wasn’t running. She was going. Big difference.
“You are.” He grabbed the box and the papers she’d left on the ground, then stood, his movements as lithe and strong as a wildcat’s, no sign of his injury.
Was it his left leg or right?
She looked at his feet, then blushed when she realized he was watching her.
“You can ask, you know,” he said, as if he knew exactly what she was wondering.
“It’s not my business.”
“Does it have to be? Can’t you just ask because you want to know?”
“I don’t do small talk, Darius.” Besides, the question wouldn’t really be small talk. It would be Catherine finding out more about a man she already found appealing. That was dangerous territory, and she was pretty sure she didn’t want to go there.
Pretty sure, but she looked at his dark tennis shoes and wondered how it was possible for a guy who was missing part of his leg to run and move like he did.
“You must have a great prosthesis.” The words slipped out, and he smiled that easy smile that made her pulse jump.
“I do. State-of-the-art.” He handed her the box and papers, and she knew that looking at them should be more important than looking in his eyes.
“Your right leg?”
“Left, but good guess.”
His comment surprised a laugh out of her. “I had a fifty-fifty shot, and I blew it. I wouldn’t call that a good guess.”
“You should do that more often, Catherine.”
“What?”
“Laugh. You’re always beautiful, but when you laugh...you’re irresistible.”
“I don’t want to be irresistible.” Her amusement fled as quickly as it had come.
“Then, what do you want to be?”
“Free.” There it was. The crux of her problem. Being released from prison hadn’t freed her from the past. Nothing could do that. Not even leaving Pine Bluff.
“Of what?”
“It’s complicated.”
“You’re complicated,” he responded, and she couldn’t help smiling. He did that to her. Put her at ease and made her feel lighter than she had in a very long time.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I like it.”
“You shouldn’t talk like that, Darius,” she responded as she walked down the stairs and into Eileen’s bedroom.
“Why not?”
“Because...just because.” She took an overnight case from the closet, grabbed clothes from the small dresser.
“Do you think Eileen will agree to leave town with you when she’s released from the hospital?” He changed the subject completely.
“No, but I’ll try to convince her anyway.” She placed the papers into the box and dropped it into the case. She’d open the envelope and read through the papers more thoroughly later. Right now, she wanted to be at the hospital and away from Darius, because the more time she spent with him, the more time she wanted to spend. The more she knew, the more she wanted to know.
That scared her.
She could admit it, but she didn’t like it.
“All set?”
“Yes.” She slipped her feet into flip-flops, the cuffs of her jeans dragging the floor as she followed Darius outside. He set the alarm, checked the lock on the door, scanned the yard and the field across the street, made the extra precautions seem as natural as breathing.
Maybe, for him, they were.
For Catherine they were a reminder that someone wanted her dead.
She glanced at the old pine tree as Darius hurried her to his truck. Yellow crime scene tape surrounded the area, but the police and bomb squad were long gone. It wouldn’t have been difficult for the perpetrator to return and set another bomb in the tree, under the porch, at the foundation of the old house.
She shivered, climbing into the truck and slamming the door before Darius could close it. She felt safer inside the truck’s cab than she did out in the open, but her skin still crawled, her heart pounding frantically.
“Are you okay?” Darius asked as he hopped into the truck.
“I think so.”
“You’re pale.” He studied her intently, his eyes gleaming in reflected sunlight.
“I’m a redhead.”
“I’ve noticed.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers grazing her jaw as his hand dropped away.
“What’s with you and all the touching?” she asked, because she wanted him to stop, but didn’t want him to.
“I guess I’m just a touchy-feely kind of guy. Wh
y? Does it bother you?”
“Yes.”
“Too bad.”
“You’re not going to stop?”
“No.” He backed out of the driveway as Catherine tried to think of an appropriate response. Tried to think of any response.
She couldn’t.
That was the thing about Darius. He knocked her off balance. Made her forget how important it was to be independent and stay independent.
