If You See Her (10 page)

Narrowing her eyes, she reached up and deliberately poked him in the swollen area just below his left eye.

He yelped and let go of her wrist. “What the hell was that for?”

“You don’t exactly look like
Little Mary Sunshine
, buddy. The same person who did this to me did
that
to you. You want to worry about me, fine. I’m worried about you, too, but you don’t see me hovering at your shoulder twenty-four-seven.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “It’s not the same.”

“Of course not,” she said quietly. She looked back at her wrists and then sighed. “It’s not the same because I’m me … and I’m always afraid of everything—I’m too weak to fight back. But damn it, how in the hell am I supposed to get any better when you’re constantly trying to prop me up?”

“Hope, I’m not …” Then he sighed, his voice trailing off. He shoved a hand through his hair. “I’m just, hell, I don’t know how to handle this. I wanted you here so you could feel safer, start to heal. And look what happens to you.”

“This isn’t your fault.” Hope looked away. “We didn’t see this coming—how could we? But, Law, damn it, you’ve got to quit hovering. You’re making me claustrophobic. I’m
okay
, I swear. But I need some space, or I’m going to freak out.”

Hating the sad, miserable look in his eyes, hating that she couldn’t … or
wouldn’t
do anything to make it go away, she turned her back on him and refused to look back.

Eventually, she heard him slip back inside.

Still, she didn’t look back.

She stared off into the distance, into the coming night. All she wanted to do was sit on the back porch. Surely she could do that.

Looking down at her wrists, she tried to resign herself to what she was going to have to do in the morning.

The damned sheriff’s office. File a report. Even though it was probably going to be a waste of time, because
nobody was going to believe her. They all either thought she was crazy and determined to kill herself, or they thought she was crazy and wanted to hurt Law.

At least it was Nielson, the sheriff they’d be talking to.

Law had agreed to that, at least. She could almost handle talking to him.

Something rustled in the woods off to the side. A branch cracked. Jerking her head up, Hope caught her breath. She climbed to her feet and almost darted inside the house—okay, maybe she
couldn’t
handle sitting outside alone.

Then a boy tumbled out of the trees.

A boy … a crying boy who was as tall as she was.

But still, it was just a kid. And one who looked vaguely familiar.

Instead of backing into the house, she hopped down the two steps and jogged across the grass to him. “Hey, are you okay?”

Behind her, the door banged open.

But Hope barely noticed.

As the boy’s eyes locked on her face, all she could think was,
He’s so scared …

His hands came up, gripped her upper arms. His throat worked, like he was having a hard time speaking without sobbing.

“There … there was somebody in the woods,” he said, his voice cracking, the way a boy’s does when he’s caught in that place between childhood and manhood. His hands squeezed, not to hurt, but with desperate terror, as though he needed to make sure she was really there.

His eyes, huge and blue, dominated a thin face that was terribly familiar.

“Somebody … in the woods,” he whispered, his voice low and quiet. He shot a terrified glance over his shoulder and then he looked back at her. Abruptly, some
of that clouded fear cleared from his eyes, he released her arms and reached for her hand. “He had a gun and he was right over there. It’s not safe. We should get inside—call the sheriff or something.”

As he started to pull her toward the house, Hope caught sight of Law standing on the porch, his familiar scowl drawing his face tight.

“Brody, damn it, your uncle is looking all over for you—you’ve got him worried sick,” Law snapped.

“Law,” she said.

As though she hadn’t said anything, Law pointed toward the house. “You need to get inside—call him, now.”

“Damn it, Law, ease up. The kid’s terrified,” Hope said. She gently disentangled her hand from the boy’s grasp—he might be rail-thin, but he was stronger than hell. “He says he saw somebody out in the woods.”

Law’s eyes narrowed, focused on Brody’s face. “Is that right?”

Brody wiped a hand over the back of his mouth. “He … a gun. Had a gun.”

“A gun.” Lena appeared in the doorway. “What?”

A scowl darkened Law’s battered face and he jerked his head toward the house. “Get inside, Brody. Call Remy. He’s scouring the entire county looking for you. Call him, then you tell me about this guy you think you saw.”

