covered himself with his own bedclothes. A perfect gentleman.
She gave him a half-smile.
“ That’s better.” He
put his arm around her shoulder. “I like your smile. Are you warm
enough?”
She nodded, leaning into the crook of
his shoulder. She felt heat radiating from him, felt him wince and
she jerked away. “I’m sorry. That’s your bad shoulder, isn’t it?
And you’re hot. Fever?”
He pulled her back against him. “If you
apologize once more, I’m going to have to get ugly. I’m fine. Now,
that iodine, or whatever you poured into my belly—that hurt. This
was a twinge.”
She almost laughed and rested her head
against him again. Things seemed to settle inside.
“ Who’s Robert?” he
asked.
* * * * *
Blake felt Kelli stiffen at his
question. He gripped her just enough to keep her close to him. She
was right—his head throbbed, his wound burned and his fever was
back. But there was nothing he could do about any of that, and she
needed help.
Her chin lifted and she looked him in
the eyes. “Robert? Who’s Robert?”
“ That’s what I asked
you. You were calling his name. Screaming, more like it.” He rubbed
his thumb down her cheek, wiping away the tears. “Did he abuse you?
Are you hiding from him?”
“ Hiding? Good Lord,
no. Robert is dead.” She paused, twisting the blanket in her
fingers and lowering her head. “I killed him.” Her voice was barely
audible. “I guess someone figured it out.”
His pulse quickened at her words. He
tucked his finger under her chin, demanding she meet his gaze.
“Talk to me.”
“ I can’t.”
“ We’ve been through
that. Yes, you can. It’s one in the morning. Neither of us is
getting back to sleep for a while.” He waited. Her silence filled
the room and he finally broke it, staring at her when he asked,
“You’re Casey, aren’t you?”
She didn’t respond but he was right.
Everything alive had drained from her face.
He summarized the information
Hollingsworth had given him—the newspaper story and magazine photo,
how he’d been sent to check. Kelli sat, unmoving, while he
explained, and for a moment he feared she’d withdrawn the way she
had when Scumbag attacked her. When she finally spoke, it was more
of a whimper.
“ It hurts to go back.
Don’t make me. Please?”
The pain in her voice cut more deeply
than Scumbag’s knife. “My brain might be firing on half a cylinder,
but if I understand where you’re coming from, maybe I can help
think of a solution.” He set his hand next to hers. “Take my hand.
Squeeze as hard as you need to. We’ll do this together.”
“ I can’t.” Her voice
trembled, but her hand inched over, making tentative contact with
his fingers.
“ We can. We will.
Together.” An involuntary shudder ran through him. His fever had
shifted to chill mode and he clenched his muscles against the
shivering.
Kelli whisked her hand away. “You need
more ibuprofen. I’ll get it.” She wriggled away and padded toward
the bathroom before he could say anything.
Teeth chattering, he dug through his
duffel for something warmer to wear. His fingers wrapped around his
bottle of Scotch. He could use a drink. He set the bottle on the
night table and struggled into his sweatpants and shirt. Pain,
chills and fever notwithstanding, he wasn’t going to let Kelli off
the hook. He needed to hear her story—and she needed to tell
it.
Kelli returned with the pills and two
plastic cups of water, handing him one while she sipped from her
own. She looked calmer, with her hair damp around her face from
washing away the evidence of her crying jag. He saw her eye the
Scotch.
“ Help yourself,” he
said. “I think we could both use a drink.”
Without answering, she gulped the rest
of her water, then poured herself a generous shot. After taking
three ibuprofen, he did the same. Kelli crossed the room and
slouched into the chair. He watched her pound back half her drink.
She set the cup down, wiped her
She gave him a half-smile.
“ That’s better.” He
put his arm around her shoulder. “I like your smile. Are you warm
enough?”
She nodded, leaning into the crook of
his shoulder. She felt heat radiating from him, felt him wince and
she jerked away. “I’m sorry. That’s your bad shoulder, isn’t it?
And you’re hot. Fever?”
He pulled her back against him. “If you
apologize once more, I’m going to have to get ugly. I’m fine. Now,
that iodine, or whatever you poured into my belly—that hurt. This
was a twinge.”
She almost laughed and rested her head
against him again. Things seemed to settle inside.
“ Who’s Robert?” he
asked.
* * * * *
Blake felt Kelli stiffen at his
question. He gripped her just enough to keep her close to him. She
was right—his head throbbed, his wound burned and his fever was
back. But there was nothing he could do about any of that, and she
needed help.
Her chin lifted and she looked him in
the eyes. “Robert? Who’s Robert?”
“ That’s what I asked
you. You were calling his name. Screaming, more like it.” He rubbed
his thumb down her cheek, wiping away the tears. “Did he abuse you?
Are you hiding from him?”
“ Hiding? Good Lord,
no. Robert is dead.” She paused, twisting the blanket in her
fingers and lowering her head. “I killed him.” Her voice was barely
audible. “I guess someone figured it out.”
His pulse quickened at her words. He
tucked his finger under her chin, demanding she meet his gaze.
“Talk to me.”
“ I can’t.”
“ We’ve been through
that. Yes, you can. It’s one in the morning. Neither of us is
getting back to sleep for a while.” He waited. Her silence filled
the room and he finally broke it, staring at her when he asked,
“You’re Casey, aren’t you?”
She didn’t respond but he was right.
Everything alive had drained from her face.
He summarized the information
Hollingsworth had given him—the newspaper story and magazine photo,
how he’d been sent to check. Kelli sat, unmoving, while he
explained, and for a moment he feared she’d withdrawn the way she
had when Scumbag attacked her. When she finally spoke, it was more
of a whimper.
“ It hurts to go back.
Don’t make me. Please?”
The pain in her voice cut more deeply
than Scumbag’s knife. “My brain might be firing on half a cylinder,
but if I understand where you’re coming from, maybe I can help
think of a solution.” He set his hand next to hers. “Take my hand.
Squeeze as hard as you need to. We’ll do this together.”
“ I can’t.” Her voice
trembled, but her hand inched over, making tentative contact with
his fingers.
“ We can. We will.
Together.” An involuntary shudder ran through him. His fever had
shifted to chill mode and he clenched his muscles against the
shivering.
Kelli whisked her hand away. “You need
more ibuprofen. I’ll get it.” She wriggled away and padded toward
the bathroom before he could say anything.
Teeth chattering, he dug through his
duffel for something warmer to wear. His fingers wrapped around his
bottle of Scotch. He could use a drink. He set the bottle on the
night table and struggled into his sweatpants and shirt. Pain,
chills and fever notwithstanding, he wasn’t going to let Kelli off
the hook. He needed to hear her story—and she needed to tell
it.
Kelli returned with the pills and two
plastic cups of water, handing him one while she sipped from her
own. She looked calmer, with her hair damp around her face from
washing away the evidence of her crying jag. He saw her eye the
Scotch.
“ Help yourself,” he
said. “I think we could both use a drink.”
Without answering, she gulped the rest
of her water, then poured herself a generous shot. After taking
three ibuprofen, he did the same. Kelli crossed the room and
slouched into the chair. He watched her pound back half her drink.
She set the cup down, wiped her
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