with him?
Run or stay?
The US Embassy was too far away. Even the nearest consulate was several hours by car. If she had a car. Or could get through the checkpoints without ID.
She was exhausted but strangely wired. Maybe she could figure out what to do if she had a cup of coffee. Coffee fixed everything. She made a beeline for the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” John asked.
“I need coffee.”
“You don’t need coffee. It’s almost midnight after a hellish day. You need sleep.”
She turned and glared at him. “You may be my warden, but you aren’t my mother. I can have coffee at midnight if I want to, dammit.”
He shrugged. “There’s some Nescafé in the cupboard.”
She hated instant coffee, but it would have to do. In minutes she had a warm bowl-shaped mug cradled in her hands. She lifted it to her mouth and breathed in the aroma.
When she was a little girl, she’d get up early to join her mother in the kitchen for alone time. If a man lived with them, he inevitably slept late, because Sarah Porter was never in long-term relationships with men who worked regular, daytime hours. The smell of coffee brought back those moments—one-on-one time with the only person in her world who mattered and a slice of happiness for an attention-starved girl.
Sarah was a smart woman. Her fatal flaw was the need for the love and affection she’d never received from her own parents. A fatal flaw Cressida shared with her mother, but triggered by different circumstances. Cressida was all about the daddy issues.
At best, the adult men who’d populated Cressida’s childhood were takers—selfish pricks who preyed on her mother’s weaknesses. The three worst had been predators, emotionally or physically abusive. One, Two, and Three had needed to dominate and control.
During the reign of Two, Cressida had done a stint in foster care, but she’d worried about her mother, fearing Two’s violence would escalate without Cressida there to protect her. Cressida snitched a gun from her foster family’s arsenal, and ran home. The end result was Two moved out—in a hurry—and Cressida was no stranger to pulling a gun on a man. Now the question was, could she pull the trigger?
“Where did you go just now?” John asked, breaking the spell cast by the scent of hot coffee and bitter memories.
She took a sip. The brew had a richer flavor than she’d expected. She met John’s gaze over the mug. “I was wondering if I could shoot you.”
He cocked his head; one corner of his mouth crooked in a faint smile. “What did you decide?”
“I haven’t yet.”
He stepped toward her. “Can we start over? Or at least go back to where we were after I saved you at the train?”
“You mean when I was terrified of you?” She shrugged. “Sure.”
“No. I mean when you looked at me like I’m Superman.”
“I can’t do that.” She pushed off the counter and entered the tiny living room. “So, what’s the plan from here? We threaten each other, then form an uneasy alliance, or should we skip the drama and you let me go?”
He touched her arm, and she turned to face him.
“I think,” he said, “we’ll go with the threatening and alliance thing if those are the only options. It’s not safe for you on your own.”
She felt every millimeter of his hand on her bare arm, and the tempo of her heartbeat increased. She didn’t trust him. But his touch wasn’t harsh or violent. And in her mind, she saw his face in that moment beside the train. And later, in the elevator. She shivered at the memory of his hot kiss.
He didn’t scare her. Far from it. John Baker turned her on. And that scared her.
She glanced around the living room. “Tell me something that will help me trust you.” She set her mug on a low end table. “What is this place?”
“This area was hard hit during the 2011 earthquake. The neighborhood was abandoned. They’ve only just gotten electricity back. The locals were more than eager to sell my
Run or stay?
The US Embassy was too far away. Even the nearest consulate was several hours by car. If she had a car. Or could get through the checkpoints without ID.
She was exhausted but strangely wired. Maybe she could figure out what to do if she had a cup of coffee. Coffee fixed everything. She made a beeline for the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” John asked.
“I need coffee.”
“You don’t need coffee. It’s almost midnight after a hellish day. You need sleep.”
She turned and glared at him. “You may be my warden, but you aren’t my mother. I can have coffee at midnight if I want to, dammit.”
He shrugged. “There’s some Nescafé in the cupboard.”
She hated instant coffee, but it would have to do. In minutes she had a warm bowl-shaped mug cradled in her hands. She lifted it to her mouth and breathed in the aroma.
When she was a little girl, she’d get up early to join her mother in the kitchen for alone time. If a man lived with them, he inevitably slept late, because Sarah Porter was never in long-term relationships with men who worked regular, daytime hours. The smell of coffee brought back those moments—one-on-one time with the only person in her world who mattered and a slice of happiness for an attention-starved girl.
Sarah was a smart woman. Her fatal flaw was the need for the love and affection she’d never received from her own parents. A fatal flaw Cressida shared with her mother, but triggered by different circumstances. Cressida was all about the daddy issues.
At best, the adult men who’d populated Cressida’s childhood were takers—selfish pricks who preyed on her mother’s weaknesses. The three worst had been predators, emotionally or physically abusive. One, Two, and Three had needed to dominate and control.
During the reign of Two, Cressida had done a stint in foster care, but she’d worried about her mother, fearing Two’s violence would escalate without Cressida there to protect her. Cressida snitched a gun from her foster family’s arsenal, and ran home. The end result was Two moved out—in a hurry—and Cressida was no stranger to pulling a gun on a man. Now the question was, could she pull the trigger?
“Where did you go just now?” John asked, breaking the spell cast by the scent of hot coffee and bitter memories.
She took a sip. The brew had a richer flavor than she’d expected. She met John’s gaze over the mug. “I was wondering if I could shoot you.”
He cocked his head; one corner of his mouth crooked in a faint smile. “What did you decide?”
“I haven’t yet.”
He stepped toward her. “Can we start over? Or at least go back to where we were after I saved you at the train?”
“You mean when I was terrified of you?” She shrugged. “Sure.”
“No. I mean when you looked at me like I’m Superman.”
“I can’t do that.” She pushed off the counter and entered the tiny living room. “So, what’s the plan from here? We threaten each other, then form an uneasy alliance, or should we skip the drama and you let me go?”
He touched her arm, and she turned to face him.
“I think,” he said, “we’ll go with the threatening and alliance thing if those are the only options. It’s not safe for you on your own.”
She felt every millimeter of his hand on her bare arm, and the tempo of her heartbeat increased. She didn’t trust him. But his touch wasn’t harsh or violent. And in her mind, she saw his face in that moment beside the train. And later, in the elevator. She shivered at the memory of his hot kiss.
He didn’t scare her. Far from it. John Baker turned her on. And that scared her.
She glanced around the living room. “Tell me something that will help me trust you.” She set her mug on a low end table. “What is this place?”
“This area was hard hit during the 2011 earthquake. The neighborhood was abandoned. They’ve only just gotten electricity back. The locals were more than eager to sell my
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