Does that mean you know the guy? Is that why you think he’ll be so easy to find?”
“Of course not. He snuck up on me. Took me completely by surprise. I didn’t see anything but the pavement, whooshing closer and closer to my face.”
It wasn’t likely the cops would share what they knew, but if he could get anything out of them...
“Promise you’ll keep things to yourself, or I’m going back to sleep.”
The heart monitor beeped a little faster. “All right. Okay. Settle down, will you?” He cleared his throat. “I promise not to get in trouble.”
“Oh, you’re a clever one, I’ll give you that.” She gave him a look that said, “I’ve got your number, pal.”
“But not clever enough. I want to hear you say ‘I promise not to tell Mom and Dad the rest of the story.’”
It wasn’t likely he’d share any information with their folks, but just in case, he searched his mind for a way to appease her without making the promise.
“I’ll be honest with you, partly because I need to talk about it as much as you need to hear what happened. But I can’t. I won’t. Not unless I have your word that you won’t try to play the hero again.”
Play the hero again? The comment took him back to when Libby was in college, and a couple of her roommates called him when they got tangled up with some unsavory characters.
“I just couldn’t live with myself if you ended up in jail—or worse—because of me.”
She looked so small and frail, so afraid and nervous, that the only thing keeping him from scooping her up into a huge hug was his fear of hurting her.
“Fine.” He made no effort to sound pleased, because he wasn’t. “I won’t hunt him down like the animal he is and beat the stuffing outta him.”
She relaxed slightly. “One more promise?”
“What now?”
“Stop looking so grim. If they come back and see you looking all serious and angry, they won’t let up until I tell them, too. Or worse, walk around looking all ‘poor Libby’ for the rest of my life.” She gave his hand a weak squeeze. “Thank goodness I don’t have to worry you’ll do that.”
He feigned shock. “Hey. Just ’cause I’m a marine doesn’t mean I’m devoid of feelings.”
“It’s because you’re a big, tough marine that I can trust you to mask your feelings. You saw a lot of ugly stuff over there, but you learned how to compartmentalize it. If you feel sorry for me when I...once I’ve told you everything, well, at least you’ll know how to pretend you don’t.”
Compartmentalize. Libby had chosen the right career, all right. Too bad she couldn’t put her degree in psychology to use analyzing herself, figure out why she kept getting involved with losers, why she struggled in a one-woman practice when so many facilities wanted to hire her. Zach stifled a groan and sandwiched her hand between his. “You’ll get no pity from me.”
Libby returned his halfhearted smile and plunged into her story. Halfway through, the pace and volume of her words waned, and when she finished, Libby slipped into a fitful sleep.
Zach sat there, shaking his head and fighting tears. Part of him wished she had known the guy. At least he’d have a target for his fury. But her attacker was still out there somewhere. Was he aware that Libby couldn’t identify him? If he thought otherwise, would he try to find her and make sure she couldn’t testify against him? That possibility scared Zach almost as much as seeing the enemy churning through the Afghan dust.
His mind went into full marine mode, searching for proactive ways to help her, to make sure nothing like this ever happened to her again.
And then it hit him.
When the docs released her, he’d move into Libby’s town house and take care of her. While she recuperated, he’d start the wheels in motion to find a place of his own, preferably a shop of some kind with an upstairs apartment. He’d open a self-defense studio, right here in Vail. And when she was ready, Libby would be his first student.
“Let go of my hand, you goof. Your big meat hook is getting me all sweaty.”
Snickering, he did as she asked, just as their folks returned, each carrying a cardboard food tray.
“Oh, good,” his mom whispered, “she’s still sleeping.”
She was too busy doling out sandwiches and bags of chips to notice Libby’s mouth curl into a tiny, sly grin.
It told him she’d be all right, and he had to put his back to the family to keep them from seeing his grateful tears.
September, two years later
ALEX PUT TWO grocery bags on the kitchen table and pointed to her answering machine. “Hey, Summer. Did you know you have a message?”
She followed the teen’s gaze to the blinking red light. “Oh. That. I must have been upstairs when the phone rang, getting the guest room ready for my parents.”
“When will they be here?”
“Day after tomorrow.”
“Oh, yeah. I remember.”
Something in his voice told her Alex didn’t believe a word of her excuse.
He handed her the receipt. “Sorry, they didn’t have hot fudge sauce.”
“It’s okay. I shouldn’t be eating so many sweets, anyway.” She pressed a twenty into his hand and smiled, grateful to Alex, grateful to her investment counselor for making recommendations that had kept her financially solvent all these months, grateful that she’d had the good sense to take his advice. “I’m sure they’ll have some next time.”
When he saw the amount of his tip, Alex’s eyebrows disappeared behind dark, wavy bangs. “Whoa, this is way too much!”
“Nonsense.” She would have paid twice the price to avoid leaving the town house to shop for herself. “You’re getting your license in just a few months. I’m sure you can use a little extra cash.”
“Well, if you say so.” He tucked the bill into his back pocket. Brightening, he added, “Mom says I can drive her car if I pay my share of the insurance.”
“See? There you go!”
Alex nodded, but it seemed there was something more on his mind than groceries and tip money. “Could I... Ah... Can I... Would you get mad if I asked you something?”
He’d never been one to pry—unlike his mother, who thought nothing of asking a person’s weight, salary and far more personal information.
“I promise not to get mad,” Summer assured
