falling asleep.
Wolfe burst in the door, gun in hand, pointing it at the window. He looked around, dodged into the bathroom, scouted the closet, and then set the gun on the dresser. “Bad dream?”
She gulped and nodded.
The kitten hissed from the top of a tall bureau, where he’d obviously jumped.
She wiped a tear from her face. “Kat. I’m sorry. It’s okay.” She spoke soothingly, trying to reassure the frightened animal.
Wolfe stayed away from the bed.
She focused on him and then wished she hadn’t. His broad chest was bare, showing hard-cut muscle along with a couple of bullet holes and what looked like knife wounds. A military tattoo of some type covered his left bicep, and that massive chest narrowed down several roped abs to loose sweats. His hair had grown out a little, curling over his ears, and thick scruff covered his rugged jaw. But those eyes. Light brown and brilliant and masculine, they missed nothing.
The kitten gave a soft meow.
Wolfe went to him, lifting him up and setting him on his right shoulder. “It’s okay, dude. Everyone has bad dreams.”
The huge man and the small kitten were such an obvious contradiction that she could only stare as Kat rubbed against Wolfe’s chin and started purring.
“The kitten and the wolf,” she murmured, forcing her hands to stop clutching the bedcovers.
“Sounds like a nursery rhyme.” All fierce grace, Wolfe moved to sit on the bed, reaching down and replacing the photograph on the bed table. “What was the dream about?”
She took a deep breath. Wolfe had rescued her when an ex-senator had kidnapped and tried to torture her, so there wasn’t much to hide from him. “I was back in the Senator’s office,” she whispered.
“Thought so.” Wolfe covered her hand with his broad one. “That monster is dead and gone. He can’t get to you ever again.”
“I know.” The senator had been killed in prison by another prisoner in a fight over a tomato, oddly enough. That made no difference to the nightmares. Wolfe’s hand was warm and firm, and nothing in her wanted to move her fingers out from under his. Friends held hands, right? It was okay to take some comfort from him, since he was offering it. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”
“I don’t sleep much,” he said, smelling like whiskey and male.
Her mouth watered.
Kat jumped from his shoulder and landed in Dana’s lap, stretching his back and clawing the comforter. He kept purring. At least the animal had forgiven her. She looked for somewhere to focus other than on the sexy male sitting too close but not close enough. Her gaze landed on the picture of him in his early teens, his arm slung around a girl with the same brown eyes, both standing in front of an elderly woman with a soft smile. “Is this your family?”
“Yeah.” He exhaled. “My sister, Karen, and our grandmother, who raised us. Well, mostly.”
“You have a sister?” Blinking, she turned to look at him again. Wolfe had a sister?
“I had one,” he said softly. “She was killed at fifteen, when I was thirteen. Joined the wrong chat room and ended up chatting with the wrong guy. She thought he was seventeen and met him at a mall one night, without us knowing, of course. We found her body a week later. He’s in jail, serving a life sentence.”
God, how painful. “I’m sorry.”
He nodded. “Me, too. Grams died four years later, after talking me into joining the military. Thought I could use structure and a purpose. She was usually right.”
The night closed in, the silence cocooning them. Memories of her own childhood, of happiness untouched by tragedy, filled her heart. Why had Wolfe lost so much, and what was driving him so hard now? It wasn’t fair. “Parents?”
He lifted one powerful shoulder. “Father took off a month after I was born, and saying our biological mother was unfit is an understatement. We were lucky Grams stepped in.”
“I’m sorry, Wolfe. I really am.” There weren’t any words that could help.
“I know. You’re a sweetheart, Dana. Soft and kind.”
There was an obvious warning behind the murmured words. She shook her head. “I’m pretty tough, and you know it. If life hits me, I’ll get back up.” He had to stop pushing her away.
His chin lifted, but he didn’t answer.
She looked at his scarred chest. “You’ve seen some serious fights.”
He released her hand and stood, withdrawing. “Yeah.” He moved for the door, revealing a broad, strong back—along with more healed wounds. The bullet holes were obvious, as were the knife marks, but a couple of burns down his right side were a surprise.
What had he endured? She swallowed, feeling small and vulnerable in the big bed that smelled enticingly of him. “Why won’t you trust me?” Why the heck had she asked that question?
He turned at the doorway, leaning against the jamb, one eyebrow rising. His lips twitched. “You’re in my house, in my bed, with my kitten on your lap. I gave you the code to my alarm system. Why in the world do you not feel trusted?”
How could he not understand? “You don’t tell me anything. You don’t share. I don’t know you.” The words burst out before her mind could kick into gear. “You always say we’re friends, and you are there any time I need you. You even saved me from a madman with a knife. But you don’t let me know you.”
Indecision crossed his face—an expression different from any she’d ever seen on him. Apparently making up his mind, he moved to his perch on the bed again, the heat from his body instantly washing over her. “There isn’t anything else.” His voice remained low and calm, deep with a certainty that seemed to lack regret. “You’re searching for a depth that just isn’t there. Doesn’t exist.”
She tilted her head, reading beneath the surface when he’d just told her not to bother. “Do you really believe that?” Her voice softened along with her heart. Oh, this wasn’t good. Not at all. Distance. She should draw back.
“Yes.” His chin lowered, and his gaze ran down her tank top and back up, his eyes darkening to the color of topaz gems hiding their brilliance. “My whole life has been about survival. First as a kid in a rough neighborhood and then in the military, where I thought I’d found family.” His nostrils flared as he exhaled slowly. “When my whole team died, all that was left for me was to seek justice. Maybe revenge. I don’t really care which.”
She barely moved, not wanting to spook him. He’d never told her this much before. “Revenge? That’s why you were looking for Clarke Wellson? I mean, Albert Nelson?”
He nodded. “It took me nearly six months to tie Nelson to my case. All I had was his picture and his affiliation with Captive; I didn’t even have his correct name. Never even got a chance to question the guy.”
Nelson had been a pretty shady guy, so he’d probably had plenty of enemies. Dana remained still. “How did your team die?”
