by LENA DIAZ,
He grunted when he landed, bounced a couple of times, then promptly passed out.
Jody’s mouth dropped open in shock. Then she snapped it closed in anger. “Adam?” She grabbed his shoulder and shook him. “Adam?”
He started snoring.
She fisted her hands at her sides and kicked one of his crutches. It skittered across the room before spinning around and sliding halfway under a recliner. How dare he? How dare he invade her privacy, look into the most intimate details of her life without her permission, then not even stay awake long enough for her to yell at him? He should be begging her forgiveness and groveling at her feet.
She closed her eyes. Dang it. He had groveled. He had begged her forgiveness. And he’d nearly killed himself trying to chase after her because she’d refused to listen to him. She sagged down onto the couch beside him.
“Oh, Adam. What am I going to do with you?”
His soft snore was apparently the only answer she was going to get any time soon.
Obviously leaving him when he was passed out wasn’t a good idea. Especially with his injured leg. Plus, she really didn’t want to head out the front door with Damien possibly lurking around somewhere. All in all, she was pretty much a prisoner here for the time being. But come morning, when Adam was groaning with a headache over a cup of hot coffee, she’d make him take her back home. She had a gun. If Damien tried to come into her apartment, she’d gladly pull the trigger.
Adam’s jaw tightened in his sleep, and his legs shifted restlessly. He reached toward his hurt leg, groaning, obviously in pain.
“You don’t deserve my help, you know that, Adam?”
He winced and mumbled something incoherent but didn’t wake up.
She shook her head and set about doing everything she could to ease his pain. Which basically amounted to straightening his leg, elevating it on a pillow and applying a cold compress that she’d found in his cavernous refrigerator. But it seemed to help, because he settled down and was no longer twitching in pain.
She sighed and raked a hand through her hair. A slight breeze had her realizing she’d left one of the French doors open. Outside the little pieces of crumpled-up paper still lay by Adam’s chair. The broken table glass twinkled in the moonlight like a thousand little diamonds scattered across the concrete.
“A thousand little diamonds I get to sweep up,” she grumbled.
Once again she trudged into the kitchen, locating the broom and dustpan in the pantry, exactly where it made sense they would be. Of course they were hanging on hooks, and what little food he had was lined up in neat rows on the shelves.
“I wonder if he folds his underwear, too.” Her bin of underwear in her closet was a chaotic jumble. It would probably give him a heart attack. She grabbed a trash bag, conveniently on a shelf next to the broom, and headed outside.
The little table had obviously been made of safety glass, probably the only reason she hadn’t cut her feet when she ran outside. But even though the little pieces weren’t wicked sharp, there were a lot of them. It took a good ten minutes before she was satisfied that she’d gotten up all the glass. She dumped the last of it into the garbage bag, then set about picking up the pieces of crumpled paper by Adam’s chair.
Back inside, she set the legal pad and his phone on the counter and was about to stuff the garbage bag into the can under the sink when she noticed the writing on the pad. She grew still, then very slowly pulled the pad toward her and read the rest of it. By the time she’d read it all, tears were blurring her vision.
She hated that she was such a crier.
She wiped at her eyes, then slid to the floor and pulled the trash bag toward her. She picked out every piece of balled-up paper, unfolded them and smoothed them out so she could read them. Anyone else would probably be horrified at what he’d written. They might even call the police, thinking that he was dangerous. But Jody understood his anger, his fury and his desire for revenge better than anyone. And if she hadn’t only known the man for a few days, she’d think she was half in love with him.
Because he was the only person, ever, who’d truly believed her.
The fact that she hadn’t personally told him the details about the abuse she’d suffered at the hands of the man who’d adopted her didn’t matter. Adam had read the police reports. He’d read the testimony in juvenile court. He’d read what the judge had decided, most likely after being given a substantial bribe by Jody’s adoptive father. And still, Adam had believed her. That was what these pieces of paper told her. And to her they were a precious gift, something to treasure.
She carefully set each wrinkled piece of paper on the counter in a neat stack on top of the legal pad and threw the trash away. Then she headed into the family room. She set the pages on the end table, grabbed a blanket off the back of one of the chairs, then sat down beside Adam. She gently lifted his head and slipped closer, cradling his head on her lap. Then she covered both of them with the blanket and closed her eyes.
Chapter Eighteen
The smell of bacon had Adam bolting upright, then falling back with a groan. Pressing a hand to his throbbing head, he blinked up at the familiar coffered ceiling above him. Why was he on the couch? With a pillow beneath his head? And a blanket covering him? The last thing he remembered was sitting by the pool, nursing a beer to dull the pain in his leg, dreaming up all the different ways he could torture and kill Jody’s adoptive father for what he’d done to her.
Jody. She’d been there, too. Hadn’t she? There was an argument. Blinding pain as he’d fallen against...something. A loud crash. What in the world had happened?
He blinked his bleary eyes and forced himself to sit up. Then he looked over the end of the couch toward the kitchen, where the delicious—and nauseating, given his current state—smells were coming from.
Was she cooking breakfast? He could just catch a glimpse of her as she moved around inside the kitchen. Was she...humming?
