His steady gaze was fastened on mine when he removed his glasses. Certainty shone in his eyes. “Yeah. It does.”
CHAPTER TEN
Broken Olive Branches
SHANNON
____________________________
Instinct made me grip the desk when I swayed, but I still landed in my chair with a graceless thump.
Trace looked concerned. “Hey, you’re sheet white.” He picked up a half-empty water bottle from the credenza and thrust it into my hand. “Drink it all.”
I obeyed. When I finished, he sat at the corner of my desk. Our legs brushed, then stilled. The right side of mine pressed against the right side of his. Winter’s chill lingered on him, but his leg felt like a branding iron. Butterflies invaded my stomach once our attention slid south.
On cue, both of us eased back to a proper distance. Then our eyes met, but didn’t hold. Too many untested emotions lay there. He became fascinated with an oil painting behind my desk, while I examined my hands, deciding it was time for another French manicure.
“Um…Shannon?”
My gaze zipped to his. “Yes?”
He hung his shades from the chain around his neck. His attention seesawed from my face to the floor. “About the stuff I said in the limo…and the parking lot…and the garage too. I-I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He blinked slowly. “I’m sorry ‘bout that.”
I searched his eyes. The cold veneer was gone, replaced by something warm and endearing.
He grasped my chair’s armrest and twisted me around to face him. “Deep down, I wanted to believe you.” He bowed his head. The invisible barrier between us had weakened. To the rug, he said, “I didn’t realize it ‘til now.”
More butterflies gathered in my stomach.
“I’ve been thinking about the other thing you said too.”
I stared spellbound. “What was that?”
“About me resenting you. I guess I did…a little. Maybe I…um…didn’t want to face it ‘cause I couldn’t justify it. Least not to myself. Anyway, given the evidence, they would’ve convicted me with or without your testimony.” He looked at the ceiling. “You were a young girl. A victim. I knew that. I couldn’t blame you, logically, but the feeling was still there.”
“It’s okay. You’re a human being, not a saint.”
He gave a solemn nod. “Well, with the letter and the fallout—when I thought you wrote it—it just stung.” He paused. “I was angry with you for other reasons, too. But I’ll…we can talk about that later.” He scratched his neck. “For now, you need to know I never lied to you. Not intentionally. I just didn’t understand what was really going on. With me, I mean.”
He let out a slow hiss of a breath, as if he’d dropped a load off his shoulders. There was a tenderness in his expression that I hadn’t seen since we were kids. It should have disarmed me, but the butterflies only multiplied.
Things got worse when he moved to stretch his legs and our knees brushed again. The contact sent my butterflies into a frenzy. He must have felt it too because he excused himself to drag a chair from the corner, mumbling something about leg cramps.
He sat across from me and the butterflies mutated into killer bees. This was ridiculous. A desk separated us, but my leg still burned from his touch, and my heart wouldn’t stop pounding.
Trace skimmed my office. “So you got the letter from the Department of Corrections?”
“Yes,” I said, grateful the awkward silence had ended. “Darien contacted the parole board and Victim Services.”
“What do they do?”
“Whenever an inmate’s status changes, all registered parties are notified through their VINE program—Victim Information & Notification Everyday.”
“What kind of changes?”
“If you—” I cringed when understanding darkened his eyes. “Uh, I mean, if someone had a parole hearing, those on the notification list would be contacted. Or if…someone was about to be released…or if y—I mean….”
“Shannon?” He paused when my gaze fell. “Will you look at me, please?”
I did.
“You don’t have to tiptoe around me. I’m not made of glass.”
“All right,” I said with a grateful smile.
He wrinkled his nose. “Somethin’ burning?”
I smelled it too. “Oh. The coffee pot must still be on.” I got to my feet and ambled past him. “Excuse me.”
He watched me leave. “Were your guardians registered?”
“They didn’t send it,” I said over my shoulder. “Trust me on this. I asked Auntie about it right before you came.”
I was still within his eyeshot when I crossed to the adjoining kitchenette and turned the coffee off. Black gook sloshed in the cloudy glass as I removed it from the well. I dumped the sludge down the stainless steel sink and rinsed the pot.
The nearness of his voice signaled his approach. He dug his hands in his pockets. “How can you be sure they didn’t do it?”
Because it was the only thing I was sure of. “Auntie and Uncle would never risk a scandal like that.” I slipped the pot back in place and the burner sizzled. “Their aversion to negative publicity can’t be understated. Excuse me.”
Squeezing past him without our bodies touching was impossible. My skin tingled at every point of contact. By the time I swept into my office to snare a cup from the sill, I was covered in gooseflesh. When I twisted around, he was right there, face to chest. I tilted my head back to look up at him. Even in the dim fluorescent light, I could see the golden flecks in his eyes.
His Adam’s apple climbed his neck. “What about your boyfriend?”
“Darien?”
“How many boyfriends you got?”
It was taking my brain longer to react. I couldn’t think when he was so close to me. “If you’re asking whether he’d do such a thing, the answer is no. And he’s not my boyfriend. He’s my fiancé.”
Trace eyed my ring finger as I stepped around him to go back into the kitchenette, but he was right behind me, stopping short at the entryway. My defenses crept up. A confrontation was imminent.
“Darien has no vendetta against you,” I said, dumping my cup in the sink. “He’d never shame me that way, and he’d never do something illegal.”
“Your man’s human. That makes him as capable as anyone.”
I bristled at his word choice. “He’s not my ‘man.’ He’s—”
“Your fiancé. Right. I get it. So he helped you find the letter?”
Jaw tight, I squeezed a drop of lemon Joy in my cup and turned the spigot on. “Yes. And while he doesn’t approve—”
“Approve?” His eyes narrowed. “You need his permission?”
I washed the cup none too gently, hating the sarcastic undercurrent in his voice. “Of course not. He just thinks nothing we do will change anything.” Switching the water off, I set the cup aside and ripped a brown paper towel from the metal dispenser on the wall. “As for your other assertions,” I said, grabbing the cup again to give it a thorough drying, “Darien’s a man of integrity.”
“Integrity didn’t stop him from prosecuting an innocent man.”
My hand convulsed and the cup crashed to the floor. I gripped the sink’s edge and stared sightlessly at the pieces.
Trace studied me with a guarded frown before stooping to collect the shards. “Damn.” He slipped a finger into his mouth.
I knelt beside him, hoping he didn’t notice I was trembling. “You cut yourself?”
“It’s nothin’.” His lips made a sucking noise when he pulled his finger out. Blood welled. “Seems every time we’re near each other, I bleed.”
My breath shuddered as I got to my feet and grabbed a broom. I handed him the attached dustpan so I could sweep. We worked in silence, and once we were done, he stood and leaned a shoulder against the jamb.