Pieces of Broken Time (10 page)

“Hmm . . .” Colleen seemed lost in thought as she moved the food around her plate with her fork. “Don’t tell me that you’re planning to hold his hands while he goes through his rough patch. Remember, you’re not a doctor. You have no idea what he’s been through. Don’t pretend to understand when you don’t. These guys returning from the wars have scars deeper than any wounds we see. For all you know, Blake’s suffering from some psychological problem.”

“Don’t worry about me. I think Blake is harmless.” Somehow, she was sure of it, but Jennifer tucked Coleen’s words away for more thought later.

“Just a word of caution, girlfriend. He seemed like he’s carrying a lot of baggage, and you’re still grieving. It sounds like the making of a tragic love story.” Colleen held her gaze, as if sizing up her mental well-being.

“Oh, c’mon. Don’t play mother hen with me.” Jennifer wagged a finger at her best friend.

“I trust you to make a good call. Don’t fall for this guy because you pity him or you’re aching for Trent.” Coleen put her fork down, reached across the table, and gave Jennifer’s hand a light squeeze.

“Thanks for your concern. I don’t intend to get involved with anyone right now. Certainly not a man with issues and probable post-traumatic stress disorder.” Jennifer sounded so sure, and she wondered if she was trying to convince Coleen or herself.

They chatted for another two hours, while attacking a slice of black forest cake and lingering over coffee. After settling their check, they walked around the promenade to window shop. It was a little past seven in the evening by the time they hugged and said their goodbyes. Jennifer was in high spirits when she eased her car onto the freeway for the long drive home.

Jennifer slipped her shoes off the moment she crossed her threshold, tired from the whole day of wearing high heels. She’d gotten so used to working at home in her pajamas and flip-flops.

She proceeded down the darkened hallway into her bedroom and heard a crunch seconds before an odd searing pain shot through her right foot.

“Ow.” She hobbled toward the light switch.

Once the room was bathed in light, she gasped. Her bedroom was in utter disarray. Looking down at her foot, she saw blood pooling on the floor underneath it. Pain radiated up her leg, and she wobbled to sit on the bed. She tried assessing the extent of her injury, but with the steady stream of blood, it was difficult to see the size of the gash on her foot.

A wave of panic gripped her while she glanced around the room. She could see that her walk-in closet had been turned upside down. Drawers had been opened and clothes were strewn everywhere. The glass she’d stepped on had been an antique vase once belonging to her aunt.

Reaching for the phone on her nightstand, she dialed 911. Once she knew help had been dispatched, belated tears of shock overcame her. She was in a full fit of hysteria by the time the first cop showed up.

When the responding officer saw the blood on the floor, he radioed for medical assistance and helped her into the living room. He wrapped her foot with a towel he had snagged from the bathroom and propped her leg on the coffee table.

The medics arrived a few minutes later and started assessing her injury.

Another squad car pulled up her driveway, and two officers walked into the living room. Each one identified himself and went about checking the rest of the house and inspecting the broken window.

Officer Cortez, the first officer on the scene, sat on the sofa opposite her after he conferred with the medic. “You need to go to the emergency room to get that foot stitched up. You also need to take inventory of your things. See what’s missing. Check with your credit card company for any unauthorized charges. I suggest you cancel the credit cards and request new ones, just in case the burglar got a hold of your account information. We’ll be dusting for fingerprints soon to see if we can get a match in our system.”

Before she could answer, loud voices sounded from the garage.

Officer Cortez stood up to check, but Blake stormed in the room, followed closely by another officer.

Regardless of what had happened yesterday, Blake knew he wouldn’t rest easy until he made one more drive by Jennifer’s house. He had no intention of knocking on her door. Some things, and people, were better left alone, and Jennifer deserved better . . . much better.

When he neared her house, however, he saw flashing lights synonymous with emergency vehicles. He felt his stomach clench and his gut twist, while terrible scenarios played in his head. He stomped on the gas and, with squealing tires, announced his arrival from a block away. He parked as close as he could get and jumped out.

An officer came forward, blocking his way as he headed toward the house. “Can I help you, sir?”

“What’s going on here?” he rasped, angling to get a better view of the inside of the house through the windows.

“Sir, I need to see your ID. How are you related to Ms. Owens?” The officer stepped back with one hand up, gesturing for Blake to stay, while the other hovered over his gun.

Blake knew how cops operated. They functioned similar to the Army, but his mind wasn’t processing anything except the crippling fear that gripped him.

He pulled out his wallet and showed his driver’s license.

The officer took the ID and shone his flashlight down then back to Blake’s face. “Mr. Connor, how are you related to Ms. Owens?” The officer handed his license back.

“I-I’m a neighbor.” He pointed in the direction of his house. “And a friend.” Without waiting for a response, he moved past the officer, through the open garage door, and into the house. Blake had no doubt the officer had followed, and with his hand still on his weapon.

Blake heard someone else advising stitches were needed as he approached the living room. He took a quick look at Jennifer and sighed in relief.

She’s all right. Oh . . . thank you!

All right and mostly in one piece, since it looked as if her bloodied foot was what needed the stitches. He noticed a broken window, too.

“Who are you?” the officer in the living room asked.

“Officer Cortez, this is Captain Blake Connor, Army Ranger,” Jennifer said.