She stuck her head around the corner. “About time you woke up. Breakfast will be ready in about ten minutes. Duncan will be here at nine to give us an update on the case. You should hurry up and get ready.”
He blinked, certain he’d heard her wrong. “My brother? He called you?”
“Well, actually he called you.” She picked up his phone off the island and held it up. “Hope you don’t mind that I answered on your behalf.” She motioned toward him. “There’s a glass of water and some aspirin beside you, and something to settle your stomach if you need it.” She looked over her shoulder. “The clock above your oven says you’ve used up one of your ten minutes. Chop, chop. I don’t want your breakfast to get cold while you’re dillydallying in the shower.”
She disappeared into the kitchen.
Adam had a million questions for her, the most important being why she was so cheerful when he was pretty sure he’d been a moron and a jerk last night. But his roiling stomach, aching head and throbbing leg were taking center stage in his world at the moment. And they wouldn’t be ignored.
He gratefully downed several aspirin, chasing them with a huge swig of Pepto and half a bottle of water.
“Six minutes,” Jody called out from the kitchen, sounding disgustingly cheerful.
Was this the calm before the storm? Was she planning on poisoning him in return for whatever he’d done last night? He had a feeling he deserved it.
He grabbed the crutches she’d thoughtfully left on the floor beside the couch and hobbled his way into his bedroom. He tried to get ready quickly according to her timetable, but his attempts to shower without getting the bandage around his leg wet were a complete fiasco and he fell twice, finally giving up and just taking a normal shower—to hell with his stitches.
A few minutes later, feeling far more human than he should have thanks to the aspirin and Pepto, he made his way to the kitchen island.
The kitchen was empty.
<
br /> “You’re late.”
He turned at the sound of her voice behind him. She was wearing curve-hugging blue jeans and an emerald-green button-up shirt that perfectly matched her eyes and her adorable glasses. Her gorgeous, thick red hair tumbled over her shoulders to hang halfway down her back. Just a touch of makeup made her eyes pop even more than usual. His mouth went dry just looking at her.
“You’re beautiful,” he breathed.
Her frown evaporated. “You’re forgiven. Come on. Your plate’s in the dining room.”
He stood in confusion, but she seemed determined for him to eat and had gone to a lot of trouble, so he dutifully sat down. She’d made scrambled eggs, biscuits, bacon and hash browns. They were all expertly prepared. She was definitely talented in the kitchen. But in spite of how good everything tasted, he didn’t want any of it. He wanted to talk instead, to beg her forgiveness for what little he remembered of his behavior last night, to rebuild the bridges he’d torn down. But she seemed so...happy...content to sit across from him. There were no recriminations on her tongue, no accusations, no tears.
That part bothered him the most.
He was used to her tears. He expected them. This smiling Jody without a seeming care in the world was an enigma. And he didn’t know what to make of it.
When he’d finally eaten enough to feel that he wouldn’t insult her if he stopped, he set his fork down. “You’re a wonderful cook. You shouldn’t have gone to all that trouble. But I appreciate it. Thank you.”
She beamed at him. “You’re very welcome.” She took a sip of her orange juice.
“Jody?”
She looked at him over the rim of her glass, brows raised in question.
“Why are you doing this? Why did you cook me breakfast? And why are you being so sweet when I don’t deserve any of this?”
She set the glass down and wiped her mouth with the napkin. “Wait here.”
He started to ask her what she was talking about. But she hurried out of the room.
He clenched his fists on the table in frustration. He’d wanted to talk it out, see if they could move beyond last night. But she was putting up a front, not letting him in. Where had she gone? Was she upstairs, crying, after trying to be nice in spite of her hurt feelings? All alone? That thought had him pushing back his chair.
“No, please.” She’d come back into the room. “Don’t leave. We need to talk.”
Now this he’d expected. He scooted his chair back under the table. “I know. I was a jerk last night. I abused my authority and—”
“Looked into my sealed juvenile records. Yes, I know.” She pulled a stack of wrinkled pages from behind her back and set them on the table.
Adam’s stomach clenched. He was glad his appetite hadn’t been what it normally was or he’d probably have thrown up right then and there.
“Do you know what these are?” She smoothed her hand over the top page.
He slowly nodded. “The ramblings of an idiot who drank far more than he should have. Jody, I had no right to—”
“No. You didn’t. You shouldn’t have gone behind my back and used your authority to find out details that were mine to share. Or not to share. I admit, when I realized what you’d done, I was furious, and hurt, and felt betrayed. I was ready to storm out of here.”
“Why didn’t you? Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you didn’t. I’d have been worried about you and would have had to tear this town apart to find you. But why did you tuck me in on the couch and leave pills for my hangover and go to all that trouble to cook me breakfast? I should have been the one waiting on you, not the other way around. Why did you do all of that for me?”
She tapped the stack of pages on the table. “This. This is why I’m still here, why I’m not mad at you anymore.” She held up the first page and squinted at it. “You have really bad penmanship, by the way.”
“I was drunk.”
“True, which means your inhibitions were lowered and you poured your emotions out onto these pages. Your true emotions, not subterfuge.”
