Her cheeks darkened, causing her scar to appear under the makeup she so carefully applied. He could tell her the old scar had never bothered him, even before her surgery, but he knew she’d never believe him. Not yet.
“Eve?” he prompted when she said nothing. “Are you worried you’ll lose control with me?” Her eyes flashed and he knew he’d scored a hit. He didn’t stop, because he knew if he had a prayer of reaching her, it would have to be now. Once she got away from him, she wasn’t likely to come back soon. “Are you afraid I’ll make you feel something? That after six years of watching from the sidelines you’ll finally feel something?”
“No,” she snapped. But she didn’t move an inch.
“Then what are you afraid of?”
“That I’ll get dependent on feeling something,” she snarled. Abruptly she stood, shoving her chair. “It’s better to choose to have no one than to get dependent on someone, only to lose him. That ‘better to have loved and lost’ shit? It’s shit. I can’t go through that. I won’t.”
He leaned back, his heart pounding as he watched her. “Do you want me, Eve?”
“Yes,” she hissed. “I did the first time you walked up to the bar. You looked me in the eye and if you knew how rare that was, you’d know what it meant.”
“And I didn’t make a move for a year,” he murmured. “You thought I didn’t want you.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered. Knowing you were interested has been a major ego boost, but it doesn’t change anything.” She turned away, pretending to check the pizza in the oven, but her hands were shaking. “It doesn’t make sense to go forward if we want different things. You had a wife before. I assume you want a wife again. A family.”
“We covered this,” he said patiently. “I told you it didn’t matter that you can’t have kids. I told you I’d hide the knives if you walked in your sleep. I’m a really light sleeper,” he said teasingly, then sobered. “None of that matters, Eve.”
“I don’t believe you. You think it doesn’t matter, but one day you’d start wondering what it would be like to be a dad.”
“I know what it’s like to be a dad,” he said, more sharply than he’d intended. “I had a son. He would have been fourteen last November.”
She went still. “He died in the accident, too?”
“Yes. And losing him and my wife was the hardest thing I hope I ever go through. You’re right. ‘Loved and lost’ is shit, but I have no regrets that they were part of my life.” He drew a steadying breath. “I don’t need more children. If I had a baby, I’d love him, but I’ve done that. I don’t need to do it again.”
“And I still don’t believe you.” She touched his sleeve, her fingers trembling. “But I know you believe it.” She pursed her lips, fighting for composure. “I’m not very hungry. Would you mind taking me to get David’s truck now?”
He’d promised himself he’d let her go if that’s what she wanted. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll have a cruiser watch your house tonight, wherever you stay.” He got an oven mitt and pulled the pizza from the oven, then stared down at it. “You asked me this morning why I wanted you. I told you I’d tell you over dinner. Can I at least still do that?”
“Sure.” It was the smallest whisper.
“It was right before Christmas, a year ago. Somebody was retiring and they had his party at Sal’s. It was the first time I saw you.”
“I remember.”
“You were behind the bar. I remember thinking how pretty you were. My last relationship had fizzled a natural death, and I hadn’t met anyone else I liked enough to move my schedule for. I thought maybe I’d say hello to you, ask you out. Then the door opened and this woman came in. Had the look of a lifetime drunk. She was dirty and she stank of sour whiskey. Do you remember her?”
“Yes, I do. A couple of the cops tried to throw her out.”
“But you wouldn’t let them. You sat her down, gave her some coffee, and listened while she told you her story. You even cried when she did.”
“Her son had died. Christmas is a hard time for people who’ve lost someone.”
“I know. I thought you’d let her finish her story and maybe hail her a cab. But you kept her talking, asking her questions until you had enough information to call her surviving son. He came to get her, so embarrassed, but grateful that you’d cared enough not to push her out onto the street into the snow.”
“Who would have done that?”
He turned to look at her. “The dozens of bartenders over the years who did that to my mother. I’d get phone calls- ‘Noah, your mom’s wandering down the street without a coat.’ I’d rush to get her, and find some bartender had thrown her out. Called her a bum. I guess she was, but she was still my mom. You were kind to that woman when you didn’t have to be.”
“I did what anybody should do.”
“But few do. I came back to Sal’s with Jack the next week, and the week after that. Ordered my tonic water and watched you. As time passed, I watched you be kind to more people than I can count. You asked me why I came in and ordered my water all those nights. It was because I couldn’t stay away. Now I’m kicking myself for waiting so long.” She said nothing and he knew he had to let it go. For now anyway. “Come on, I’ll get your coat and take you wherever you want to go.”
He moved toward the door, but she stayed where she stood, uncertainty playing across her face, and his heart lifted in hope. “Are we going or staying?” he asked.
“You’ve put me on a pedestal I couldn’t possibly live up to. If I stayed, if I tried… you’d be disappointed.”
He came back, taking her shoulders in his hands. “Maybe. But then maybe you’ll be disappointed with me. But how can you know if you don’t try?” He kissed her hard, relieved when she lifted on her toes, kissing him back. He broke it off, his breathing unsteady. “Aren’t you tired of watching other people’s lives go by? I know I am.”
Her pulse was knocking at the hollow of her throat. “Promise me something.”
“If I can.”
“If you are disappointed, walk away. Don’t stay because I’ll crumble if you leave.”
He let his forehead rest against hers, his hands trembling as they kneaded her shoulders. “You worry too much, Eve.”
“I know,” she said. “But then so do you. Can we consider that common ground?”
He cupped his hands around her face. “I think we can find better common ground than that.” But he hesitated, unsure of where he could touch her. “What can I do?”
Her jaws clenched against his palms. “I don’t know.”
Noah felt his spine go rigid. “There hasn’t been anyone since…?”
She shrugged. “One. Didn’t go so well.”
He made his mouth curve. “So, no pressure here. I have an idea. You trust me?”
Her dark eyes had shadowed, fear crowding away all that beautiful arousal. But despite her fear, she nodded. “Yes. I trust you.”
“Then get your coat and come with me.”
Wednesday, February 24, 7:45 p.m.
One would think people would be more careful about locking their doors. Especially when they’d just told the police they were the last people to see a woman just before her murder. But the Bolyards hadn’t been careful. And now they were dead.
By killing this couple before they could talk to the police, he’d shown his hand. They’d wonder how the killer had known about the Bolyards. They’d look internally, thinking they had a leak. They wouldn’t suspect each other, because that’s not how cops were wired. But it didn’t matter. He’d managed any potential fallout, cut off any search in his direction before it started with a single, well-placed phone call. Because I think. They just react.
Now the only other threat to his plan, to his identity, was Eve Wilson. She was smart, and careful. It was time to rattle her cage harder.