Blake raised an eyebrow at her method of establishing his identity, but instead of questioning her, he stared at her foot. “What happened here?”

“Someone broke in, and Ms. Owens stepped on broken glass. Right now, she needs to go to the emergency room to get it looked at.” Officer Cortez turned back to Jennifer. “You need to call a relative or a friend so you can stay with them for a night or so. This is not a safe place to stay, with the broken window and all.”

Jennifer seemed to hesitate as she looked between Blake and the officer in charge. “I can get a motel room in town.”

Blake knew for a fact that she had no relatives close by and jumped in with an absurd idea before he gave it more than a passing thought. This was going to cost him some precious solitary time.

“You’ll stay with me, and I’ll drive you to the ER now.” Blake moved toward Jennifer, and before she could argue, he picked her up from the sofa. His body rebelled at the exertion, but he paid no attention to the discomfort.

“Put me down.” She tried to squirm out of his tight hold. “I’m not going to stay at your place.”

“Of course you are.” He smiled sardonically and glanced over his shoulder. “Officer Cortez, do you mind closing up the house when you’re done here? You can reach her at this number.” After reciting the digits, Blake ignored Jennifer’s repeated protests and walked out of the house and loaded her into the Jeep’s passenger seat.

Blake ignored the burning ache from his leg and went back inside the house and hobbled straight into her bedroom. He took a deep breath in an effort to calm his nerves before he started gathering Jennifer’s things. He grabbed a few items on the bathroom counter before pulling out several T-shirts, denim jeans, and God, several undergarments from her drawer. He found a duffel bag on the top shelf and shoved everything inside. Picking up the purse on top of the bed, he proceeded outside looking like a man on a mission.

Chapter 9

Blake loathed hospitals. After his prolonged confinement in Germany then Walter Reed, he’d vowed to stay away from them every chance he got, but, looking at Jennifer’s wound, his resolve flew out the window. He tried driving within the speed limit, but found it impossible. He kept unconsciously pressing the accelerator until he registered the unbelievable speeds of the blurring scenery.

He glanced at Jennifer several times, but found it cumbersome trying to drive with one good eye and keep watch over her at the same time. She hadn’t said anything except for the few times he saw her flinching.

“Are you in pain?” His question came out sounding snippier than he had intended. He’d been without company for some time, and he’d forgotten about good manners and tact.

She didn’t look at him when she shook her head, but kept staring straight ahead.

Blake ground his molars in frustration.

Why can’t she just talk to me?

Because you’re an asshole.

What the hell am I supposed to say? I can’t do small talk.

You’re hopeless.

Irritated with his own voices, he made another attempt with Jennifer. “Look . . . if you’re upset because I didn’t give you a chance to decide for yourself, it’s because I think you needed someone to look after you.”

Jennifer whipped her head sideways to glare at him, her mouth thinned in a straight line. “So you assigned
yourself
the task? Thanks, but no thanks. I’m done waiting for you to make good on your word to Trent. Just drop me at the ER, and you can go on your merry way. Hide if you want. I don’t care.” She went back to staring into the darkness ahead.

Blake was dumbfounded.

The woman had a mouth on her. He felt his anger roar to the surface. Of course, she was right. She’d reached out to him several times and he’d kept her at arm’s length. He deserved her brush-off and more.

“As much as I would love to leave you alone, I’m afraid you’ll have to endure my presence over the next few days. At least until you get the window fixed and Cortez gives you the go-ahead to return to your house. In the meantime, you’re staying with me. It’s not a request.”

Blake found it nearly impossible not to chuckle as he caught sight of Jennifer’s chin jutting forward. Her obvious defiance had him clenching his jaw and struggling to swallow the sound that still escaped as a soft snort.

It had been so long since he’d felt even a semblance of humor that the unfamiliar feeling shocked him. His laughter felt foreign but strangely pleasant.

“I don’t enjoy being ordered around, and I don’t see what is quite so amusing about my situation. If you’re developing a conscience, you can shove it up—” She sighed. “You can forget about it. I don’t need your help, or your pity. You know that I have no relatives in town, and you saved me from a lengthy explanation back there. But if you’re expecting words of gratitude, you’re not getting any.” She crossed her arms and huffed.

“Whoa, hold on, little girl. You’re using my lines.”

They reached the front entrance of the emergency room, and he was prevented from pursuing the subject. He had to concentrate fully on parking near the sliding doors and out of the ambulance bay. Once satisfied, he reached over to release Jennifer’s seat belt, accidentally brushing his arm against her breasts. Despite the fabric separating them, he felt his skin burn and jerked in embarrassment.

If Jennifer noticed, she didn’t show any sign. “You don’t have to treat me like a child. I cut my foot. I’m going to live. There’s no need to act like a knight in shining armor.” She huffed, sat upright, and swung her legs out the door, clearly indignant and ready to show Blake just how well she could take care of herself.

She froze and Blake smirked, looking over her shoulder at her bare feet.

His eyebrows shot up. “If you want me to stop treating you like a child, then stop acting like one. No reason to risk infection just to show me. Be a good girl, and let me help you.”

He picked her up, trying his best to hide his discomfort and keeping his expression as even as possible. His skin felt as though it was going to tear. He walked inside the ER and headed straight to the admitting desk.