“Jody, I didn’t mean for you to see—”
“‘Castration,’” she read from the first page.
He choked and started coughing.
She looked at him over the top of her glasses and continued reading what he’d scribbled while under the influence of alcohol and an all-consuming rage.
“‘Castration would be a good way to kill Jody’s father. Bastards like that shouldn’t be allowed to procreate.’”
She set the page to the side. “I agree. They shouldn’t.” She picked up the next page. “‘Gunshot wound. Nothing quick or easy. I’d shoot him in the gut and tie him out in the sun to slowly and painfully bleed to death.’”
He cleared his throat again. “I’m actually not as bloodthirsty as I sound. I was just...fantasizing. I wouldn’t actually do that to someone.”
She picked up the next page. “‘Caning. Maybe it’s time that caning was brought to this country. I’d give cane poles to everyone who’d ever been abused by someone who’d sworn to love them and let them each have a turn at him until the lecherous light faded from his serpent’s eyes.’”
“A bit melodramatic,” he said, trying to smile as if he thought the whole thing was amusing. But he was pretty sure he failed spectacularly.
“This is a pretty good one.” Her voice was tight. She cleared her throat and picked up the next paper, her hands slowly smoothing it out. “‘I’d get one of my old buddies from the vice squad to plant seized child pornography pictures on his computer. Once in prison, the other inmates would enact their own form of punishment.’”
“I wouldn’t really plant evidence.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” she agreed. She pulled another piece of paper from the very bottom of the stack. “This one is my personal favorite.” The paper shook in her hands as she read. “‘I’d tie him to a chair and, with his family watching—the vipers who turned their backs on Jody—I’d let her confront him about everything he did to her. I wouldn’t let him go until he admitted what he’d done and begged for her forgiveness. And once her family realized they’d been wrong all this time, they’d beg her for forgiveness, too, and she could laugh in their faces. I’d take Jody away from those horrible, awful people and do everything I could to make her forget every bad thing that ever happened to her.’” Her chin wobbled as she read the last part of it. “I would love her.”
Tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks.
He scooted his chair back, ready to go to her, but he hesitated. Was she angry or hurt or...what? He wasn’t sure and didn’t know what to do. How was he going to fix this?
“Thank you,” she whispered brokenly.
“I’m sorry—what? You’re...thanking me? Why?”
“You believed me. When no one else did. You have no idea what that did to me when I read those pages.” She waved her hand in the air. “Oh, I know you would never actually do all of those things to Peter. But the fact that you believed in me enough to be that angry on my behalf goes a long way toward healing the holes in my heart.” She stood and circled the table to stand in front of him. Then, to his shock, she straddled him in his chair.
He jerked against her, swearing, a bead of sweat popping out on his forehead as he grabbed her arms to lift her off him. “I don’t think you’re thinking straight. You should—”
She shoved his arms away and cupped his face in her hands. “I’m thinking with more clarity than I have in ages. And you were thinking more clearly when you wrote those pages than you realize. Your heart shined through in the concern you showed for me. And in that last sentence you wrote. I agree with you, Adam. Love really is the cure. Will you love me?”
“Sweetheart.” He cleared his throat. “I mean... Jody—”
“I like sweetheart better.” She pressed a soft kiss against his right chee
k.
He shuddered and drew a ragged breath. “Jody, we’ve been through a traumatic few days together. Sometimes that makes people have, ah, feelings that might not prove to be real later on.”
She kissed his other cheek, then shifted her bottom in a delightfully sinful way against his lap.
He grabbed the arms of the chair to keep from doing something he knew he would regret, like grabbing her. “Have you been drinking this morning?”
“Nope,” she breathed against his neck. “I’m stone-cold sober. Love me, Adam.”
He grasped her arms and pulled her against him, then swore when he realized what he was doing. He gently pushed her back against the table. “Be careful. My control is hanging by a thread here. I’m trying to do the honorable thing.”
She let out a deep sigh and scooted farther back on his thighs but didn’t get up. “I don’t know why you think making love to me isn’t honorable. It would be two consenting adults who care about each other and want to show their feelings in the most wonderful way possible.”
He started to protest her warped view of honorable, but she shook her head and held a finger to his lips.
“Knowing you, I imagine that you’re worried I’m vulnerable. But I’ve never felt so empowered in my life. By believing in me, you’ve helped me feel less hopeless, more in control, than I have in years. Thank you for that.”
He cleared his throat. “Um. You’re welcome?”
She smiled, then took his hands in hers. “My parents, my biological parents, were killed in a car wreck when I was a toddler. I barely remember them. Mostly I just know their names—Lance and Vanessa Radcliffe—and that they loved me enough to make sure that I was taken care of when they died. Or at least, that’s what they thought—that I’d be well taken care of because of everything they put into place, like designating their best friends, the Ingrams, as my guardians.”
“Jody, you don’t have to tell me any of this.”
“I know. And that’s why I want to, because I don’t have to. And because...because I’ve never told anyone the whole story. Not even the judge who oversaw the hearing against Peter Ingram. Not even the prosecutor who pressed the case. Not even Tracy. She knew bits and pieces, but no one knows it all. Except me.”