past her lips. “Seth—”
“Shh.” His lips brushed her temple. “Just listen.”
The only thing she could hear was her pulse throbbing inside her head. Or maybe it was his.
But after a moment that felt endless, she finally realized that his feet had begun moving slowly in time to the faint music coming from her car radio.
Warmth swept through her chest, spreading ever outward until she forgot everything around them as they danced to the song. Then to another. And another, right there on the dwindling edge of light cast by the light fixture near her car.
And he didn’t stop. Not until headlights swept over them as a car passed nearby.
Only then did he finally step away.
He folded her hand around his arm and escorted her back to her waiting car. He tucked her dress around her legs when she sat down in the driver’s seat, and without another word, he gently closed the door between them and walked away.
Aching inside, Hayley watched him go.
He didn’t head toward the brightly lit store.
He just disappeared into the darkness.
The DJ on her radio was talking, but his words might as well have been gibberish and she turned it off. The air coming out of the heater vents was hot, and she turned that off, as well.
Then she wiped the moisture from her cheeks, fastened her safety belt and drove home.
Vivian was sound asleep on the couch. Hayley left the aspirin bottle on the coffee table where her grandmother would be sure to see it when she woke. Then she soundlessly went into her bedroom, leaned back against the closed door and pressed her hand flat against her heart.
It was still there, right inside her chest. She could feel it beating.
Which seemed odd considering Seth had stolen it from her in the parking lot at Shop-World.
* * *
Two days later, Hayley walked into the subterranean room that Jason McGregor had taken to calling “Home, Sweet Home.” He’d even scratched out the words on the wall above the two-way mirror that Hayley insisted be deactivated during their sessions.
“Good afternoon, Jason.” She didn’t usually carry a notepad into their meetings, but she had one with her today. She set it on the small shelf alongside the side chair where she made herself comfortable. Jason was sitting on the bed across the room with his back against the wall. He was barefoot as usual, and today, he’d also shunned his loose-fitting cotton shirt.
Which left the array of old, faded scars crisscrossing his chest and arms on display.
She didn’t comment on them, though, instead focusing on the splint on his hand and wrist. “How is your hand feeling today?”
“Like I punched it through the wall last week.” His voice was flat and he didn’t look at her. “I want some books to read.”
It had been just over two weeks since she’d first met him, but this was the first time he’d asked anything of her. She considered it a huge step forward, though she hid her surprised relief. “Anything in particular?”
“Fiction.”
“Are there authors that you prefer?”
“Don’t care. Figure getting my head in a book is the only way I’m gonna get outta here.”
“Okay.” She glanced at the tray of food sitting on a small chest of drawers that, along with the bed and her chair, made up the room’s sparse furnishings. He’d already reduced a desk to splinters and torn to shreds a second chair during one of his fits of temper. They hadn’t been replaced. “Doesn’t look like you’ve eaten much of your lunch.”
“Why do you keep coming here every day?”
“Why do you suppose?” She waited a beat. “Because I’m the eternal optimist. And it’s my job to help you.”
His eyes finally shifted to her. The expression in them was as flat as it always was. “Help the crazy guy remember that he killed his partners?”
She didn’t flinch. He wasn’t a fool. He knew what he was suspected of having done even though there was still no actual evidence. Tristan had admitted that if it weren’t
“Shh.” His lips brushed her temple. “Just listen.”
The only thing she could hear was her pulse throbbing inside her head. Or maybe it was his.
But after a moment that felt endless, she finally realized that his feet had begun moving slowly in time to the faint music coming from her car radio.
Warmth swept through her chest, spreading ever outward until she forgot everything around them as they danced to the song. Then to another. And another, right there on the dwindling edge of light cast by the light fixture near her car.
And he didn’t stop. Not until headlights swept over them as a car passed nearby.
Only then did he finally step away.
He folded her hand around his arm and escorted her back to her waiting car. He tucked her dress around her legs when she sat down in the driver’s seat, and without another word, he gently closed the door between them and walked away.
Aching inside, Hayley watched him go.
He didn’t head toward the brightly lit store.
He just disappeared into the darkness.
The DJ on her radio was talking, but his words might as well have been gibberish and she turned it off. The air coming out of the heater vents was hot, and she turned that off, as well.
Then she wiped the moisture from her cheeks, fastened her safety belt and drove home.
Vivian was sound asleep on the couch. Hayley left the aspirin bottle on the coffee table where her grandmother would be sure to see it when she woke. Then she soundlessly went into her bedroom, leaned back against the closed door and pressed her hand flat against her heart.
It was still there, right inside her chest. She could feel it beating.
Which seemed odd considering Seth had stolen it from her in the parking lot at Shop-World.
* * *
Two days later, Hayley walked into the subterranean room that Jason McGregor had taken to calling “Home, Sweet Home.” He’d even scratched out the words on the wall above the two-way mirror that Hayley insisted be deactivated during their sessions.
“Good afternoon, Jason.” She didn’t usually carry a notepad into their meetings, but she had one with her today. She set it on the small shelf alongside the side chair where she made herself comfortable. Jason was sitting on the bed across the room with his back against the wall. He was barefoot as usual, and today, he’d also shunned his loose-fitting cotton shirt.
Which left the array of old, faded scars crisscrossing his chest and arms on display.
She didn’t comment on them, though, instead focusing on the splint on his hand and wrist. “How is your hand feeling today?”
“Like I punched it through the wall last week.” His voice was flat and he didn’t look at her. “I want some books to read.”
It had been just over two weeks since she’d first met him, but this was the first time he’d asked anything of her. She considered it a huge step forward, though she hid her surprised relief. “Anything in particular?”
“Fiction.”
“Are there authors that you prefer?”
“Don’t care. Figure getting my head in a book is the only way I’m gonna get outta here.”
“Okay.” She glanced at the tray of food sitting on a small chest of drawers that, along with the bed and her chair, made up the room’s sparse furnishings. He’d already reduced a desk to splinters and torn to shreds a second chair during one of his fits of temper. They hadn’t been replaced. “Doesn’t look like you’ve eaten much of your lunch.”
“Why do you keep coming here every day?”
“Why do you suppose?” She waited a beat. “Because I’m the eternal optimist. And it’s my job to help you.”
His eyes finally shifted to her. The expression in them was as flat as it always was. “Help the crazy guy remember that he killed his partners?”
She didn’t flinch. He wasn’t a fool. He knew what he was suspected of having done even though there was still no actual evidence. Tristan had admitted that if it weren’t
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