As the boy headed inside, Hope’s brain abruptly ceased functioning. “Remy?” she said quietly, hoping none of the emotion she felt inside showed.

Apparently, it didn’t. Law was staring off into the trees, a frown on his face. “Yeah. That’s Brody Jennings. Remy is his uncle. Come on … we should all get aside.”

As the door banged closed behind them, she realized that Remy Jennings would be here. In a matter of minutes.

The kid’s uncle.

Hope swallowed.

Her heart started to pound.

Idly, she wondered if she could lock herself inside her room and not come out until this … whatever was over with.

Then she closed her eyes and reminded herself.
No. You stopped running; remember?

But part of her still wanted to go lock herself away in her room. She’d stopped running from her past, and she wanted to stop running from the things that terrified her—

Remy did a lot more than just scare her, so she wasn’t sure he really qualified.

As they turned down the long drive that led toward Law Reilly’s house, Hank’s eyes opened and he said, “Reilly did say he was okay, right?”

“Yes. He’s fine. Just scared—something spooked him in the woods.”

Hank gave a jerky nod. A sad, shamed look showed on his face and he sighed. “You know I could kick my own ass for what I said to him—I love my son, Remy. You know that. But the past couple years … they’ve been hard.”

“You think they haven’t been hard on him? He’s just a kid, and he lost his mother, and to him, it probably feels like he lost his dad. You shut him out completely—hell, anybody with eyes can see it. Now he feels like his dad doesn’t love him and wants him dead,” Remy said. He hurt for his brother, but he hurt for the kid more.

He was so damned pissed off at Hank—man, he could just shake the stupid bastard. Shake him, hit him, anything to make him wake up and see what he was doing to his son.

Brody was so messed up, so unhappy and scared.

Remy never thought the day would come when he’d be ashamed of his brother, but … now? Yeah. He was ashamed of Hank. He knew grief did bad, bad things to the mind, but he couldn’t believe what he’d heard coming out of Hank’s mouth, what Hank might have done if Ezra hadn’t been so quick to react.

“That boy deserved better, Hank,” he said, shaking his head. “A hell of a lot better.”

“I know he did, and I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me if I want to fix things with my boy.” Then Hank sighed. “But, well, and this is my fault, completely, but you know that Brody’s got problems. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s making up this story about a guy with a gun, trying to deflect the trouble he knows is coming.”

The thought had occurred to Remy—briefly.

But he figured Brody had had enough crap dumped on him already. Remy wasn’t going to make any unfair judgments. Yet.

“He deserved better the past few years,” Remy repeated quietly. “And he deserves to at least have us listen to him without judging him. Maybe you can’t give him that, but I sure as hell can—and I will.”

A pair of lights appeared in his rearview mirror. A few minutes later, as he parked in front of Law’s house, he recognized Ezra’s truck in the darkness. Grimacing, he eyed the cop as he climbed out of the truck.

“Seeing you way too much today, King,” he said.

“Not exactly how I’d planned to spend the day, either.” Ezra jerked his head toward the house. “But if your nephew’s here, then I can get Lena and go home. It’s been one long-ass day.”

He shifted his gaze to Hank. “Mayor.”

Hank inclined his head. “Detective King. I … well, I hope you can understand, it’s been a rough day all around. I wasn’t in the clearest frame of mind earlier.”

“I imagine not. Your kid hasn’t exactly had the clearest
frame of mind for a while, though. Something you might want to keep in mind,” Ezra said pointedly as he started for the house.

Hank’s mouth tightened. “Trust me, I’m well aware of that.”

Remy reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. This day, it just wasn’t going to get any better before it ended, was it?

Then he knocked on the door and it took yet another crazy turn on him.

He should have been prepared to see her.

Really.

But when the door opened and Hope Carson stood there, framed in a wedge of light, those dreamy, green eyes so sad and quiet, her mouth solemn and unsmiling, Remy thought his heart just might stop.

There just wasn’t any way he
could
prepare himself for seeing her. There wasn’t any way he could prepare himself for what seeing her
did
to him, mentally, physically, emotionally.

Shit.

Oh, shit, he did
not
need this.

