She started to comment, but changed her mind when he stepped aside and pointed forcefully.
“You! Inside!”
“But I—”
He took her by the hand and pulled her after him, shutting the door behind them.
“Damn it, honey, you are trying my patience to—”
It was once too many times to ignore. Without thinking, she drew back and let fly, thumping his arm with the bulk of her purse.
“Stop calling me ‘honey’! You gave up that right when you walked out of my life!”
Stunned by the fact that not only had she hit him with her purse, but she was yelling at him, Stone yelled back.
“I’m not the one who walked out, you are.”
In spite of the ominous swing to the purse she still clutched in her hand, Stone held his ground and wished he hadn’t given up the right to hold her. Right now he would give a whole lot to have her in his bed and his arms. The blue in her eyes had turned dark and angry. Staccato bursts of her breath brushed his face. Stone remembered thinking that she was close—but not nearly close enough to suit him.
The next thing he knew, he’d yanked her into his arms and was kissing those sweet, pouting lips. Tasting her shock and the echoes of her words, and knowing it was never going to be enough.
Jessica went from stunned to surrender in just under three seconds, unprepared for the jolt of emotion that tore through her. The only thing she remembered thinking was that she’d wasted the last two years. She hadn’t gotten over a thing.
Stone took a deep breath and turned her loose, and in those moments before he moved away, something precious passed between them that they couldn’t take back. Unspoken, but obvious, just the same.
“Stone, I—”
His voice was gruff, but his hands were shaking. “Get in bed.”
She took a sudden step backward. Where had all the tenderness gone?
He groaned. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said softly, and took a deep breath while trying to calm his racing pulse. He reached out, lifting the fringe of her bangs to look at the white bandage beneath. “You have to be careful. I still think you should call the doctor. Head injuries are tricky.”
Her fingers brushed the surface of her mouth. “Not nearly as tricky as you.”
He flushed but held his ground. “I will not apologize for what just happened.”
She lifted her chin and walked back to the door, then opened it and stood aside, waiting for him to leave. As he stepped out, she slammed the door behind him. When she was certain there was at least three inches of solid wood between him and her, she shouted, “I don’t recall asking for an apology.”
Stone froze in midstep and then pivoted. His hand was on the doorknob just as a familiar click sounded. His eyebrows arched in disbelief. The little witch! She’d locked him out.
“What about your car keys?”
“Drop them through the mail slot, and thank you for the ride.”
“You call the doctor or I’ll do it for you!” he shouted.
She didn’t answer, and he could hear the sounds of her footsteps as she walked away. Torn between elation and frustration, he kicked at a rolled-up newspaper lying on her porch and sent it flying. It landed on top of a nearby bush.
“Damned woman.” He dropped down on the top step, waiting for Stryker to come with her car.
It didn’t dawn on him until later that he’d actually thought of her as a strong, capable woman, not one who cried and begged and blamed as Naomi had. But by the time he’d come to that conclusion, Stryker was pulling into the driveway in Jessie’s car.
Jack got out with a mile-wide grin on his face. “What are you doing out here?”
“None of your damned business,” Stone muttered.
Jack held up her keys. “What about these?”
Stone stuffed them through the mail slot in the door. They rattled as they hit the floor, and the moment they were out of his hand, he realized he should have kept them. Now there was nothing to keep her from getting back in the car and driving. And she was just stubborn enough to try it.
He sighed in frustration and headed for his car. Maybe he could find peace of mind in his work.
* * *
Jessica sat huddled on the floor in the hallway, listening for the sounds of Stone’s departure. She was afraid to sleep—afraid she would dream. But the real truth was, she was even afraid to think. She hadn’t been asleep when she’d seen Sheila’s house on fire. She’d been at her desk and minding her own business.
Her lips still tingled, and she thought of Stone and shivered with sudden longing, wishing that things were different. Wishing that she wasn’t so certain she was about to come apart at the seams.
He was an officer of the law, trained to help, trained to serve. She’d been injured. It only stood to reason he would consider it his duty to offer assistance. However, she reminded herself, he’d had no earthly reason to kiss her just now as he had. Except, she reminded herself further, she had been irritating him unnecessarily. Maybe he’d done it just to shut her up. She inhaled on a soft, helpless sob. Well, it had worked. She felt lost and rudderless, uncertain of what would come next.
She leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes. Tears trickled out from beneath the lids, and she bit her lip to defend herself from the threatening flood. The truth be told, Jessica Hanson was afraid—afraid of herself, and afraid of what she might see next. She got to her feet and went to bed. Right now it was the only place she felt safe.
* * *
Horror shattered the joy in Olivia Stuart’s eyes as a hand clamped across her mouth and she was shoved forward, pinned between the table and the unyielding body of her attacker. The overpowering scent of gardenias mingled with a sudden pain in the back of her leg. Moments later, another pain, different and more threatening, mushroomed in the center of her chest. Her arms flailed outward and upward. She would never see her son again.
* * *
Jessica woke with tears streaming down her cheeks and the scent of gardenias swirling around her. She sat up with a jerk and took a long, deep breath.
“Why,” she whispered, and buried her face in her hands. “Why is this happening?”
She crawled out of bed and walked through her house toward the kitchen, comfortable in the darkness and with the familiarity of her own things. She poured herself a cold drink of water and drank it from start to finish without pause. When it was empty, she set the glass in the sink and then looked out the window to the night beyond.
Moonlight bounced off the nearby hedge, coloring the neatly clipped branches in a cold, silver glow. She shuddered as echoes of the last three days crept back in her mind.
Olivia Stuart’s attack.
Her sister’s lost keys.
Olivia Stuart’s attack.
The fire at Sheila Biggers’s house.
Olivia Stuart’s attack.
Something she hadn’t considered suddenly occurred. She hadn’t been wrong about where Brenda’s keys had been. She hadn’t been wrong about the fire at Sheila’s house. She started to shake.
Then, what if I’m right and they’re wrong about the reason for Olivia Stuart’s death?
The longer she stood, the more certain she became of what she