Deadly Pursuit (5 page)

As Mitch waited for Alison to return, he took another sip of coffee, then grimaced and pushed it aside. He liked a strong brew, but this would dissolve wallpaper paste.

Bert nudged his leg, and he bent down to scratch his ear again. Entertaining as the pup was, though, he was far more interested in the dog's owner.

He couldn't remember the last time a woman had intrigued him this much. Maybe never. His job had always come first, and dating had served only one purpose—a chance to unwind and a brief respite from the pressures of his job. Nothing serious, no strings attached. That's how he'd liked it.

Until now.

Frowning, he tapped his finger against the table, producing a hollow thump. Odd. With Alison, his job came second—unless it related to keeping her safe—and strings didn't sound so bad. His instincts also told him that with her, serious wasn't an outcome to be avoided but cultivated.

That was a little scary.

Based on the way she'd hightailed it out of the room, she seemed to agree. Except he got the distinct feeling she found the notion even scarier than he did.

The sound of footsteps on the basement stairs alerted him to her return, and he shifted toward the door. With only seconds to develop a game plan, he decided to go for the direct approach.

“So what did you decide?”

She shot him a startled look as she shut the door. “What do you mean?”

“About whether or not you're going to share the details of your accident.”

Expression wary, she crossed the room and retook her seat. “How do you do that?”

“What?”

“Look into my brain and see what I'm thinking.”

He grinned. “Would you believe me if I said it was part of SEAL training?”

“No.”

“In that case, I guess I'll have to be honest.” He linked his fingers on the table and leaned closer. “The reason I know what you're thinking is because we're soul mates.”

Her eyes widened briefly, then narrowed. As if she was uncertain about his sincerity.

“I'm dead serious, Alison.”

Once more, her eyes widened. “You did it again.”

He lifted his hands, palms up, and settled back in his chair. “I rest my case.”

“Then how come I don't always know what
you're
thinking?”

“Because I've had a lot more practice guarding my thoughts. Thanks, in this case, to my SEAL training.”

She toyed with her soda can, her expression speculative. “Okay. I'll admit I was debating that question.”

“What did you decide?”

“You don't know?” She rested her elbow on the table, propped her chin in her hand, and shot him a teasing smile.

He grinned. “Cute.” Settling his own elbows on the table, he steepled his fingers and grew more serious. “My instincts tell me you're going to tell me the story. That you trust me. And you
can
trust me. I promise you that.”

Several beats of silence passed while she mulled over his comment. Finally, after taking a drink of soda, she set the can to the side and snapped her fingers at Bert. He bounded over, jumped into her lap, and wiggled into a comfortable position, resting his chin on her thigh. As if he'd been through this drill many times.

“Okay. I'll give you the basics. A year ago I was broadsided at an intersection by a drunk driver. My left leg was broken in two places, and I have a metal rod as a souvenir. I was on crutches for quite a while. My pelvis was fractured too, and I had blunt trauma injuries to my abdomen. Bad enough to require a hysterectomy. I was in physical therapy for months, and I still do strengthening exercises for my leg every day.” She stroked Bert as she spoke, seeming to take as much comfort from the rhythmic gesture as her pup did. “On the plus side, other than never being able to have children and being a little underweight, I've made a great recovery. Now you know the whole story.”

Not quite.

While she'd given him a lot of detail on her physical injuries, which had been far more severe than he'd thought, she'd also left much unspoken. What of the emotional toll the accident had wrought? The man she'd been in love with had walked away in the midst of her ordeal, and her ability to have children had been stolen from her. For a woman who'd chosen a career in child protection because she loved kids, the latter trauma alone would have been devastating.

Yet she'd picked herself up and carried on. Without a trace of self-pity, as far as he could tell. It took strength and grit and determination to move past an experience like that, and she'd exhibited all three in spades.

His first inclination was to pull her into his arms, tell her how special she was. But the potent chemistry between them already had her spooked. An impulsive action like that could send her running. And he couldn't take that risk. So he confined his response to words.

“You've had a tough time. I admire you for coping as well as you have.”

She lifted one shoulder, dismissing his praise. “A lot of people have far worse problems. I know that firsthand, from going to rehab. Seeing the struggles other people had just to stand up, let alone walk, gave me a lot of perspective. As did prayer.”

“Gaining perspective from rehab I can understand. Less so from prayer.”

Her hand stilled on Bert's back and she frowned. “That surprises me. Didn't you say you take your dad to church?”

Uh-oh.

From her demeanor and the tone of her question, he could only conclude that Alison's faith was very important to her. Unfortunately, his relationship with God was lukewarm, at best. Had been for years. If he told her that, though, he suspected he could be shooting himself in the foot. Yet he couldn't lie.

“I do, but I don't stay for the service.” He spoke slowly, choosing his words with care. “I haven't seen a lot of evidence that God takes much interest in our world. Or listens to prayers.”

“You mean because he doesn't stop devastating hurricanes or effect miraculous cures? That kind of thing?”

She'd pretty much nailed it, though putting into words his reason for turning away from the faith of his youth sounded too simplistic. He shifted in his chair. How had they gotten into this, anyway? Religion and faith weren't topics he was comfortable discussing. But since he'd pushed her to talk about her accident, he supposed he owed her an answer.

“I've never thought about it in quite those terms, but yeah, I guess that sums it up. I've seen some bad stuff in my life. Stuff God could have prevented if he'd wanted to. Including your accident. Why would a caring, compassionate deity rob you of the ability to have children, when you obviously love them so much?”

A flash of pain rippled across her face, and he clenched his teeth.
Way to go, Morgan.
“Forget I asked that, okay?”

