could never have.
God, he must be suffering mental, as well as physical, exhaustion for these thoughts to keep creeping in. He needed to sleep.
But not just yet. He had a mission tonight, and nothing, not even Jane and the fearful yearning in her eyes, was going to stop him from accomplishing it.
Â
He was not the man sheâd been wishing for. Not the father sheâd longed for Cody to have and not the man of her dreams. He was a womanizer, dubbed the Don Juan of his time in one of the books sheâd read. And even if that was an exaggeration, one fact could not be overlooked. He was going to leave her. Just as Greg had. She would not give in to the feelingsthat kept creeping in, like slow-moving waves eroding a sandy shore. She would not let her heart be broken again.
She wouldnât.
And yet she lay awake for hours, wishing that there was some wayâ¦
God, she hadnât even told him why he couldnât go ahead with his plan. And even when he realized how impossible it was, heâd still want to go back to his son, to be with him at the end. The thought brought tears to Janeâs eyes. Heâd hate her for what she had to tell him. Hate her for being the one to make him realize that it was his sonâs destiny to die, and thereby save countless lives. Hate her. Heâd hate her.
And it was going to kill her to see that emotion in his eyes when she told him.
She couldnât sleep. She felt sick to her stomach, and after tossing and turning restlessly she got up, intending to go downstairs, maybe do some pacing, and rehearse the words she would use to deliver the blow that might very well destroy Zachariah Bolton.
She tiptoed down the hall, but when she came to the door of the bedroom where Zach was sleeping, she found her feet wouldnât go any farther. It was stupid. He was asleep by now. No light came from beneath the closed door. But she couldnât go past without at least peeking in, just glancing at him as he lay there, drinking in the sight of him and wishing things could be different.
How had the man managed to get under her skin so thoroughly in so short a time?
She closed her hand around the doorknob, opened it gently. But the bed was empty. She stepped intothe room, snapping on the light, but Zach wasnât there. And a gnawing sensation in the pit of her stomach told her he wasnât anywhere else in the house, either. She had a damned good idea of where he had gone. After sheâd expressly told him not to. To Dr. Mulliganâs office, a few miles away. Probably on foot.
Jane closed her eyes and pressed her fingertips to her forehead. Damn him. He had no business being out alone, trying to break and enter, in the condition he was in. No business at all. He could collapse in the street, and then what would happen? Suppose he woke up with no memory again and started rambling on about 1897 and Aunt Hattieâs credenza? Theyâd toss him into a mental ward, for Godâs sake.
She searched the ground floor, all the same, even though she knew full well she wouldnât find him there. Then she paced the living room. She should go after him. She really should. He could be hurt or sick or delirious somewhere. Or in jail. Oh, for heavenâs sake, and what was she supposed to say when she found him? How was she going to explain that sheâd known heâd gone out? Was she going to confess that sheâd been lonely and restless and unable to sleep? Was she going to admit that sheâd slipped out of bed and tiptoed down the hallway in the dead of night, and that sheâd quietly eased the bedroom door open so that she could look at him as he slept?
No way in hell.
But she couldnât very well leave Cody alone to go after him, either. And she couldnât wake her son up,or the little mischief-maker would want to go along on Zachâs crime spree. Heâd want toâ¦
An odd little feeling rippled up her spine and into the back of her
God, he must be suffering mental, as well as physical, exhaustion for these thoughts to keep creeping in. He needed to sleep.
But not just yet. He had a mission tonight, and nothing, not even Jane and the fearful yearning in her eyes, was going to stop him from accomplishing it.
Â
He was not the man sheâd been wishing for. Not the father sheâd longed for Cody to have and not the man of her dreams. He was a womanizer, dubbed the Don Juan of his time in one of the books sheâd read. And even if that was an exaggeration, one fact could not be overlooked. He was going to leave her. Just as Greg had. She would not give in to the feelingsthat kept creeping in, like slow-moving waves eroding a sandy shore. She would not let her heart be broken again.
She wouldnât.
And yet she lay awake for hours, wishing that there was some wayâ¦
God, she hadnât even told him why he couldnât go ahead with his plan. And even when he realized how impossible it was, heâd still want to go back to his son, to be with him at the end. The thought brought tears to Janeâs eyes. Heâd hate her for what she had to tell him. Hate her for being the one to make him realize that it was his sonâs destiny to die, and thereby save countless lives. Hate her. Heâd hate her.
And it was going to kill her to see that emotion in his eyes when she told him.
She couldnât sleep. She felt sick to her stomach, and after tossing and turning restlessly she got up, intending to go downstairs, maybe do some pacing, and rehearse the words she would use to deliver the blow that might very well destroy Zachariah Bolton.
She tiptoed down the hall, but when she came to the door of the bedroom where Zach was sleeping, she found her feet wouldnât go any farther. It was stupid. He was asleep by now. No light came from beneath the closed door. But she couldnât go past without at least peeking in, just glancing at him as he lay there, drinking in the sight of him and wishing things could be different.
How had the man managed to get under her skin so thoroughly in so short a time?
She closed her hand around the doorknob, opened it gently. But the bed was empty. She stepped intothe room, snapping on the light, but Zach wasnât there. And a gnawing sensation in the pit of her stomach told her he wasnât anywhere else in the house, either. She had a damned good idea of where he had gone. After sheâd expressly told him not to. To Dr. Mulliganâs office, a few miles away. Probably on foot.
Jane closed her eyes and pressed her fingertips to her forehead. Damn him. He had no business being out alone, trying to break and enter, in the condition he was in. No business at all. He could collapse in the street, and then what would happen? Suppose he woke up with no memory again and started rambling on about 1897 and Aunt Hattieâs credenza? Theyâd toss him into a mental ward, for Godâs sake.
She searched the ground floor, all the same, even though she knew full well she wouldnât find him there. Then she paced the living room. She should go after him. She really should. He could be hurt or sick or delirious somewhere. Or in jail. Oh, for heavenâs sake, and what was she supposed to say when she found him? How was she going to explain that sheâd known heâd gone out? Was she going to confess that sheâd been lonely and restless and unable to sleep? Was she going to admit that sheâd slipped out of bed and tiptoed down the hallway in the dead of night, and that sheâd quietly eased the bedroom door open so that she could look at him as he slept?
No way in hell.
But she couldnât very well leave Cody alone to go after him, either. And she couldnât wake her son up,or the little mischief-maker would want to go along on Zachâs crime spree. Heâd want toâ¦
An odd little feeling rippled up her spine and into the back of her
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