Lust reached up and grabbed him around the throat, squeezing and choking the air from his lungs even as it heated the blood in his veins.

This was the absolute last woman on earth he should want—she was trouble, in so many ways. She was
troubled
, and that was just one of the reasons he didn’t need this.

This was the absolute last woman on earth he
wanted
to want—she just plain and simple
was
trouble—he could feel that in his bones.

And yet, as he stared into those big, green eyes, he did want.

Hell, did he want.

But
wanting
was only part of it, he suspected.

It was so much deeper than that, so much more.

The world fell away and he forgot about his brother, he forgot about the cop standing just a few feet away, forgot about his nephew. Forgot about anything and everything except her.

Behind him, Ezra cleared his throat.

Hank lost his already shoddy grip on control and shoved past Remy, pushing his way impatiently inside the house. As he did, he brushed close to Hope.

Too close, judging by the look in her eyes.

Something danced across her face and she pulled away, sidestepping him and averting her face … hiding that fear.

Abruptly, the hot fury of lust bled into anger—that fear. What had caused it?
Who
had caused it?

Why in the hell was she always so afraid?

His hands itched. He wanted to reach up, touch her face, brush that dark, silken hair back from her face and promise her she didn’t need to be afraid.

Shit
.

As her eyes shifted to his and then away, Remy reminded himself he really, really needed to stay the hell away from this woman.

As the three men pushed inside Law’s house, Hope reminded herself … 
You’re not running. You’re
not
running
.

Ezra paused at her side and reached out, rested a hand on her shoulder. A month ago, she would have flinched, but she was able to give him a shaky smile as he asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Okay.”

His eyes, a sharp, intelligent green, lingered on hers, and her smile wobbled, faded. “Maybe not so okay, but I’m still here.”

He nodded, squeezed her shoulder. He pushed the
door shut and then, in a friendly, easy gesture that she couldn’t easily evade without feeling silly, he slung an arm over her shoulder. “You taking care of Law or is he taking care of you?”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Remy, was acutely aware of him watching her. Feeling the rush of blood creeping up her cheeks, she tried to focus on Ezra, on anything but how nervous the other man made her feel. “Ah, maybe both. He’s still not feeling too great. Tired, and sore, but he won’t take the pain medicine so that’s to be expected.”

“And you?”

He didn’t look at her wrists, but he didn’t have to. She knew what he was asking. Tension crept up her spine and she eased away from him, suddenly unable to have him touching her, even though a moment ago, it had felt … well, almost easy. Friendly. Almost the way it felt when Law gave her one of his easy, friendly hugs.

She didn’t feel so easy and friendly right now—she was pissed
off
.

“I’m just peachy,” she said, her voice sharp. Stalking past Remy and Ezra, past the silent third man, she moved into the kitchen and joined Law, Lena, and Brody at the table. Meeting Law’s gaze, she said, “We’ve got company, Law. Lena, Ezra’s here.”

A red brow arched. Dark lenses hid Lena’s sightless eyes. “Ahhh … what did he do?”

Ezra came into the kitchen and said, “I don’t think I did anything.”

“He didn’t do anything,” Hope agreed, keeping her voice flat. She wasn’t going into this, wasn’t talking about it.

Not with the kid here.

The kid. Focus on the kid.

Brody … his name was Brody.

He sat at the table, his head bent, his shoulders slumped.

And as the third man came into the kitchen, those thin shoulders stiffened even more.

A heavy, uncomfortable silence fell, like a cold, wet blanket.

Remy moved up to the table and settled down in one of the seats. “Hey, kid,” he said softly.

Brody shot him a quick look and then focused on the table again.

It was so damned quiet, Hope could actually hear the seconds ticking away on the clock.

It was broken, finally, when the third man moved forward. He gave her a genial, practiced smile … a politician’s smile, she thought. “Hello. I’m Hank Jennings, Brody’s dad. I’m sorry if he’s bothered you.”

He went as though to hold a hand out and she pushed hers into her back pockets, careful not to rub the stitches against her jeans. Frowning, she said, “He’s scared to death—that’s hardly a bother, Mr. Jennings.”