Her cell phone rang and she pulled it from her pocket, glad for the distraction. “Hello?”
“Ms. Miller?” a soft, female voice asked.
“Yes.”
“This is Dr. Snyder. I’m the lead cardiologist at Sacred Heart.” At her words, Catherine’s blood when cold.
“What happened?”
“I’m afraid your grandmother had a heart attack. It’s imperative that you get here as soon as possible.”
“Is she...?” She couldn’t make herself say the words, couldn’t choke them out past her fear.
“We’re doing everything we can to resuscitate her.”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” She shoved the phone back into her pocket, her hands shaking. Eileen couldn’t die. She could not die.
Darius didn’t ask about the phone call, but the truck jumped forward, weeds and trees flying by in a flash of color and texture as they bounced onto the highway and sped toward the hospital.
“I don’t think she’s going to make it,” Catherine whispered, because she couldn’t keep the terrible thought to herself, and because Darius was there, strong and dependable and trustworthy.
He reached over and took her hand, and Catherine held on tight, praying desperately that her words wouldn’t come true.
ELEVEN
Catherine’s silence, her blank expression and the desperate way she clung to his hand conveyed an urgency that shot through Darius with every breath, every heartbeat.
He made a quick call as he neared Sacred Heart, arranging for a security guard to meet them in the lobby. He’d park the truck after Catherine was inside the hospital.
He pulled up in front of the emergency entrance, putting on his hazard lights and jumping out, his leg catching as he ran to open Catherine’s door.
“I don’t think I can do this,” she said, her face paper-white.
“You don’t have a choice,” he responded gently, urging her out of the truck and into the emergency room lobby.
“Are you going home?” she asked, and he thought that she really wanted to ask if he would stay.
“I’m going to park the truck, and then I’ll meet you in Eileen’s room.” He gestured to a security guard who paced the waiting area.
“Are you Osborne?” he asked.
“Yes. Thanks for meeting us down here. You understand the situation?”
“I’ll escort her to the room, and I’ll wait there until you arrive.”
“I appreciate it.” He turned to Catherine. “I shouldn’t be more than five minutes.”
She nodded, but didn’t speak. He could see the fear in her eyes. He wanted to forget the truck, walk up to the room with her, but having his vehicle towed would make it difficult to get Catherine home.
She didn’t need any more difficulty in her day than she’d already had.
He raced back to the truck, found a parking space and was in the elevator heading for Eileen’s room three minutes later.
It seemed to take forever to reach the third floor, and when he did, he knew the news wasn’t good.
Catherine stood outside Eileen’s room, two doctors flanking her. She met his gaze, her eyes swimming with tears.
“She’s gone,” she breathed, shock in her voice and in her eyes.
He pulled her into his arms, pressed her head to his chest, smoothing her hair as she sobbed.
“We attempted resuscitation for thirty minutes, but her heart never started again. I’m so sorry, Catherine.” A tall, pretty doctor with dove-gray eyes and a gentle voice touched Catherine’s back.
“I need to see her.” Catherine straightened, wiping tears from her cheeks as more and more fell. She looked lost and sad and lonely, and Darius wanted to pull her back in his arms again, tell her that he understood. That the wound would eventually scar over. Still there, but not quite as raw or horrible.
“Of course. Take as much time as you need.” The second doctor patted her arm and pushed open the door, his lined face filled with compassion.
“Want me to come with you?” Darius touched Catherine’s arm, felt her muscles trembling beneath warm smooth skin.
She hesitated, then shook her head. “I need to say goodbye alone.”
“All right.” He stepped back, remembering the pain of his mother’s death, the helplessness he’d felt as he’d stood in her hospital room and stared down at her lifeless body. His only family...gone, and he’d felt alone and vulnerable and scared.
Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into a half hour. He didn’t want to interrupt Catherine’s goodbye, but concern edged him closer to the door.
