“Okay, warrior woman, time to roll.”
Warrior woman?
“I’m not a warrior.”
“Save your energy for getting up into the seat.” His breath caressed her face as he leaned toward her and lifted her out of the chair.
A groan escaped her before she could check it. Damn the drugs and her resulting lack of control!
“Sorry. I know this hurts like hell, but it’s quicker and easier on you. I don’t think you’re up to climbing steps yet.”
The impulse to argue with him vanished at his words and she allowed herself to relax against his broad chest. She hadn’t been held for so long, and certainly not by a man she had such a complicated history with. Besides, she was blaming any foolish surrender on the drugs.
He placed her onto the leather seat as if he was putting an intricate ship into a glass bottle. She giggled.
“What’s so funny?”
“I always laugh when I’m in pain. And it’s kind of silly how nicely you’re treating me.”
His gaze steadied on her. No drugs could keep the warmth of his nearness from creating a coil of tension in her midsection.
“It’s my job.”
He stared at her for a moment before he clicked the seat belt in place and closed the passenger door, leaving her to shiver without his body heat.
She thought he was silly?
Bryce took a moment to breathe and think before he got back into the driver’s seat. Damn it but he’d wanted to kiss her. And it had been less than twenty-four hours since he’d laid eyes on her again. Maybe it was like they say addiction is—progressive. A drug addict can be straight for two decades but if they pick up again they’re right back where they were when they quit, and they spiral out of control almost immediately.
He certainly understood what “out of control” meant when it came to his feelings for Zora.
You weren’t addicted to her. You loved her.
He’d been a boy, for God’s sake.
As he settled into the front seat he was immediately impressed by her scent. Under the hospital starchy-clean smell she was still pure Zora. Not floral like the women he’d dated, but spicy, musky.
Pure sex.
“Thank you for taking me home. Please tell Superintendent Todd that I’m okay, and appreciate the support.”
“Save the canned gratitude for your navy life, Zora. We don’t do the fluffy feel-good words here. We’re taking care of you because you’re part of our team. You were hurt while working with us.”
“Not technically. In fact, if you weren’t there, I might still be lying on the ground. Why were you there, Bryce?”
Her expression was softer than the grim face she’d put on for him last night and he hoped it was a sign that she wasn’t in as much pain. The drugs certainly weren’t affecting her logic or memory.
“A hunch. I felt something was off and thought it’d be a good idea to follow you to your place. After I found out it was you, I wondered why you didn’t go back to your old house.”
“Where Mom and Dad live? No. I bought my own house a couple of years ago. They don’t need their thirty-three-year-old daughter living at home with them.”
“I never heard you’d moved back.”
“There was no reason you should have.”
“It’s not that big a place, Zora. You haven’t touched base with anyone from high school, have you?”
“Why would I? You were my best...” She abruptly stopped speaking. Just like she’d abruptly ended their relationship all those years ago.
It had been a lot of years. He thought it was nothing more than an adolescent memory. But seeing her last night, finding something inexplicably familiar about her, and then his reaction when she’d been shot...
“What made you decide to go into law enforcement?”
“Who says I’m in law enforcement?” She had the gall to play him, after he’d seen her in action last night.
“You’re not on any force locally from what I can tell, and I’ve found your counseling credentials are all up-to-date. But you weren’t acting like any counselor I’ve ever met last night.”
“Who says I’m not a chaplain?”
“That you’re not a minister? Oh, I don’t know, Zora. That god-awful wig? Your Kevlar vest? Your loaded weapon?”
“I’m a counselor. That’s what I got out of the navy for.”
“And yet you were playing undercover agent last night.”
“You know what you saw. I can’t comment on it, Bryce. You have to understand that. You’ve been in this kind of life long enough.”
Yes, he had been.
“So why did you get a degree in counseling? What’s the attraction there?”
“Life. Wanting to help people trying to improve their circumstances.”
Her voice quavered and he noted the pinch lines around her lips.
“We’ll have you home soon, Zora.”
He navigated the winding, narrow road that lifted them above Silver Valley into the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. Leaves glinting with gold flecks remained on a few branches, but most were bare. The ride was as smooth as ever to him but he knew each tiny turn and bump was excruciating to Zora. Bruised ribs were like that.
“Nice ride you have here, Campbell.”
“It’s my parents’. You wouldn’t be as comfortable in my old Ford.”
“The Mustang you drove last night.” She hadn’t missed a thing.
“Didn’t you want to stay in the navy for the full twenty?”
“No. Not after the war, after so many moves. It was time to settle down, and I wanted to find something that would allow me to help people more directly. You know, go from the global perspective to the everyday world.”
“No, I don’t know. You probably got to make a big difference as a naval officer. Is Silver Valley going to be enough for you?”
“More than.” She almost laughed. He suspected her ribs hurt so much she’d stopped herself. He didn’t want to examine why the fact that she seemed so pleased to be settled down in Silver Valley appealed to him.
“Then why did you agree to do the ride along last night?”
Silence. He shot a glance at her and she stared straight ahead, her lips pursed in determination or pain, he wasn’t sure.
“Not talking, Zora?”
“I can’t, Bryce.”
She wasn’t the first unknown player who’d shown up during an op to help them bring down a bad guy. That was what bothered Bryce. He’d been a police officer for over a decade, the past five years on the Silver Valley force as a detective. And still, Superintendent Todd wasn’t willing to cut Bryce in on the source of these “part-time” operatives.
“What made you become a detective?”
“Life.”