ceilings of Drake's bedroom gathered shadows, shrouding her in darkness.
She understood why Drake couldn't stay. Hell, she told him to leave. It was the look of hurt and disappointment in his eyes that haunted her. Truth was, maybe she needed some distance to sort all this out.
For about the millionth time, she entertained doubts about continuing her relationship with Drake. It felt like all too often she failed him—usually when he needed her most. Just as she failed everyone she loved, no matter how hard she tried.
Cassie, I need you to be strong. Her father's last words to her echoed through the dim room. If she closed her eyes, his face, shattered by pain after the car accident filled her mind. Followed by others—Mary Eamon, for one. And Richard, a tragic mistake she was still paying for.
She stripped free of her ruined clothes and took a long, cool shower in Drake's oversized claw foot tub. The ghosts of her failures followed. When she was twelve her father had needed her to get him help in time. Now Drake needed her to go with him, Mary Eamon needed her to stay here and bring her justice…they all needed something from Cassie, but she couldn't save everyone. All she could do was try.
She dried off, threw the towel over the shower curtain then stopped. Drake liked his towels hung neatly on the rack behind the door. The least she could do, seeing as how she couldn't give him what he really wanted.
Swallowing her pain, she quickly dressed in a tank top and pair of khaki shorts, then left to spend the evening dissecting the murder of a three-year-old little girl.
<><><>
Drake drove the Mustang with the top down, radio blasting. He took the back roads to avoid the other Friday evening travelers, people rushing to get anywhere but where they were. He understood their need; he often felt that same restlessness. New faces, new thrills, new places. It was one of the things that attracted him to law enforcement.
He hadn't had those restless feelings as much lately. Not since he'd met Hart. With her he finally felt content to stay where he was. Maybe he'd grown up at last? He always thought he'd be disappointed to see the same face day after day, to be with the same woman this long, but he didn't feel that way at all. At least not until tonight.
They had plenty of arguments before—her stubbornness and independence assured that. As far as he could tell, he did little to provoke them. Well, maybe that wasn't fair. They were both adults, used to living on their own, doing things their own way. They had both made compromises in this relationship. But he'd never seen her so adamant, unwilling to bend, to address his needs. It made him wonder if he meant as much to Hart as she did to him.
Drake thought about that as he drove, replaying the argument in his mind. The only lights came from a farmhouse in the distance, the road curving gently between fields of corn. It hadn't really been an argument, he realized. More like a tirade. He hadn't given her much chance to explain her reasons, had he?
Maybe because he was disappointed she hadn't put his needs first? Hart knew better than anyone how Pamela's suicide had affected him. He didn't need her sympathy—and he certainly didn't want her pity. Maybe this whole situation was a warning, a red flag he had grown too complacent. Expecting Hart to know his needs and wants without him saying anything—wasn't that every man's fantasy? Is that really what he wanted in a woman: a security blanket rather than a partner?
Drake shook his head, stirring his headache into a fierce primal pounding. Life used to be so much easier. Go out, find a girl, have a few drinks, a few laughs, go home and have sex, part ways in the morning. No ties, no complications. Of course that was what he'd had with Pamela, and look how that ended up.
Two hours later he pulled into his aunt's driveway. He sat in the car for a few minutes, still thinking hard. Who was he running from? Pamela? Hart? His
She understood why Drake couldn't stay. Hell, she told him to leave. It was the look of hurt and disappointment in his eyes that haunted her. Truth was, maybe she needed some distance to sort all this out.
For about the millionth time, she entertained doubts about continuing her relationship with Drake. It felt like all too often she failed him—usually when he needed her most. Just as she failed everyone she loved, no matter how hard she tried.
Cassie, I need you to be strong. Her father's last words to her echoed through the dim room. If she closed her eyes, his face, shattered by pain after the car accident filled her mind. Followed by others—Mary Eamon, for one. And Richard, a tragic mistake she was still paying for.
She stripped free of her ruined clothes and took a long, cool shower in Drake's oversized claw foot tub. The ghosts of her failures followed. When she was twelve her father had needed her to get him help in time. Now Drake needed her to go with him, Mary Eamon needed her to stay here and bring her justice…they all needed something from Cassie, but she couldn't save everyone. All she could do was try.
She dried off, threw the towel over the shower curtain then stopped. Drake liked his towels hung neatly on the rack behind the door. The least she could do, seeing as how she couldn't give him what he really wanted.
Swallowing her pain, she quickly dressed in a tank top and pair of khaki shorts, then left to spend the evening dissecting the murder of a three-year-old little girl.
<><><>
Drake drove the Mustang with the top down, radio blasting. He took the back roads to avoid the other Friday evening travelers, people rushing to get anywhere but where they were. He understood their need; he often felt that same restlessness. New faces, new thrills, new places. It was one of the things that attracted him to law enforcement.
He hadn't had those restless feelings as much lately. Not since he'd met Hart. With her he finally felt content to stay where he was. Maybe he'd grown up at last? He always thought he'd be disappointed to see the same face day after day, to be with the same woman this long, but he didn't feel that way at all. At least not until tonight.
They had plenty of arguments before—her stubbornness and independence assured that. As far as he could tell, he did little to provoke them. Well, maybe that wasn't fair. They were both adults, used to living on their own, doing things their own way. They had both made compromises in this relationship. But he'd never seen her so adamant, unwilling to bend, to address his needs. It made him wonder if he meant as much to Hart as she did to him.
Drake thought about that as he drove, replaying the argument in his mind. The only lights came from a farmhouse in the distance, the road curving gently between fields of corn. It hadn't really been an argument, he realized. More like a tirade. He hadn't given her much chance to explain her reasons, had he?
Maybe because he was disappointed she hadn't put his needs first? Hart knew better than anyone how Pamela's suicide had affected him. He didn't need her sympathy—and he certainly didn't want her pity. Maybe this whole situation was a warning, a red flag he had grown too complacent. Expecting Hart to know his needs and wants without him saying anything—wasn't that every man's fantasy? Is that really what he wanted in a woman: a security blanket rather than a partner?
Drake shook his head, stirring his headache into a fierce primal pounding. Life used to be so much easier. Go out, find a girl, have a few drinks, a few laughs, go home and have sex, part ways in the morning. No ties, no complications. Of course that was what he'd had with Pamela, and look how that ended up.
Two hours later he pulled into his aunt's driveway. He sat in the car for a few minutes, still thinking hard. Who was he running from? Pamela? Hart? His
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