He’d give her another few minutes, and then he’d knock. He couldn’t change what happened, but at least he could help her feel less alone.
Seconds later, the door opened and Catherine appeared.
Wan and exhausted, tears tracking down her face, she met his eyes. “I guess she really is gone.”
“Come here.” He pulled her into his arms, and she didn’t resist, didn’t protest, just leaned into him, her hands clutching his shirt.
“I thought we’d have more time.”
“I know.” He smoothed her hair, and she burrowed closer. She fit perfectly there, her head just beneath his chin, her body slowly relaxing into his.
“I need to call the funeral home and the church, make all the arrangements.”
“I can help.”
“You’ve already done too much.”
“Eileen asked me to look out for you, remember?” he asked as Catherine stepped away.
“She asked you to protect me. There’s a difference between that and looking out for me.”
“She asked me to look out for you. Those were her exact words, Catherine, and I plan to honor my promise to do so.”
She gave in with a shrug, turning to face a nurse who was walking toward them. Her tears had stopped, but the sadness in her face tugged at Darius’s heart.
* * *
Foggy.
That’s how things felt. Foggy and dull, and Catherine couldn’t find it in herself to care. She went through the motions, calling the funeral home, calling the church, spreading the news she’d hoped she wouldn’t have to spread for months, maybe even years.
Eileen.
Gone.
Tears pricked the corner of her eyes, but she couldn’t let them fall. Not yet. Later, when she was alone, she’d cry again. Cry as long as she wanted, because there wouldn’t be anyone to see or hear.
“How are you holding up?” Darius asked as he drove her back home, and she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say.
Okay?
She wasn’t.
Not even close.
She’d known from the day that she’d stepped back into the farmhouse and seen Eileen’s gaunt face and brittle frame that she was going to have to say goodbye. She just hadn’t known how quickly or suddenly she’d have to do it. “I’ll be all right.”
“You will be eventually, but I want to know how you’re doing now,�
� he persisted. Which seemed to be Darius’s theme. Press in close and keep on pressing. Move into her space and refuse to move out of it. She wasn’t sure what he hoped to get from it. She almost thought he wasn’t hoping for anything except to help and support and be a friend.
But, she’d never known anyone who’d wanted nothing from her. Not one relationship out of all the ones she’d been in had been without strings.
“Empty.”
He patted her knee, his hand resting there as he pulled into her driveway. The house looked even older than it had a few hours ago, the facade sagging beneath the weight of this new sorrow.
“How about we grab some of your things, and you come to my place for the night?” Darius suggested, shifting in his seat so they were eye to eye. He hadn’t showered, hadn’t shaved, hadn’t taken a minute to do anything for himself, and he still looked handsome enough to grace the cover of GQ.
“I’ll be okay here.”
“Eileen’s passing doesn’t change the fact that you’re in danger, Catherine. You can’t stay here alone.”
“I can’t stay with you, so we’re at an impasse,” she argued but felt no passion for it. She’d said she felt empty, and she did, but she also felt defeated and old and worn to the bone. All those years in prison, all the dreams of being exonerated, of coming home and starting fresh seemed senseless in light of Eileen’s death.
“I’ll call a coworker to come. It’s protocol to have at least two operatives at a safe house.”
Two operatives? Safe house?
The words were dramatic, but the seriousness of the situation was in Darius’s face. He looked determined, and Catherine didn’t have the energy to argue.
“All right.”
“We can stay here or at my place. Your choice.”
She looked at the sagging house, thought about staying there without Eileen. “Your place sounds good.”
He walked her inside, their footsteps echoing in the emptiness. The air held a hint of cigarette smoke, and Catherine pictured Eileen as she’d been a decade ago, still young and healthy, a cigarette dangling from her lips, a sardonic smile on her face. She’d never been a warm and fuzzy grandmother. She hadn’t baked cookies or braided hair. She’d loved, though, and that had been plenty.
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