I come in?”
God, no! The cloying sweetness of industrial air freshener had combined with the acrid stench of bile, making a new and entirely unappealing aroma that now permeated the small room. The last thing she needed was for Nate to come in and get blasted with the scent of her breakdown.
“Um, not right now,” she hedged, wiping her mouth with a wet paper towel and smoothing back her hair. “Just give me a second.”
He was silent, but something told her he hadn’t gone far. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, silently cursing herself for crying. Why couldn’t she be one of those women who was attractive when crying? Instead, she looked like some kind of allergic mess, with swollen eyes, puffy lips and blotchy red skin. That was bad enough, but the fact that she had to step out and face Detective Hottie, who hadn’t batted an eye at tonight’s events, made her feel even worse.
I can do this. Taking a deep breath, Fiona dabbed at the last lingering wetness on her cheeks and ran her palm down the front of her shirt to smooth out the wrinkles.
Her fragile defenses in place once more, she turned and opened the bathroom door.
Here I go.
Dammit, she’d been crying.
Nate could tell the minute she opened the door. She walked out with her shoulders back and head held high, her chin thrust upward in defiance and determination. But her eyes gave her away. Red rimmed and slightly swollen, they bore silent witness to her earlier tears.
He turned to follow her, but not before catching a whiff of the bathroom. Oh, honey.
She certainly wasn’t the first person to lose her lunch after such a stressful situation, but he hated that she’d had to experience it.
Joey was still out cold on the floor near the register, so he quickly steered her in the opposite direction, guiding her to walk the outer perimeter of the store on her way to the door. Not only did he want to spare her from seeing her attacker again, it gave him a chance to swipe a bottle of ginger ale as they walked past the refrigerated cases.
“Here you go,” he said, pressing the bottle into her hand with a smile. “Thought you might want this.”
She blushed but met his eyes. “Thanks,” she said softly, her mouth turning up at the corner. “Guess I wasn’t as quiet in there as I’d hoped.”
“Don’t feel bad,” he assured her, reaching up to lay a hand on her shoulder. For some reason, he couldn’t stop touching her, a fact that should have bothered him but didn’t. “I’ve seen 350-pound men cry like a baby after having a gun shoved in their face, so a little vomit is no big deal.”
She stared at the bottle for a few seconds, then shrugged and twisted off the cap.
“Something wrong?”
She shook her head. “I was just thinking that we’re not allowed to eat or drink anything from the store.”
“I’m happy to pay for it,” he said, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. She laid a hand on his arm, stopping him.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, giving him a small smile. “After the night I’ve had, I think the store can donate a soda to make me feel better.”
“Sounds fair to me,” he said, placing his hand on the small of her back to urge her forward again. He wanted to get her out of the store and away from her attacker as soon as possible. He could just make out the faint wail of a siren, which meant the ambulance was on its way. Fiona didn’t need to be here when the paramedics loaded Joey onto the stretcher and carted him off to the hospital.
Besides, they needed to take her statement and the sooner the better. He glanced up while they walked, heartened to see surveillance cameras mounted in the ceiling and pointed at the register. Maybe they’d get lucky and there would be footage of the attack—he knew from experience not every security camera was functional.
“Do those work?” He nodded at one of the cameras as they neared the door.
Fiona glanced up, following his gaze. “I think so,” she said, frowning slightly. “I’ve never seen the tapes, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”
They made it to the door before Fiona stopped, a stricken look on her face.
“I need to call Ben,” she said, sounding miserable.
Nate felt a pang of jealousy at the mention of another man’s name. Was Ben her husband? Her boyfriend? Why did she sound unhappy at the thought of talking to him? More important, why did it matter so much to him?
“Who’s Ben?” His voice was deceptively neutral, but he held his breath while he waited for her to respond.
“The store owner,” she replied, triggering a wave of relief that had his breath gusting out on a sigh. Fiona shot him a questioning look, which he ignored. He couldn’t explain his reaction to himself, much less to her.
“I can call him,” he offered. “Do you have his number?”
Fiona looked up at him, relief and gratitude shining in her big brown eyes. “You’d do that for me?”
If she kept looking at him like that, he’d do just about anything for her. “It’s probably better if I call him. Part of the job and all.”
She glanced down, and he sensed a shift in her mood. “Everything okay?”
Fiona nodded, refusing to meet his gaze. “It’s just...” She trailed off, swallowed hard, then spoke again. “You saved my life tonight,” she said, her voice wobbly. “You kept that man from hurting me.”
Nate shifted, her praise making him uncomfortable. “I was happy to do it. That’s my job. Besides, the fact that you stayed calm kept the situation from escalating out of control.”
She shook her head. “You really don’t get it, do you?”
He frowned, not following her thoughts. “Get what?”
She looked up at him then, her eyes suspiciously bright. “I will never forget you or what you did for me tonight. But I suspect it’s just the latest in a long line of amazing things you’ve done, and you’re so quick to dismiss it as your job. Not many people would have stepped forward like that, but you did. You’re a hero.”
Nate felt his face heat and knew he must be as red as the sirens flashing on the ambulance pulling into the parking lot. “I’m not a hero,” he said, reaching up to tug on his collar. When did it get so warm in here?
The corner of Fiona’s mouth quirked up while she studied him. “The fact that you’re denying it just makes you even more heroic.”
Now it was Nate’s turn to look away. He didn’t know how to explain to her that he’d simply reacted. She was in danger, and he’d stepped forward, wanting only to protect her. That wasn’t heroic—it