“No.” She looked down at Bert and resumed her rhythmic stroking. “It's a fair question. There is injustice in the world. God doesn't will it, but he does permit it. And that injustice does make a lot of people turn away from him.” She lifted her chin, her expression earnest. “But I believe he can bring good out of every instance of suffering and evil, if we let him. If we just put our trust in him, listen with an open and humble heart, and get out of his way, good can come from bad.”

He tried to hide his skepticism. “Those words sound nice, but what positive outcome was there from your accident?”

A gentle smile tugged at her lips, and her gaze locked with his. “I met you.”

Jolted, he stared at her.

“If I hadn't had the accident, I might be married by now. To the wrong man. Even if I wasn't, Cole wouldn't have gone out of his way to set me up with you. He's only started taking an active role in my social life since David and I split. So our paths might never have crossed. That would have been a shame, don't you think?”

He found his voice at last. “Yeah.”

“I can also answer your question from the perspective of distance.” She dislodged Bert from her lap, much to the pup's annoyance. Leaning forward, she clasped her hands on the table. “A year ago, I thought my world was ending. I couldn't see God's plan for me. As I've learned, it often takes time for a clear purpose to emerge. To see how one thing leads to another.”

Okay, she had a point. His father's situation supported her theory too. When Mitch had gotten the call about the emergency bypass surgery, he'd seen nothing positive in the news. Sitting by his dad's bedside, watching the once-strong man he'd always looked up to struggle with simple tasks, helping him through the first couple of weeks, had been one of the most difficult things he'd ever done. Yet it had forced him to reevaluate his lifestyle. Had reminded him of the importance of relationships—and the danger of taking them for granted. And it had brought him home. Where he'd met Alison.

It seemed many events—good and bad—had worked to bring them together. And perhaps God's hand had been in it.

“That's food for thought, anyway.” He took a sip of his coffee.

Her features tightened in frustration, as if she knew she hadn't convinced him. “I don't want to oversimplify things. There are many times when God's purpose and plan aren't clear. I may never know why some bad things happen, but I trust God does. That allows me to accept the bad as well as the good, even when I don't understand it.”

Mitch knew all about trust. It was the bedrock of a SEAL operation. He'd put his life into the hands of his teammates on multiple occasions without a single qualm. But they deserved it. They'd proven their loyalty and dependability. The concept of trusting in some distant deity was a different matter altogether.

“Trust is hard for you, isn't it?” Alison's quiet words were more comment than question.

“Not with people who've earned it.”

“God did. On Calvary.”

He had no comeback for that.

Instead of pressing her advantage, Alison gave him a Mona Lisa smile that told him he wasn't the only one with mind-reading skills. But much to his relief, she offered him an out. “I think I'll be able to sleep now. Thanks for hanging around.”

“I have a feeling I should be thanking
you
. And I'm sure God is grateful too.” He flashed her a quick grin and stood. “Do you have a large plastic garbage bag? I want to save that bouquet.”

She wrinkled her nose, but rose and pulled one out of a drawer. “What's the point? We trashed the last one.”

“That one didn't feel as ominous—and it didn't have a bingo card with it.” He took the bag. “Do you have a spot in your garage where we could store this?”

“Yes. There's a shelving unit on the far wall that's half empty.”

“Clear evidence you haven't been here long.” He tried to tease away the renewed tension that had crept back into her features. “You should see the shelving in my dad's garage. Not to mention the basement. There's forty years of stuff crammed into every available nook and cranny.”

She gave him a rueful smile. “We had the same situation when my mom sold her house and moved to Chicago to live with her sister. Jake was out of town, so Cole and I tackled the job of going through everything while Mom supervised. I vowed never to accumulate that much stuff.”

“Junk is insidious. I'll have to check back in forty years and see how you fared. Unless I happen to still be around.”

“I think that might be a possibility.”

Surprised at her candor, he raised an eyebrow. “For someone who claims to be a slow mover, that's a very interesting remark.”

A soft blush suffused her cheeks and she bent down to give Bert a pat, hiding her face from his view. “You're right. Ignore it.”

“No way. I'll take whatever encouragement I can get. I'll be back in a minute.”

After exiting through the front door, he did a quick scan of the neighborhood. Not much was visible beyond the pool of light cast by the lanterns. And there was very little chance Alison's stalker had hung around. But if he had, Mitch wanted him to see she had the company of an able-bodied man on a regular basis. That might do more to discourage him than anything else.

Unless it was someone with a bizarre fixation, who wanted Alison for himself.

That scenario could be dangerous. Very dangerous.

But he wasn't going to go there. Yet.

After easing his hand under the brittle bouquet, he lifted it and slid the dead, black roses into the plastic bag. Once he'd deposited it on an empty shelf in her garage, he returned to the kitchen and nodded toward the front of the house. “Show me out?”

“Of course.”

Reaching for her hand, he twined their fingers together in a gesture that had nothing to do with comfort. If she was already thinking about them as a couple forty years out, he figured he could risk this step.

She didn't pull away, and when they stopped by the door he turned to her. “A word of advice. Put the nighttime walks with Bert on hold until we get this thing sorted out. And call me if anything seems suspicious to you or you get another message of any kind from your stalker.”

“Stalker.” Her brow wrinkled. “I hadn't thought of him in those terms.”

“He's kept this up long enough to qualify for that term. We're not dealing with a couple of teenage kids getting their kicks after some clandestine beer drinking party.”

“I guess not.”

He touched her cheek. “Be careful, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I'll see you tomorrow at seven.” Without waiting for a reply, he leaned down and brushed his lips across the satiny skin of her forehead.

Battling the impulse to dip his head lower and claim her lips, he started to pull back. But much to his surprise, she tightened her clasp on his hand, stood on tiptoe, and touched her lips to his.

Before he could recover enough to turn it into a real kiss, however, she took a step back.